Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 99623 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99623 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
“I guarantee it. I can put it in writing if you’d like.”
Line.
“And you’re not like... luring me away to murder me?”
I throw my head back and laugh.
“While the idea of my hands around your throat holds merit, I have no intention of killing you,” I mutter under my breath, willing my mind to dispel the pretty picture my words are painting.
“What?”
“No, Emmalyn. I am not luring you away to kill you. I simply think we need to have a talk, and lunch seems like a good way to go about doing it.”
“Okay. Sure. When?”
Sinker.
“Now’s great for me.”
“Oh, um. Today. Wow. Um.”
“I know you don’t have any other classes today. I know you don’t have a job or internship. So, whatever bullshit excuse you’re concocting in that pretty little head of yours, save us both the trouble and don’t.”
Her eyes flare at my demanding tone, though with heat or shock, I can’t say.
“Okay.” She flexes her fingers, clutching and releasing the strap of her bag. She’s nervous, and the predator in me likes it. “Today is good.”
“Great. I’ll drive.”
“We’re... going off campus?” She gulps, and my eyes hone in on her delicate throat. My brain buzzes at the memory of how soft she is there, how sweet she tastes.
I give her a dull look. “Yes, Emmalyn. Surely you didn’t think I was taking you to the dining hall.” I rise from my desk and head for the door, not bothering to make sure she’s following. I know she is.
No one pays any mind as we traipse across the campus to the parking garage.
Her lips quirk up into a smile when the large structure comes into view. “Fancy.”
I roll my eyes but tell her, “You couldn’t pay me to park my baby out in the elements. The paint job’s custom.”
“Of course it is.” I grin as I make a big show of opening the door for her.
“It’s nice, I’ll give you that.” She skims her finger over the buttery leather of the seat before buckling her seat belt.
I stroll around to the driver’s side, but before I can open the door, my phone buzzes with another incoming text.
Sliding it out, I quickly check the screen. It’s Rob. Again.
Rob: Don’t fuck this up, Sterling.
Me: Just trust me, man.
I switch off my ringer, pocket my phone, and slide behind the wheel. “Ready?”
Emmalyn chuckles nervously. “As I’ll ever be.”
I find my attention divided for most of the drive. While I know I need to watch the winding mountain roads, I want to watch the woman riding shotgun in my F-Type Jag.
The way she squirms in the seat, the way she’s so careful not to look my way, the way she’s content to sit quietly rather than talk to me. All of these things combined only make me want to push her that much further.
But I’ll play nice. For now, anyway.
“Have you eaten here?” I ask, inclining my head toward our destination.
“Café on the Corner.” She reads the sign and then shakes her head no. “I haven’t really explored town much. I’ve mostly stayed on campus.”
“Why’s that?” I whip into a parking spot a few shops down from the café.
She bites her lip and scratches at her chin. She’s nervous. “Um.” She laughs, but it is lacking all humor. “Sorry, I can’t help but think you’re going to use anything I say against me.”
I adopt an understanding expression. “I can see why you’d feel that way. But, believe it or not, I’m trying to turn over a new leaf, Emmalyn.”
Her big dark eyes study my face, looking for signs of insincerity. When she doesn’t find any, I send up a small thanks and offer her a small, encouraging smile.
“Can new leaves even grow from rotten roots?”
“Guess we’ll find out. Now, let’s go.”
I fall back as we walk down the sidewalk, allowing Emmalyn to walk a step or so ahead of me. My eyes definitely drop to her ass more than once; devious bitch or not, the girl’s got a backside you could bounce a quarter off of.
She doesn’t wait for me to open the door—not that I was planning to—and marches straight to the hostess stand.
“Hi, how many?”
Before Emmalyn can answer, I step up behind her. “We have a reservation for two, under Abbot.”
“Of course. Your table’s ready.” She grabs our menus and silverware rolls. “Right this way.”
We follow her in silence, but I can tell Emmalyn is stewing over something.
“Here you are. Your server will be by shortly. Our specials are listed on the board.”
My lunch date glares at me from her seat across from me.
“What?” I lean back into my seat, smirking.
“I just think it’s awfully presumptuous of you to make reservations before asking me to join you.”
“You’re the one being presumptuous.”
She crosses her arms over her chest, drawing my eyes to the hint of cleavage her sweater shows off. “How so?”