Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 95340 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95340 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Bethany: How the hell would you know if there weren’t any guys on the apps? WHEN IS THE LAST TIME YOU CHECKED?
Jill: She has a valid point, Liz
Me: Jill, you don’t go out either!!!
Jill: True—but I go on dates.
Me: Let me get this straight; are y’all date shaming me??
Jill: LOL, no. We would never. We’re just saying—have some fun for once, and if this guy with the deep voice wants to, you know—do you a favor by eating you out, maybe you let him.
I shift awkwardly on his bed, giving him another cursory glance.
He looks so uncomfortable on that small couch, his shoulders slouched as he tries to make room for himself so he doesn’t have to join me on the bed.
God forbid.
I wonder what his deal is.
Does he have a girlfriend back home that he doesn’t want to upset?
That thought hadn’t occurred to me before, and a sudden pang of guilt pained my stomach as I tapped out one last message to my roommates before tossing my phone to the side: Don’t you worry about me. I’ll have plenty of fun tonight for all of us.
Brave words, even if they aren’t true.
“Would you please come lay on the bed? You’re making me nervous.” I tell Brodie’s back now that he’s back to staring at the television again. Not that he can’t stay where he’s at, it’s just…it’s giving me anxiety.
He turns to look at me, and I marvel at the fact that his eyes have never strayed below my neck.
This guy is good.
This guy is real good.
Or he doesn’t like tits because I know mine are showing. A little on purpose, a little by accident, a whole lotta boobage ‘cause I can.
If I had to describe myself, I would say I’m a contradiction; conservative but flirty. Extroverted but introverted. Cute but occasionally feeling myself, feeling super sexy. Quiet. And loud when the mood strikes.
Shy but assertive.
I haven’t dated and haven’t had sex in quite a few months but that doesn’t mean I don’t think about it on a regular basis; dating and sex, that is, neither of them mutually exclusive.
I’m not so conservative that I wouldn’t have casual sex.
I’m not so stupid I don’t know that Sully the Roommate Hockey Player isn’t an actual player who has no intention of being in a relationship with me. He did not ask me on a date because he wants to me monogamous—but neither did I.
And that’s the beauty of it.
But staring at moody, broody Brodie is giving me second thoughts about the whole thing.
He’s just so…
Nice?
No, that’s not the right word.
He’s a decent dude—that sums it up way better. Not sweet, not kind, but…something, you know? And I’m not basing this assessment on actual facts or background information or prior experience with him. No. I’m basing this opinion on the one plus hours I’ve spent in his bedroom and in his presence, and Brodie has been nothing but chill.
Too chill if you want my opinion.
“Would you please come lay on the bed?” I ask him again, fully aware that it sounds slightly intimate. “Let’s talk.”
I half expect him to respond with a, “We can talk while I’m sitting here,” but he surprises me by rising and walking around to the other side of the bed and plopping down on it, his weight causing the whole mattress to cave.
So big.
Stiffly, he settles himself against the headboard, sitting up, pulling a pillow over and resting it in his lap. Hands folded.
When he glances down at me, he raises his brows as if to say, “Now what?”
Very good question.
Glad he didn’t ask it.
I make a show of yawning, curious about where his eyes will land when I raise my arms above my head, disappointed again when they land in the same spot they’ve been: my face.
Dammit!
This is pathetic, I literally have a date with his roommate tomorrow, and let’s not joke ourselves—it’s a date. Food is a date.
So why the hell am I trying so hard to get Brodie to shift his gaze and give my tits a glance? What the hell kind of pervert am I?
The captivity is getting to me!
I have Stockholm syndrome!
“What year are you again?”
“Senior,” his deep voice tells me. “What about you?”
“Junior.” I raise a hand to my face and nibble on my thumbnail. “Do you have a major, or is it just hockey?”
Some guys do that, don’t they? Declare something but have no a intention of doing anything else with their lives except play the sport they’ve dedicated all their time to.
“I have a major.” His laugh is quiet and amused. “It’s Economics.”
“Economics?” I can’t keep the shock out of my tone. “Fancy!” I pause. “What would you do with an econ degree?”
Brodie shrugs his wide, broad shoulders. “Don’t know. Maybe work in finance—my dad owns a wealth management company. If I hurt myself or don’t make it in the pros, I’ll work for him.”