Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 77098 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77098 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Nate grabs me by the shoulders and spins me to face him as everyone watches on in interest, wondering what the fuck is going on here, as usual, whenever me and Nate are facing each other, it’s bound to end with him saying something to shut me down.
“What the fuck was that about?” he roars, giving my shoulders a shake.
I find it impossible to remove the scowl off my face as I look up at him. “She started it,” I tell him, resisting the urge to tell him to fuck off. I mean, he already knows exactly what it was about. He was right there when I kissed him in the car, he was all for the plan then. He heard what she was yelling and I’m sure as hell that he heard what I was saying back. If anything, the douchebag should be thanking me.
“Well, I finished it,” he says, loud enough for the whole room to hear.
I narrow my eyes on him and pull myself out of his grip with a harsh tug. I spin on my heel and stalk away, pleased to find he isn’t following me. I walk down to the bathroom and lock the door behind me while I study myself in the mirror.
I have three scratches down the side of my face, all of which have drawn blood and my hair looks like an absolute mess. I let out a heavy breath as I lean forward on the sink before turning the tap and washing the blood off my face.
I run my fingers through my hair and give myself a few minutes to cool down. I take a few slow breaths until I feel like I’m ready to face the world.
Feeling more like myself, I unlock the door and step out, hating that my face is bright red from the scratches but there’s not a lot I can do about that.
I search around the party for Brooke but I can’t find her anywhere and after asking Maxen where she went; he tells me she ran out of here like someone lit a match under her ass.
With a sigh, I walk back through the house and into the kitchen. There are people lingering around and the second they see me, they start offering me drinks and asking if I need anything. It takes a moment to realize they all think I’m dating Nate as any girl he deems good enough to actually date deserves the respect of the room. Not to mention, they’re all probably scared I’m still wound up from the fight and am about to launch myself at them.
I grab a drink off one of the girls and walk deeper into the kitchen. How did my night go from being so damn good to being so sucky so quickly? I mean, I’ve only been here for twenty minutes and I’ve already betrayed my best friend, been in a catfight, and had Nate yell at me.
Tonight is shaping up to be a great night. It’s like a dream come true.
I help myself into Parker’s fridge and have a look around before sticking my head into the freezer. A tub of ice cream would do the trick but unfortunately, all I can see is a frozen pizza. I grab it out and go searching through the cupboards for an oven tray before working out how to turn the damn thing on.
A moment later, I pull myself up onto the counter and stare at the oven as it cooks my stupid pizza while people continue partying around me. Courtney and Bec appear at one end of the kitchen and give me a smile before stepping towards me when Nate appears at the end and sends them a scathing look that has them turning in the opposite direction.
Great friends they are.
Nate walks right up to me and leans down on the counter with a hand on either side of my thighs as he watches me. His eyes skim over the scratches on my face and I see him trying his hardest not to reach out and brush his fingers over it. “Come on,” he says. “I’ll take you home.”
“Can’t,” I grunt. “I’m cooking a pizza.”
“What?” he says, looking at me as though I’ve just grown another head. I nod towards the oven and he turns around to take in the pizza that’s happily cooking away, completely oblivious to the fact it’s about to become someone’s dinner. “You should have told me you were hungry,” he says. “I would have bought you something proper.”
I shake my head, not really in the mood. “I’m fine,” I tell him as the timer on the oven goes off. “Now, if you’ll excuse me,” I say. “My dinner is ready.”
He lets out a heavy breath and steps back toward the oven before turning the dials off and opening the oven door. He grabs a dish towel and rips the hot tray out of the oven before putting it down. Next, he finds me a plate, slides the hot pizza on to it before placing it down beside me with a look that says that what he had just done had highly inconvenienced him.