Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 98023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
When I was ten and a half, Cassie gave me my first young adult romance to get me addicted. For the past few years, I’ve been preoccupied with other things, but once upon a time, Cassie and I had quite the interesting dealer/junkie relationship with romance novels.
Truth be told, she’s a woman full of interesting secrets.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, startling me slightly, so I lean back into my seat and pull it out as surreptitiously as possible. I already had one text exchange with Ginger when I first got here with my mom, asking if I could help her work out some kinks on her project in the lab tonight, and put simply, I’m not normally this popular of a person.
Blake Boden: I’ve been thinking about last night all morning. What about you?
An uncharacteristic blush steals across my cheeks as I remember how it felt to finish with his fingers inside me. It was jarring. Imprinting. Impactful. It was unlike anything I’ve ever had with another person before, and yet somehow, the two of us went back to conversing and having dinner together without prejudice or discomfort. Somehow, even knowing what we’d just done, I was at ease.
“Who is it?” Julia asks, obviously noticing how weird I’m acting.
“Just Connor,” I lie, knowing the familiar name will at least buy me one or two casual dismissals before I’ll have to explain further.
She nods. “Oh, okay.”
I type out a quick message I’m hoping will keep him occupied long enough to delay needing to answer again until after this lunch is done.
Me: Yes, of course. It’s hard not to. I’m curious what you’ve got in mind to happen next, but don’t tell me now. I want you to really think about it.
I tuck my phone away, only for it to buzz again immediately.
Blake Boden: Oh, I’ve thought about it already. In great detail. Where do you think the thoughts about last night led this morning?
Obviously, I’m far too unpracticed with social games to be playing them. Desperate now that my mom, Georgia, Evie, and Julia are all engaged and paying attention to one another, I resort back to blunt truth.
Me: That all sounds nice, but I need to not talk to you right now. I’m at lunch with people, and I don’t have the experience I’d need to hear about your plans and keep a poker face.
Blake Boden: Okay, no worries. Keeping it a surprise is better anyway.
His message urges a smile to my lips that I can’t control. It takes me a good five seconds to swipe the damn thing off my face.
Me: I’ll be in the lab later if you want to come find me.
Blake Boden: I wouldn’t miss the chance. Later, Lex.
Me: Bye, Blake.
Satisfied that I’ve curbed the explosion for now, I set my phone on the table facedown and work myself back into engaging in the lunchtime conversation.
I’m an outsider, as usual, but for the first time in a long time, I lean into the feeling of being present anyway.
Something inside me is shifting—but the jury’s still out on whether it’s for the good.
Blake
Freshly showered, with damp curls clinging to my ears in the warm summer evening air, I stroll through the pedestrian court, a bag of food swinging from my finger and a ridiculous spring in my step.
After being officially invited to join Lexi tonight in the lab, I can’t help but relish the difference just a week of a little push and pull has made. When Lexi tugs, I come running, but when it starts to feel like she’s pulling away, I extend my rope a little and give her space.
It’s a delicate game, and I know it seems childish to make it this complicated, but Lexi Winslow isn’t the kind of woman you chase without a plan. Just like in football, the right plays at the right times can make all the difference, and trick plays and strategizing are there for a reason.
“Yo, Boden!” a voice yells from the other side of the court, and I squint to see who it is as they jog across the space. Dark hair, fresh sweats, and a big-ass gold chain around his neck give him away, so I smile as my incoming freshman teammate Ron Zimmerman, who’ll be playing wide receiver, makes his quick approach.
“Hey, Ron. What’s up, man?”
We exchange a quick slap of our hands with a twist and snap, and he adjusts his flat-billed hat off and back onto his head. “Not much. Just heading over to that Thai place by Frat Row to get some chow. You wanna come? Some of the other guys are meeting me there.”
“No, thanks.” I hold up the bag of food as evidence of my conflict of interest and explain, “I’m already running late to meet a friend for dinner at their place.”