Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 124029 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 620(@200wpm)___ 496(@250wpm)___ 413(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124029 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 620(@200wpm)___ 496(@250wpm)___ 413(@300wpm)
“Let’s try this again. Why are you mad at me, Texas? Don’t give me the Reign excuse. I wasn’t born yesterday.”
“People are goin’ to talk, now that you came to the auditorium and called me Texas in front of everyone. Hope you’re happy.”
He shrugged, unfazed. “The amount of fucks I give equals the amount of shit I give. Which is zero, in case you’re wondering. Don’t change the subject.”
“You don’t care if people think you are hookin’ up below your league?” I taunted.
“I don’t care if people think I’m hooking up with livestock. And you’re not below my league. Now, I’m going to ask you this a third and last time—why are you mad? Answer carefully. There won’t be a fourth chance. I’ll flip you upside down and shake the answer out of you.”
“You wouldn’t.” I scoffed.
His eyebrows shot up, a mischievous sneer curling over his lips.
Crap, he totally would. I deflated. “I’m not mad at you. I just want you to stop actin’ like I’m a charity case. I’ve been doin’ fine on my own, and I don’t want the attention you bring to me.”
He scanned me, looking for cracks in my façade.
Finally, he relented, pushing back from the wall. I felt the loss of him everywhere.
“If I stop bringing attention to your ass, are you going to go back to being relatively sane?”
“I am sane.”
“Debatable.”
“Tell me one thing that’s insane about me.”
“You wear hoodies when it’s a hundred and twelve degrees out, you’re nurturing an unhealthy obsession with the nineties, you think you’re unattractive, you br—”
“Okay. Fine, I get it. I said one.”
He tucked a candy stick between his straight teeth, smiling like the Devil.
“I’m a competitive bastard. Once I start, it’s hard to stop. Truce?” He offered me his pinky.
All I could think about was him kissing Melanie roughly as he’d unbuttoned her jeans, my nickname falling from his lips. My own lips stung, but I curled my pinky in his, almost laughing at how large his finger was against mine. It was the second time we’d done that. I liked that we had a thing.
“Ready to bail?” He nudged me.
“Bail where?”
“Austin. I just got a text from Karlie that the truck broke down and we don’t have a shift. My schedule’s wide open.”
I frowned and checked my phone. Sure enough, I had the same text. Still, spending time with West outside work? That would be a big fat no with never-and-ever on top.
“No can do. I have rehearsals back-to-back.”
“I don’t know how to break it to you, but nothing is going to salvage this play. It’s the worst thing to happen to Texas since the Jonas Brothers.” West made an adorable face, a cross between genuinely sorry and sarcastic.
“Don’t you dare hate on the Jonas Brothers. They’re a national treasure.” I wagged my finger at him, a giggle bubbling from my throat.
“That’s a plot twist.” He snatched my finger, tugging me toward him. “I pegged you for a My Bloody Valentine type of girl.”
“I do know bands that were formed after the nineties,” I protested.
“Prove it. But before that, let’s hit the road.”
With everything going on, it would be nice to unwind and take the day off. Besides, I’d already decided I wasn’t going to fall in love with West St. Claire, and I’d been massively successful in not remotely liking guys before him.
What was the harm in one short trip to the city?
“You’re twistin’ my arm here.” I sighed.
“I’ve been known for helping women discover their flexibility.”
I scrunched my nose and shoved him away, savoring the hardness of his chest against my palm.
“Gross. I’ll bring my backpack.”
“Nuh-uh. I don’t trust you to come back, and Cruz Finlay is one distraction away from a stroke. I’ll fetch it.”
He marched into the auditorium, returning with my backpack. He hoisted it over his shoulder as he flipped his keyring around his finger. I bounced on the balls of my feet, catching his long stride.
“Skipping. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you are the h-word.” He grinned.
“High?” I asked, still skipping to my displeasure.
Just stop. You’re embarrassing yourself.
He laughed, slanting his gaze sideways, watching me. “No, doofus. Happy.”
“I ain’t happy.”
“The shit-eating grin on your face begs to differ.” He flicked my chin.
“You’re rude.”
“You’re glowing.”
I threw my hair over my shoulder, feeling unexpectedly pretty. My heart swelled, like it was soaked in water, and my whole body tingled.
“Fuuuuuck,” he drawled. “The sheer joy. Who even are you? Have I been catfished?” He stopped, picking me up from the floor and turning me sideways. He frowned, pretending to read something on my back. Instructions or a manual. He whistled. I kicked the air until he let me down, my giggles rolling out of my mouth uncontrollably.
We were doing a lot of touching—more touching than I’d done in the last four years, in fact—and the butterflies in my stomach were swirling and cartwheeling nonstop.