Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 103104 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103104 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
He shrugs nonchalantly, and my eyes follow the movement of his broad shoulders.
“How’d you get that scar anyway?”
His face tightens, and I see a glimpse of pain before it disappears so quickly I wonder if it was ever really there.
“It’s not jagged. A nice, clean cut, almost like a knife. Did you do it?”
“No!” He flushes, glaring at me. “Just shut up about it.”
Ah, the pain of that scar still rankles.
One more thing to file away in the Knox Grayson dossier.
“Fine, it’s a secret. I have one on my inner thigh from a fork. Got it from the only foster home I stayed at. There was an older girl who didn’t want me sleeping in her room. I was ten. See?” I slightly lift up my skirt, showing him the stretched-out mark, which is about the size of my pinkie. “I slept with a rock under my pillow after that.”
He moves his gaze up slowly, landing on my face. “Did she ever try it again?”
“No, but I was ready. I would have done whatever it took to keep her away from me.”
“Fierce little thing.”
I snap my teeth at him and his lips twitch.
“Don’t laugh at me unless you want me to go into more excruciating detail about your sad, sad future.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Damn. Can’t help it. You’re—”
Whatever he was about to say is cut off.
“Knox, you look like a mechanic with that wrench in your hand. Nice. Let me snap a pic for posterity,” says a voice behind us.
My breath hitches. I flip around and chills dance down my spine. It’s Dane who’s spoken, and with him are Chance and Liam. Dane takes his phone out of his pocket and takes a picture of us.
Chance has that stricken look on his face again, like this morning.
Liam laughs and I focus on the big footballer. His white hair is still long in the front with those stupid swooping bangs. He smirks at me, meeting my gaze, and I shiver. It’s the first time we’ve come face-to-face all day, and I’m extra glad our schedules don’t overlap.
Chance sends an angry look at Knox, his jawline grinding. “Dude, we’re going to The Coffee Bean to hang. Aren’t you coming?” he asks, his voice accusatory, his attention bouncing from me to Knox.
Chance looks almost…
Acting out of instinct, I flip my hair out of my face, and his eyes follow the movement, a hungry look there.
I straighten my shoulders, adjusting my white shirt, which is noticeably sticking to my skin in the heat. And, guess what—Chance’s gaze goes there too, lingering on my chest.
Well, well.
My anger stirs. He has the nerve to look at me as if he wants me, yet he called me a slut? Out of everyone here, he should have believed me.
“Yeah, unless you’re too busy helping her,” Liam adds snidely.
Knox gives me a glance then looks back at them. “Nah, I have studying to do. You do too, Dane.”
Dane sweeps his eyes over me, a knowing smile on his face. “Got to admit, this moment is priceless though. Knox and Ava. Ava and Knox. How does that sound, Chance? Has quite the ring to it, doesn’t it?”
Chance flushes red.
“Shut the fuck up,” Knox says sharply.
Dane pulls his hair out of the manbun he has it in and shakes it out, the strands brushing his jersey. He points those eyes that are so much like Knox’s at me. “Wanna join us, Ava? I’ll buy you whatever you want if you don’t have the money.”
Oh, what a little prick. My hands fist.
“What the hell, Dane?” Chance says. “Be serious!”
“Yeah, babe,” Liam adds. “Maybe we can talk about that video of you dancing. Do you remember that? You’ve got some sweet moves on you, I’ll give you that—”
“That’s enough!” Knox roars.
There’s silence, and my heart races.
There’s an undercurrent of tension between them all, and part of me senses it may not just be about me—but maybe it is? Shit, of course it is. Last year their team sucked and they all blame me.
I lick my lips nervously. Here I am, alone in a school parking lot with four of the football players who were at that party, and as much as I want to be cool, my hands tremble—
“Yo, Ava! You good?”
I start when Wyatt pulls up in a souped-up black Chevelle with a hot pink stripe down the hood, rap music blaring and the motor so loud I’m surprised I didn’t hear the vehicle approaching.
We all turn to look at him. He’s wearing a Camden baseball hat and a wide grin.
Maybe it’s something he sees on my face, because he turns his car off and gets out, sauntering over to us.
He tosses a casual arm around my shoulders as if we’ve been friends forever. “You doing good, locker neighbor?” Locka neigbah. He scans his eyes over the group and lingers on the jack I still haven’t put away. “You need a ride?”