Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 121233 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121233 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
I hadn’t landed on a decision until well after midnight, and though I passed out as soon as I got home from the stadium, my alarm went off only six hours later.
Early classes were a bitch.
“The quiz on chapters one through five is now live in your online portal. You’ll have until Friday to complete it. See you all next week.”
With that, textbooks and laptops snapped closed, the shuffling of bags the first sound that filled the room before soft talking followed it. I packed up my own things in silence, glancing at my watch that read ten AM and thinking it would be a two-coffee kind of day.
With my messenger bag lugged over one shoulder, I dragged myself out of the classroom and the College of Communications building, the warm morning defrosting my limbs frozen from the air-conditioning. I was on auto-pilot as I shuffled toward Rum & Roasters, pushing through the door just as a yawn stretched my mouth open.
I stood in line like a zombie, ordering a caffè Americano with an extra shot of espresso. I had the life-giver cupped between my palms as I walked toward my usual table.
Only to find it occupied.
Shawn sat bent in my usual chair, one ankle balanced on the opposite knee, guitar in his arms and brow furrowed as he thumbed the strings quietly. His dark hair fell into his eyes slightly, and the way the morning light was streaming through the windows washed him in gold. He looked like the cover of a soft rock album, and when he flicked his hair out of the way and looked up to find me standing in front of him, the sexiest, smoothest smile spread on his dusty pink lips.
“Well, good morning, Angel.”
I flushed, glancing over my shoulder as if I wondered if it was me he was talking to. When I looked back at him, he chuckled, setting his guitar to the side.
“You’ve got a halo right now, the way the light is coming in,” he explained.
I smiled. “Hiding the horns holding it up, no doubt.”
Shawn gestured to the seat across from him.
I took it hesitantly — mostly because I was debating if I was too tired to even hold a conversation, let alone a flirty one with intention. But one sip from my espresso had me optimistic that I could turn it around.
What would Clay do?
He’d tell me to suck it up and play the game, that’s what.
I hadn’t seen Shawn since the party on Saturday night, and my stomach flipped the longer he watched me with a curious gaze.
“What?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Nothing. You just… forgive me if this is too forward, but you look beautiful right now.”
My cheeks were hot enough to rival my coffee as I looked down at my hands. “I highly doubt that, considering how tired I am at the moment.”
“Late night?”
I sighed. “Very. I’m working with my boss on an upcoming charity event for the football team, and it’s taking more time and energy than all of my classes combined.”
“I still can’t get over you being in public relations,” he assessed with a smile.
“What would you peg me as, if I hadn’t told you otherwise?”
“Librarian.”
I laughed. “It’s the glasses, huh?”
“Among other things,” he said, and his metallic eyes slid down the length of me, brow arching as he took in the eclectic blouse I’d paired with my old jean overalls. They were baggy and hid more than they revealed, but the way his eyes careened each inch, it felt more like I was in a bra and panties.
I cleared my throat, taking a sip of my coffee. “So, do you sleep in the back of the store here, or…?”
He ran a hand back through his long hair, crossing his ankle over his knee again before pulling the guitar back into his lap. “I’m working on a song, and I was a little stunted in my dorm, so I thought a change of scenery could help.”
“Has it?”
“Sadly, no,” he confessed. “There’s something off, but I can’t figure out what.”
“Play it for me.”
His eyes shot open. “Yeah?”
I just smiled, sipping my coffee, pretending like this was totally chill and cool and like I wasn’t freaking out internally that Shawn Stetson was about to play an unreleased song for me.
He cracked his neck, sitting up a little straighter and clearing his throat before he began.
The intro was soft and slow, smooth chords peppered by brief taps of the heel of his palm against the box of his guitar. It was percussion and strings all in one, the beat seductive and alluring.
I nodded my head in time with it, hips moving subtly in my seat. When Shawn glanced up at me, his eyes froze on that little hip movement, and my neck heated at the lingering gaze.
I couldn’t wait to tell Clay.