Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 95950 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 480(@200wpm)___ 384(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95950 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 480(@200wpm)___ 384(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
The attraction simmering beneath the surface intensifies, and it becomes necessary to fight my own instincts and hold myself back.
“There’s nothing to thank me for. Isn’t that the way it should be?”
“Not here.”
“It’s the way it can be between us.”
When he gifts me with a slow smile, my heart lurches painfully.
Broody Austin is a sight to behold, but a smiling Austin?
That’s enough to knock any woman on her ass.
“I bet the girls at your old school were devastated to see you go.” As soon as the words slip free, my eyes widen, and I slap a hand over my mouth.
Horror floods through me, suffusing every cell.
Did I seriously just say that?
Out loud?
I want the plush seat to open up and swallow me whole before the situation can jackhammer to an all-new low.
His fingers curl around mine as the smile turns into a full-on grin. His voice dips, becoming husky. “Are you trying to tell me something?”
How is it possible for even more heat to burn my cheeks? Any moment I’ll burst into flames. I think we can all agree that would be for the best.
“Absolutely not,” I squeak, wishing there were a way out of this mess without humiliating myself any further.
He cocks his head. “I think you are.”
A mortified groan gurgles up from my lips.
“Why are you so embarrassed?”
I roll my eyes and attempt to fight my way through the horror of this moment. “Because I didn’t mean to blurt that out.”
He shifts, moving closer. A serious light shines in his eyes, making them glow in the moonlight that slants in through the windows. “I like that you find me attractive.”
“I’m sure that most girls do,” I grumble.
How could they not?
He shrugs, acknowledging the truth of my words.
There’s no way Austin doesn’t understand his effect on the opposite sex. He might be a Hawthorne, but the girls here still eat him up with hungry eyes. I’ve overheard enough whispered comments about his finer attributes.
And trust me, there are many.
“I don’t care what anyone else thinks.” The intensity of his stare pins mine in place until it becomes necessary to fight for breath. “I only care about what’s going on inside your head.”
It’s like a trapdoor springs open and the floor drops out from beneath me. Suddenly, I’m in free fall. I have no idea what to do with what he’s telling me. As much as I want to keep drowning in his deep, soulful depths, I rip my gaze away and stare at our clasped fingers. His hand is so much larger than mine. It swallows it up.
That’s exactly the way it feels.
Like he’s swallowing me up.
“Would it make it better if I tell you something embarrassing?”
I glance up and raise my brows in silent inquiry.
It’s doubtful anything he could say will rise to the level of what I’ve just blurted.
When he remains silent, my attention sharpens. I can almost see him internally debating with himself. Whatever he’s wrestling with, it obviously goes much deeper than what I’ve just admitted.
Even though curiosity eats away at me, I murmur, “It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me anything.”
He releases a gradual breath as his voice deepens. “It’s just not something I talk about with many people. My family knows, but that’s about it.”
Concern prickles along my skin before erupting into gooseflesh. “Are you sick?”
My chest constricts at the idea that something serious could be going on with Austin. I honestly don’t know how much more pain one family can withstand.
He shakes his head. “No, it’s nothing like that. Maybe I’m making too big a deal of it.” There’s a pause. “I’m dyslexic.”
Relief escapes from me in a rush of breath.
Thank god that’s all it is.
For a moment, I was thinking the worst.
Now that he’s revealed his secret, more pieces of the puzzle fall neatly into place. We have two classes together, English Lit and Pre-calculus. I’ve noticed that he struggles in our literature class. In the beginning of the year, when Ms. Pettijohn would call on him to read a passage out loud, a stubborn look would enter his eyes and he’d fold his brawny arms across his chest, refusing to do it. I’ve also caught glimpses of the homework he turns in. The handwriting is messy and there are always a slew of misspelled words littering the page.
Part of me wondered if he just didn’t care about academics.
Obviously, that’s not the case, and I feel bad for assuming the worst.
“You don’t have anything to be ashamed of.” The mortification I’d felt earlier drains away. It was stupid and fleeting. It doesn’t mean anything when compared to what Austin struggles with.
I don’t understand why he’s entrusting me with something so private, but I’m grateful. It only strengthens the tentative bond forming between us.
His lips tug down at the corners as a flinty look enters his eyes. “Don’t I?”