Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 109505 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 438(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109505 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 438(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
She tips her pretty little head as she tosses the thing in the air, but I’m quick, and dart my hand out to catch it.
Meyer jerks forward with a little growl, playfully shoving at my chest, but before she can pull back, I grip her hand with my own.
I expect her to pull away, but she doesn’t. She stares at the contact, so I lace my fingers with hers, and she allows it, coming closer when I give a little tug.
Her eyes find mine and stay there.
They stay there until she whips her other hand out, snagging the ball from mine.
My shoulders fall and she tugs free, a triumphant smile spreading across her lips.
“So easily distracted, Mr. Cruz.”
“Girl, I’m telling you, you could breathe near me and I’d be fucking distracted.”
She blushes, squashing her lips to the side to fight away her grin. “Unless you’re on the field, right?”
I open my mouth, but all that comes out is a laugh. “There’s one way to find out ...”
She rolls her eyes and a few minutes later, we’re packing up our things.
Later that night, I’m lying in bed, and I can’t stop thinking about her, but it’s not that same frustrated feeling like before. At least not tonight.
I saw the way she smiled at me today, it was different. I’m not sure in what way, but it was. So, tonight, I’m gonna sleep good, ‘cause I know without a fucking doubt that Tutor Girl is going to bed thinking about me, too.
Chuckling, I flip onto my stomach, close my eyes, and fall asleep.
q
Meyer
Bianca lets herself in, a bag hanging from each hand. “Okay, I’ve got two subs, one ham, one turkey, both split right down the middle and every candy the mini mart had to offer.”
“Any chance you brought a bottle of, god, anything?”
“Shut up, are you done breastfeeding?!” She practically beams.
I laugh, but my shoulders fall, and my intuitive best friend drops the bags where she stands, hopping up onto the bed in the next second.
She crosses her legs, so her knees are touching mine. “Talk to me.”
“I have a problem.”
Worry frames her eyes, and she nods. “Okay, what kind of problem?”
I squinch my nose. “A tall, tan, tasty-looking one...”
Bianca blinks, and then she blinks again. And then she laughs, falling back onto her back and reaching out to yank me with her.
“Oh my god, you little bitch, you scared me!” She buries her face in my shoulder, popping up onto her elbow just as fast with a widespread grin. “I take it he’s not a rotten apple?”
“He’s not a rotten apple.” I chew on my inner lip. “He’s ... a Sour Patch Kid, mixed with those white, mystery Skittles.”
We look to each other and laugh.
“Okay, this I have to hear.” She flips onto her stomach, waiting for more.
“He’s exactly what meets the eye on the outside: gorgeous, charming, and magnetic. Athletic. But it’s ... it’s like there’s this hard shell of expectation he has to fill because his exterior packaging says it’s the one he belongs in, like the epitome of stereotypes.”
“That’s shitty but makes sense.”
“Yeah.” I nod. “But the filling inside the shell isn’t made up of the same things.” I pause, thinking of his cocky ways, and fight a smile. “Okay, some of that’s on the inside too, but it’s the honest parts. He is cocky, but that’s because he’s good at what he does and he’s unapologetic about it. It’s oddly endearing.” I chuckle. “And he is charming, but it comes from how he communicates. He’s direct, straightforward, and unafraid to let on to what he’s thinking.” My palm falls to my stomach when an airy sensation begins to swirl. “It’s strange though, because you’d think someone who is all those things would be able to brush off what others say, and it seems like he does as far as the school papers and campus jerks go, but I can tell when I’ve insulted him.”
“Hold up, what?” She pushes up onto her butt, frowning at me. “You don’t insult anyone. Not even people you should.” She pops a brow. “So, what the hell are you talking about?”
I throw my arm over my face with a low groan. “I know, I don’t know, but I swear I do. I can sense it. Doubt he’d ever admit it, but I know he gets his feelings hurt sometimes, and his defense mechanism is to pretend he doesn’t, and that’s when his inner Sour Patch comes out. It’s like he feels categorized or snubbed or something and so he pops off, acting the way he thinks he’s being treated.”
“Meyer.” I look to her. “If he feels ‘snubbed’ ... that means he likes you and he just wants you to like him back. Right now, it seems like he’s not so sure.”
I swallow. “Yeah. I know.”