Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76693 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76693 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
I think I broke Homewrecker Barbie.
Turning my gaze away from her, I spear my hand into the air to get Mr. Pederson’s attention. He frowns before ambling our way.
“What’s up?”
I jut my thumb in her direction. “Can’t.”
Gemma scoffs. “Unbelievable.”
“Can’t what, Mr. Sheridan?”
“I can’t do this with her.”
The older man tugs at his scraggly beard, eyes narrowed as he studies me. “Too bad.”
Too bad?
Is he for real?
“Unless you can give me a perfectly logical reason for not partnering with this nice young lady, I don’t want to hear another word on the subject.”
Oh, yeah. He’s fucking serious.
It’s not like I can tell him the real reason I don’t like her besides her brattiness over our parking lot debacle that was clearly her fault. I can’t tell anyone. Not Dr. Wynn, not Dad or Pops, hell, not even Dax.
I’m alone in my misery.
Fucking wonderful.
“Whatever,” I grunt, waving off our professor. “I’ll deal.”
“Please do.” Mr. Pederson walks off, shaking his head in frustration.
Makes two of us, man.
Gemma pushes her syllabus across the desk until the paper is in my line of sight. Her fingernails are long, pointy, and matte black with shimmery rhinestones on the middle nails. How can anyone function with nails that long? How does she wipe her ass?
She probably has people for that.
Gemma looks rich as fuck.
“This,” Gemma says icily, tapping on the semester project, “is a huge part of our grade. I don’t exactly understand what your problem is with me, but I wish you could squash it for five seconds and focus on this.”
I snatch her paper up and glower at the ink. Seventy-five percent is a lot.
“Fine,” I grunt. “I’ll do the project. You can sign your name at the top. We can avoid each other until then. Problem solved.”
She scoffs again. “Problem solved? You’re an arrogant piece of work, Two.”
My shoulders tense at her addressing me by name. It’s like a lash of a whip with thousands of micro whips all attached to blades. Cut after cut digs into my flesh, making me shudder.
Two.
Second best.
“Tristan,” I grit out, “is my name.”
“Then why do they call you Two?”
“None of your business, Golden.”
“Stop calling me that. It’s Gemma.”
Someone sniggers nearby. Charlie makes a crude motion of sucking dick. Does he think this is some fucked-up version of foreplay?
I flip him the bird before tossing her paper back at her. It flutters to the ground. Her face grows redder and redder with each passing second. If she gets any more pissed, her head is going to burst like an overfed tick and her eyelashes are going to shoot out like darts, sticking to everyone in this room.
“Chill, Golden.”
“I said.” She lets out a slow, measured breath. “You’re messing with me, right? To get a rise out of me? Unfortunately for you, I have four brothers and I’m the baby sister. Believe me, I know all about getting razzed for the sake of someone else’s enjoyment.”
And to think, she was almost an only child like me.
Would she be even more spoiled than she is now?
“Trust me,” I spit out. “Nothing about this interaction brings me joy.”
She flinches at my words and grows eerily quiet. I glance over to find her chewing on her bottom, heavily glossed lip. Her eyes are slightly glassy. Is she going to cry?
It’s satisfying to know that she might. I’ve cried hundreds of times over this shit. Maybe even thousands. I’m all cried out lately, though. I feel empty and bitter. It’s someone else’s turn to be fucking gutted for a change.
And who not better than enemy number one?
Gemma clears her throat and then turns to face the front. She lifts her chin, staring at the board in front of her. I’m guessing she’s moving on to ignoring me. Good. That’s definitely for the best. Otherwise, I’m going to continue to say mean things because they don’t seem to want to stay trapped deep inside where they’ve been living since I was nine years old.
My phone buzzes, distracting me for a moment.
Dax: I’m going to get that chick’s number. She’s hot AF.
What chick? My chick?
Me: The crybaby from this morning? That girl?
Dax: Yeah, dumbass. The only hot girl we encountered this morning.
Me: No.
Dax: What do you mean no?
Dax: Wait… You like her?
Dax: Dude, this is awesome. I don’t think you’ve ever been interested in a girl like ever.
Me: Hazel. I was interested in her.
Dax: She used you to lose her virginity the summer after we turned sixteen. I’m surprised you even remember her name.
Me: I said no, Dax.
Dax: You DO like her! Fucking hell! Get her number, 2!
Me: No.
Dax: We’re not done discussing this. Either you get her number or I will.
I continue to text him no, but he stops responding. Irritation sours my gut. Of all the women who could interest my playboy best friend, why is he putting his sights on my enemy?