Total pages in book: 167
Estimated words: 164557 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 823(@200wpm)___ 658(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 164557 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 823(@200wpm)___ 658(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
There’s no question the gold accents draw the eye.
Agatha tips her head toward me. “Can it be done?” she asks briskly.
“If you want to take that twenty percent from one of the other budgets, like music, then sure, we can make it work.”
“Don’t even think about slashing the DJ budget!” Robin exclaims. Music is her domain.
Agatha looks at me again.
I shrug. “There’s only a certain amount of money in the house bank account. I can’t just miraculously make money appear. So if you’re not taking from the other budgets, your only other option is to ask someone to chip in their own funds.”
“Let me talk to my mother,” Agatha says. “We’ll put a pin in the centerpieces for now and revisit next meeting. Maybe one of the alums will want to kick in some extra for the gala budget—”
A loud buzzing from Blake’s vicinity interrupts her.
Agatha gives her a withering look. “Silent mode.”
“Sorry,” Blake murmurs. She frowns at her phone before putting it on silent.
As the agenda switches to the gala menu and everyone starts arguing whether it’s a smart idea for one of the courses to be a spicy dish, I notice Blake constantly looking at her phone.
“Everything okay?” I whisper to her.
“Just my stalker” is what it sounds like she mumbles.
I don’t have time to question her because a screaming match has now broken out.
“No one is saying spicy food is bad, Dana! I love spice! All I’m saying,” Noelle continues in exasperation, “is that we’re dealing with a guest list full of old ladies, and not all of them might be able to handle spice. Old people can’t digest properly.”
“Ugh, that’s a fair point,” Dana relents.
“Great. Then let’s stick to fucking chicken marsala.”
“Fine.” Dana glances at her laptop. “Let’s talk about dessert.”
Blake clears her throat before Dana can continue. “I’m just going to step out for a second, if that’s all ri—”
“No,” Agatha snaps.
“Yeah, Logan,” Faith rebukes her. “Nobody leaves a meeting prior to dismissal unless it’s in a body bag.”
I almost choke on my laughter.
Agatha glares at Faith. “Just shut up, Faith. We don’t always need to hear your smart mouth.”
Fortunately, the rest of the meeting goes off without another hitch, and I’m breathing a sigh of relief after Agatha dismisses us. Blake seems eager to leave too, though the agitation she’s transmitting tells me she’s stressing about a lot more than Agatha.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, practically chasing her out of the dining room.
“I have to go handle something.”
“That sounds fun,” Faith chirps, coming up on Blake’s other side. “What are we handling?”
“Oh God, nothing. Please don’t make me do this in front of an audience.”
Faith and I exchange a look.
Then walk even faster.
The freshman attempts to outrun us to the door, even tries closing it after her, but Faith ran track in high school, and I’m just freakishly fast. We hurry after her onto the porch, skidding to a stop when we spot the strawberry-blond giant on our front lawn.
“Do you ever give up?” Blake demands, stomping down the porch steps toward him.
Isaac Grant shrugs, emphasizing his impossibly broad shoulders. “No. I play football. It’s a game of inches.”
She makes an aggravated noise, planting both hands on her hips. “What does that have to do with me?”
“You’re my inch.”
“I am not your fucking inch, dude. Go away.”
Faith and I snicker from the porch, only to shut up when Blake turns to glare at us.
“I’m just saying, I know you like me.” Isaac flashes a cocky smile, his perfect teeth gleaming in the moonlight. “So let’s quit playing games. Here we are, inches from the end zone.”
“Go home,” she grits out.
“One date. Just agree to one date, and I’ll go.”
“Dude, this is not the way to convince someone to go out with you. I’ll stop stalking you if you let me take you to dinner.” Blake snorts in irritation. “I’m not interested.”
“Look, angel—”
“Angel? Don’t nickname me.”
“Too late,” he says smugly. “Angel. Listen to me. I’m only asking for one date. Oh,” he amends, “and you have to promise to actually have a good time.”
“I can’t promise to have a good time. What if it’s a shit date?”
He capitalizes on her error, beaming at her. “Excellent. So you’re agreeing to the date.”
“What? No!”
They’ve attracted an audience, and I’m not talking just me and Faith. Other Delta Pis have streamed out to investigate the commotion, along with a handful of curious people from other houses on the Row.
I have to admit, Isaac does pose a pretty delectable sight. Six foot six. Muscular. Piercing eyes and square jaw. The guy is a walking wet dream.
For most women anyway.
“One date,” he pleads.
“I don’t even know you,” Blake grumbles.
“That’s the purpose of a date. To get to know me. I promise you, I’m tremendous.”
“Who refers to themselves as tremendous?”
Faith snorts against her hand.