Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 85267 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85267 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
“You’re such a fucking nerd,” Isaac laments, seating himself in the third chair. “I was sorted into two houses, which makes me a badass.”
“I’m Hufflepuff and Gryffindor—you’re not special. Get over yourself, Isaac.”
Whoa. Where is all this coming from? And who knew jocks could be such dorks?
“What if we carve the golden snitch?” Rodrigo wonders out loud.
“Or a golden snatch,” Isaac jokes with a laugh.
“We are not carvin’ a goddamn Harry-Potter-themed pumpkin—y’all shut the fuck up about it,” Jackson grumbles testily.
Y’all.
Ugh, so cute. I love it when he talks like that.
I nudge Jackson’s knee under the table and shoot him a small smile. He bows his head and returns it with a tiny shake of his head as if silently apologizing for his friends’ behavior.
I don’t mind it; it’s kind of adorable, all these big dudes standing around, arguing about what to put on an overgrown vegetable and being disappointed they can’t carve one, too.
“Isaac, you should run to the grocery store and grab a few more of these. I swear they had ’em when I was there yesterday.” Rodrigo squints his eyes in thought. “Big cardboard boxes full of pumpkins. Get you one.”
“Yeah?” Isaac rubs his goatee in thought.
“Ah hell, I’ll come with you!” Rodrigo is already out of the kitchen and in the living room, opening the front door. “Get your ass in gear, gringo. I don’t want them to get too far ahead of us.”
“Grab five!” McMillan calls out. “Just in case!” He seems to think about it for a few more seconds before pushing off from the counter and heading toward the door. “Wait—I’ll come along, too. I don’t want you buying me no stumpy gourd.”
The guy—who’s really just a giant kid—runs back toward the kitchen and holds his palm out to Jackson. Wiggles his meaty fingers. “Keys to your truck?”
My date grumbles but slaps them in his teammate’s waiting hand, obliging—begrudgingly, but giving in just the same. “Please just get the fuck out of here.”
Call me crazy, but I kind of like this grumpy, broody side of Jackson Jennings. It’s ten kinds of irresistible. I’m not a fool; I know he doesn’t want to be alone with me because he has romantic feelings for me. Nope. He wants to get his meddling friends out of the house.
Albeit only temporarily.
As the three leave, one more enters the room, and it’s déjà vu all over again as we go through the same conversation we just had with the previous roommates: who are you, what’s that on the table, is that a pumpkin, what are you carving, why aren’t there more pumpkins.
“The guys just went to get a few more. If you want one, text McMillan,” Jackson tells him as the guy takes one of the empty chairs. He stares at me, trying to place my face, and I have to admit, he looks familiar to me, too.
“You’re that chick.”
“You’re the guy in the truck.” The one who rides shotgun while Jackson drives up and down the strip. “What’s your name?”
“Tyson, but everyone calls me Killer.”
Is this guy for real?
“No one calls him Killer,” Jackson deadpans, not looking up from his task.
“Tyson,” I repeat. “I’m Charlie.”
“Yeah, I know who you are.” He shoots Jackson a speculative look while picking at the pumpkin topper that’s been discarded on the table.
“So on these drives through campus, are you a creep much, or are you just along for the ride?”
He shrugs a set of broad shoulders. They’re not as wide as my date’s but fit and athletic just the same. The kind of shoulders that never miss a day in the gym. “We’re not creepy—we’re just bored.”
How is it possible that these guys are bored? They’re the people on campus most guys want to be and every girl wants to date. Or screw. They’re probably surrounded by people, fanfare, coaches, and noise twenty-four hours a day. What’s so boring about that?
“Don’t they have drinking parties to cure that melancholy? Is it necessary to blind every unsuspecting female on campus with your bright lights?”
“Bright lights.” He cocks his head with a smirk. “Was that an innuendo?”
I mean…it kind of sounds like one, but, “No, that wasn’t a sexual innuendo. Jeez. I was legitimately talking about headlights.”
He looks disappointed by this.
I set about ignoring him so I can peel open the cardboard packaging the pumpkin carver is sealed in, and when I free it, I hand it to Jackson. He’s busy cutting the top of the pumpkin with a huge knife so we can gut it and remove the seeds.
“You need a cookie sheet.” Tyson rolls his eyes, the authority on Halloween and roasting seeds, apparently. “I’ll get it for you.” The hulk of a man-child rises and yanks open a cabinet next to the stove, and when he does, a few pans fall out, crashing to the linoleum floor with loud clangs. “Dammit! Who put this shit away?”