Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 62972 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62972 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
Alex’s face hardens. “Why? Am I interrupting anything between you and Delaney?”
Jesus take the wheel. They are both crazy.
I hold my hands up. “Hang on a minute—”
“Yeah,” Ryker says, interrupting me. He’s put down the reference book and has joined us, his brow pulled low in a scowl as he takes in the back and forth between the two. “We don’t need any trouble here, guys.”
Skye takes Alex by the arm. “Why don’t we head back downstairs?”
Alex pulls his gaze from Maverick and looks down at her, a slight softening in his face. “Sure. Sounds good.” He sends me a resigned expression. “Bye, Delaney.”
They turn to go and Skye gives me an I’m sorry look over her shoulder as they walk away.
“Dude. Not cool or subtle,” Ryker says to Maverick as soon as they are out of earshot. “Did you have to be a dick?”
Maverick’s nose flares. “He was a dick first.”
“Yeah, but you’re a leader,” Ryker tells him. “The team needs you to show everyone else how to act.”
Maverick lets out a long exhale, his hand rubbing at the back of his neck. “Yeah.”
Hang on a minute. Maverick is jealous of Alex? I’m about to remark on it, but he brushes past me, his tall frame stalking off. Part of me wants to call him back, but pride and all.
I look at Ryker and raise my hands up. “What’s going on?”
“If you can’t see what’s right in front of you…” He shrugs. “Later, babe.”
And then he’s walking off but not before turning around for one more comment. “Just do me a favor, okay? Don’t hurt him. He’s been through enough already.”
My heart drops at the thought of hurting Maverick. Of course I wouldn’t.
Delaney
The cafeteria in the student center is loud with the sounds of clanging dishes and students’ voices. I’m not here to eat, just to grab a soda before I head upstairs to my first salsa lesson.
I get to the register, pay for my Coke, and then head for the exit. My eyes can’t help but wander to the far left corner table near the windows where the football players usually sit in a huddle. I come to a stop when blue eyes meet mine. A flash of awareness washes over me as Maverick rakes his gaze up and down.
A small smile tilts up the side of his mouth, and it infuriates me that he seems to know he makes my body do crazy things. He’d acted jealous of Alex in The Dead Zone a few days ago but neither of us has mentioned it since. I guess we’ve decided to let it go.
Miss Brunette—the same one from class—approaches his table and plops down in the seat next to him. Her hands snake around his bicep as she looks up at him adoringly.
I feel the eye roll coming, and instead of stopping myself, I let him see it.
There you go, folks: further proof that football players are magnets for floozies.
I tip my soda at him and he smirks, as if saying, I can’t help it if women love me.
You’re so full of shit, my face says back.
He gives me a full-blown grin before looking over at her with that distant smile, the one I know isn’t authentic. He leans in and says something to her, and she looks crestfallen.
He turns back to me and stands.
He mouths something, and it looks like Wait for me.
I glance around to make sure he means me, and the only person near me is a cafeteria worker in a white jumpsuit. Looking back at him, I point to myself, just to confirm.
He nods and makes his way along the tables, weaving through players and girls and the general maze that is our cafeteria.
My body draws up in anxiety. I’m not ready to deal with Maverick and his intensity, so I do what I do best.
I bolt.
I have somewhere to be anyway.
Flipping around with a flounce of my ponytail, I head for the exit in a full-on speed walk that’s debatably a run. I clear the door and dart for the elevator to head up to the third floor.
As soon as I exit, I approach the door to the dance studio. From inside, I hear the low undertones of a conga drum and maracas, so I know I’m at the right place. On the door hangs a sign that says Welcome to Salsa 101! Can’t dance? We can change that! I hope that isn’t a lie. I’m fascinated with Latin music and food, and learning to salsa is on my bucket list…hence the urge to finally show up when I don’t even have a partner.
I open the door to the studio, which is actually just a room on the third floor of the student center. In my hand is the flyer that lists the class times and requirements along with the twenty dollars to cover the cost of the lessons.