Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 105306 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 527(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105306 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 527(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
The words ‘good girl’ are out of my mouth before I consider how she’ll react to them.
“So your agent thinks being seen with a good girl will be good for you.”
“No. It would be good for my reputation. Big difference.”
Ryann stares me down, and I notice the color of her eyes.
Green.
She takes an apple from a bowl and bites into it, chewing. “I disagree.”
“Disagree with what?”
Her shoulders move up and down, but she doesn’t explain herself, only takes another bite of the apple.
Swallows.
Her lips are covered in juice.
I try not to notice.
“Why are you staring at me like that?” Her eyes are narrowed as we regard one another across her small counter.
Spell broken, she’s pissed at me again for staring at her, though can I help it if I’m staring at the juice dripping down her chin?
Wipe that shit up.
“I was staring because I can hear you chewing.” Not exactly a lie, but I can’t tell her that her lips are too plump and juicy for me not to be staring.
Ryann covers her mouth with the palm of her hand, embarrassed. “Can you? I’m sorry, the apple is crunchy.”
Clearing my throat, I pull out one of the two bar stools at the counter and sit myself down, knees hitting the underside of the counter because I’m too tall for the height of them—a common problem.
“Stop worrying about it.” I frown. “Let’s get back to business.”
Ryann stops chewing, hip leaning against her kitchen counter. “All right. Shoot your shot.”
Shoot my shot? Who is this chick?
Doesn’t she know I’ve never had to try to shoot my shot at anything, that things just…come to me? Football not included, although that does come pretty naturally to me. I’m talking about girls, obviously.
Dudes, too, if I’m being honest.
“You’re not willing to help me out? What if it’s only for a few weeks?”
“Well, obviously it’s only for a few weeks,” she scoffs. “I’m not going to waste my time pretending with you and blow an entire semester fake dating when I could be dating someone else for real.”
She’s got a good point, but it still blows my mind that she’s so against it.
Ryann Winters clearly has no social-climbing ambitions.
Dating me—even as a farce—could catapult her to the top of the campus food chain, right alongside yours truly. In fact, it could make her a social media sensation if she played her cards right. I’ve seen the girlfriends of athletes get modeling contracts and endorsements, seen them blow up on Instagram simply by dating a player.
Ryann doesn’t give a shit.
She bites into her apple again with a loud chomp.
“No one is asking you to ‘blow an entire semester’ fake dating me.”
This whole conversation is making me regret asking her; she’s taken my ego down so many notches I’ll have to take a stroll through the student union later to hike it back up again. Damn.
“I just wanted to be clear. You seem like the type of guy who takes advantage of a situation.”
“Me? Why would you say that?”
“Um, the fact that you’re sitting in my apartment after I asked you to stop following me is a clear indication that you take advantage of situations so they’re in your favor. You could just keep showing up at my job like a normal person or sitting on top of me in a class full of empty desks.”
I clamp my mouth shut for a moment. Then, “Was that sarcasm?”
“Wasn’t sure you picked up on that.” She continues chomping on the apple.
“Thanks, I’m not a complete idiot.”
She’s giving me I’m not so sure about that vibes, but at least she doesn’t say the words out loud. I’d be insulted otherwise.
Butthurt, if you will.
“Can I ask you something?” Ryann asks.
“Yup.”
“Not to sound like a brat, but…what would I be getting out of this? Why should I help you?”
Er.
Good question—wish I had an answer.
“Nothing, I guess.”
For a second, Ryann says nothing, only looks at me from across the small kitchen. Then…
She busts out laughing.
Laughs until she’s hunched over, giggle fits, the whole thing. The kind of laugh where she kind of sounds like she’s wheezing.
I wonder what she could possibly find so damn funny.
“I’m sorry.” She inhales, waving a hand in my direction. “That just struck me as so…” Laugh. “Damn…” Laugh. “Funny.”
“Which part?”
“The part where you admit I get nothing out of it.” She’s still waving her hand around, the other clutching the apple like a baseball, wiping a tear from her eye. “I mean, at least you’re honest.”
“It’s one of my virtues.”
“Is it?” She can barely say it without wheezing.
“Sure.”
It takes Ryann a few minutes to come back down to earth, the giggle fits subsiding, the tears of laughter fading.
“I already said I can’t pay you—my agent said it violates like, so many rules.”
“Plus, I’m not an escort, so…”
“I don’t know how I’d make it worth your time,” I admit. “I mean, besides the fact that you’d be hanging out with me? And everyone wants to hang out with me.”