Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 103109 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103109 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
“Did you have any say in who you got to work with?”
She frowns. “Of course.”
“And you chose him?”
She rolls her eyes. “I’m lucky to have the opportunity to work with Dr. Alby. He’s a fantastic mentor.”
“He doesn’t give you a creeper vibe?”
Her eyes flare. “George is a good guy. Don’t be a dick.” She looks at her watch pointedly and gives me a plastic smile. “I don’t have much time, and my boss would kill me if I didn’t give you that tour you want so badly, so we’d better get moving.” She turns and walks toward the exit with the long strides of a woman on a mission. The view from back here isn’t bad at all, but I’m disturbed enough by the bad vibes from Professor Douche that I’m almost too distracted to appreciate it.
I’m quiet while I follow her out of the library. The sidewalks that were crowded with students ten minutes ago have cleared out, and with two long strides, I’ve caught up to her and am walking by her side. “You two are . . . interesting.”
She meets my eyes. “What’s interesting?”
I shrug. “I wouldn’t expect someone in his position to be so territorial around you.” The answer I’m looking for is right there in the way she drops her gaze to her shoes. Shit. “You’re dating him? The hipster academic with the manbun?”
She flinches and looks around as if she’s checking to make sure no one’s overheard “Would you be quiet?”
I lower my voice and try again. “Tell me you’re not dating Professor Douche.”
“I’m not sure dating is the right word.”
I stiffen. “You’re fucking him.” My words come out a low rumble instead of the matter-of-fact statement I was aiming for. She doesn’t look at me, and I know it’s true. “You’re fucking the chair of your dissertation committee. Isn’t that . . .?”
She shoves her hands in the pockets of her coat and increases her pace. “Isn’t it what?” she asks, jaw tight, gaze straight ahead. “It’s not against any official rules, if that’s what you mean.”
Riiiiight. “Then why the secrecy?”
Her shoulders hunch around her ears. “Because it is frowned upon. I’d appreciate it if you kept this between us. People would . . . they’d make assumptions about both of us.”
“Assumptions like he’s taking advantage of you through his position.”
Stopping suddenly, she spins on me, her eyes wide. “No one coerced me into anything. I know what I’m doing.”
“Do you?” My hands curl at my sides, but fuck it. I can’t stand this close to her and keep my hands to myself. I tuck a loose lock of hair behind her ear, skimming my fingers over the soft shell. She closes her eyes but doesn’t pull away. “You don’t look like you’re sure of anything, Shayleigh.”
When she lifts her eyes to mine, her expression is one of resigned sadness. “Whether I am or not isn’t your concern anymore.”
I’m going to change that. “You don’t love him.” Maybe I’m reassuring myself. Maybe I’m reminding her.
“I care about him. We care about each other.” She narrows her eyes. “Stop looking at me like I’m some challenge. You only want me because you can’t have me.”
“That’s not even a little true.” I hum. “Wait, before I forget . . .” I pat my pockets before finding what I’m looking for. “I’m supposed to give you this.” I hand her the business card. “One of my teammates on the Demons has a sister who’s a literary agent. She specializes in young adult lit and romance, so assuming you’re still writing that, you should send her an email. Make sure you include his name in the subject line.”
She stares at the business card. “I know this agent. Callie Weiman reps some big names in YA. Last I checked, she wasn’t open to queries.”
“But she’s willing to consider yours.”
She blinks up at me. “Why do you do this?”
“Do what?”
“Just enough to keep me on the hook. Just enough so I can’t ever really let you go.”
The words are a knife to the gut and a balm all at once. I wonder if she realizes she admitted she still has feelings for me. I don’t want to hurt her. I hate knowing that I have. But if there’s any chance for us, I have to try. “What if I don’t want you to let me go? What if I want you to forget your professor and give me a fucking chance?”
She holds my gaze for so long that I almost expect her to agree, but then she takes a step back, emphasizing that distance between us, and releases a breath. “Come on, Easton. Let me show you around campus.”
Shay
Operation Freeze Him Out died before we even started the tour. Easton is connecting me to a top YA agent. It might not amount to anything—nothing matters if the book isn’t good enough—but just the fact that he did it makes those old gooey feelings come back. I was doing a hell of a job trying to turn cool again when, ten minutes into the tour, his daughter called and I watched his face transform as he talked to her. I’ve never doubted that Easton was a good dad, but seeing the love on his face when he spoke with Abi made it impossible to stay irritated with him.