Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 108357 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 542(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108357 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 542(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
These are exactly the type of feelings I’ve always tried to keep at bay where Rowan is concerned. It’s as if he’s trying to break through all of my defenses, and I have no idea why. Emotion crashes within, leaving me to feel off-balance and confused.
“What are you doing?” It takes effort to force the question from stiff lips.
Rowan’s face looms close enough for his warm breath to feather against my skin. The feel of it shouldn’t be this intoxicating. It shouldn’t make me want to suck in greedy mouthfuls of him and hold it deep inside. Anticipation coils tightly in the pit of my belly as everything inside me goes silent.
“As much as you think you know me, you don’t know shit.”
That’s not true!
“We’ve known each other for seven years,” I whisper. “How can you say that?”
“Have you ever taken the time to figure out who I am? I’m talking about the guy buried beneath all the hype.” He searches my eyes with narrowed ones. “Sometimes, I think it’s more comfortable for you to pigeonhole me into the persona you’ve created rather than the guy I actually am.”
I gulp down a fresh burst of nerves.
This conversation is ridiculous. I understand exactly who Rowan Michaels is. I’ve been forced to endure dinner with him once a week for the past three years. I’ve listened to him and Dad discuss football ad nauseum. We’ve had classes together almost every semester.
There is no question in my mind that the guy standing before me is a total player. Like most of the athletes at Western, he’s spent the better part of his college years partying and sleeping with groupies. He gets by in his classes because he needs to retain eligibility to play football but has no intention of ever using his degree in the real world.
So...do I know who Rowan Michaels is?
Yeah, I’m pretty sure I do.
I open my mouth to blast him into next week and realize that our faces are scant inches apart. Air becomes lodged in my throat at the heated look that fills his eyes. It’s anger mixed with something more potent. My gaze falls to his lips and everything inside me coils tight. An image of us in the kitchen on Wednesday forces its way into my brain. We were standing so close, and I’d wondered if he would kiss me.
As much as I hate to admit it, I’d wanted him to do it.
Just when I think Rowan will lean in, and I’ll finally feel the slide of his lips against mine, he takes a hasty step in retreat. The strong hands gripping my arms fall away, leaving behind an odd kind of regret to fill the emptiness. I’m so tempted to reach out and drag him closer. Instead, my hands tighten at my sides.
I want to say something.
Something that will smooth over the suffocating tension that vibrates in the cool night air between us, but my mind remains frustratingly blank.
“Maybe you should take the time and get to know me instead of assuming things that aren’t true. If you would give me even half a chance, Demi, I might just surprise you.”
With that, he swings around, stalking down the sidewalk in the direction we’d come from. For a long moment, I can only stare after him as a strange concoction of emotions crash inside me.
There’s definitely relief. And if I’m being honest with myself, a fair amount of disappointment bubbles up as well.
It’s almost enough to make me forget what I stumbled across at the party.
Almost.
But not quite.
11
Demi
I’m startled out of a sound sleep when something—or more likely, someone—lands on my chest. My eyelids fly open, and I stare groggily up at vibrant green eyes that are entirely too awake for—I glance at the digital clock on the nightstand—good lord, it’s not even seven in the morning.
Sunday morning, I might add. One of two days I take off from running and allow myself the luxury of sleeping in. And Sydney ruined it.
“Why are you awake so early?” I slur.
“Please, I could hardly sleep a wink last night.”
“Ugh.” I attempt to push her off my body and roll onto my side, but Sydney refuses to budge from her perched position on top of me. “I really don’t want to hear about your sexcapades.”
“Please, girl.” She rolls her eyes. “You would have heard that loud and clear firsthand.”
She’s right about that. Her and Ethan are loud as fuck. It’s like they’re shooting a porno every single time.
“I’m talking about what happened with you last night.”
“Me?” Any sleepiness I’d been clinging to vanishes in the blink of an eye. “Nothing happened. What are you talking about?”
She gives me a—exactly how drunk were you look. “Um, hello. There are a shit ton of stories flying all over the place. I heard about them before I even left the party.”