Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 85453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
I’m lost as to why. “Shouldn’t that make you happy?”
Her wavy brown locks slap her cheek when she spins to face me before walking backward. “That you don’t want to be seen with me?”
Confusion almost knocks me onto my ass. “What?” I don’t give her the chance to settle my bewilderment. “I’m here, aren’t I? In the drama quad, picking you up.”
“Because you want me to tutor you. Then once that’s over, you’ll disappear like you did the night you helped with my car.” I realize she’s more upset than jealous. The unconcealed pain in her eyes exposes this, much less the low hang of her bottom lip.
“I can’t deny that was my plan when Professor Ren first suggested I get a tutor.” When she gets set to run again, I weigh down her legs as ruefully as mine by adding, “But that’s changed now.”
“It has?” Her voice is as high as her arched brow.
With my grin too sleazy to showcase without displaying a creep, I slant my head to hide it. She has no fucking clue about the number of qualities she has. They’d have any man overlooking her shit fashion sense. She’s smart, empathetic, and real fucking pretty.
But since I can’t tell her that, I ask, “Who put this shit in your head?”
“No one,” she replies before she makes a break for it.
“Bullshit.” Again, I jog to catch up with her, grimacing when my tired joints scream in protest. “You’ve never once brought up anything like this the past week and a half, but now suddenly, after talking to Gabe, you’re doubting my intentions.”
“I’m not doubting your intentions.” She takes a breather before confessing. “I’m doubting mine.” I’m convinced she’s succumbed to the Mancini charms until she cuts me down three feet. “Do I want to secure Gabriel’s attention because you helped me, or do I want to do it on my own?” Mistaking my forlorn look as panic about my scholarship, she adds, “I’ll still tutor you no matter what, Cash. I don’t bounce on my obligations. I just…” She drifts her eyes in the direction Gabriel was standing. He's no longer there, but you wouldn’t know that by her loved-up expression when she devotes her focus back to me. “I don’t want to use you.”
I half laugh, half groan. “How are you using me? I haven’t done anything.”
“You got Gabriel to talk to me. He’s never done that.” When she continues down the path, I follow her like a lost puppy. “He didn’t even know we had joint classes.”
“Because he’s a douche.” When she glares at me, silently bidding for me to be serious for once, I add, “And perhaps I want you to use me.” My waggling brows should announce the reason for the hitch in my tone, not to mention my inability to sit still when raunchy thoughts enter my head. “Have you ever considered that?”
I’m not expecting her to answer me, so you can picture my shock when she murmurs, “No, I’ve never thought about it from your side.” After taking a couple of minutes to deliberate, she backflips on her earlier worries. “Your dorm or mine? The library cubicles are booked out months in advance.” After closing her eyes, she says a not-so-quiet prayer. “Please say your place. Eden still hasn’t gotten over your intrusion into her space last weekend.”
“Ahh… my place isn’t really a dorm, and it isn’t suitable for a study session.” Before the worry in her recently reopened eyes can fully emerge, I add, “But I’m sure we can find somewhere quiet to study.”
I curl my arm around her shoulders to lead the way.
McKayla’s brows furrow further the deeper we merge into campus. I usually direct her away from the stadium on study days, not toward it.
As the roof of the stadium comes into sight, the truth smacks into her. “We’re going to the court?”
“Uh-huh.” I open the door of the stadium and gesture for her to enter first. “It’s quiet, the bleachers can act as desks, and my brain seems to work better here.”
I’m anticipating for her to laugh or at the very least rib me about my jock ways, so you can picture my shock when she twists her lips in a totally fuckable way before dumping her backpack onto the first row of bleachers and heading for the rack that holds the basketballs on non-training days. She’s far too short to consider basketball as a career, but she looks good in the space. Like she’s always belonged here.
“I thought you said your sports days are over?” My ego was burned when she botched her shot last week, but it soared back to raring heights when she muttered half a second later, “Best out of three?”
I told her that it was too late, that she’d blown her shot, but we underwent a handful of rounds anyway. Her second and third shots were even more dismal than her first. It wasn’t from a lack of trying. She simply has no upper body strength and is really fucking short.