Total pages in book: 241
Estimated words: 234779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1174(@200wpm)___ 939(@250wpm)___ 783(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 234779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1174(@200wpm)___ 939(@250wpm)___ 783(@300wpm)
“I’ve been trying all day to find a chance to say thank you. I love it. It was so nice of you to do that.”
Casually ignoring my gratitude, he focuses on the part that interests him. “Trying all day, huh? What stopped you?”
“I couldn’t catch you alone. You have a lot of friends.”
“None of them bite,” he assures me. “Well, Sherlock does sometimes, but not at school and I wouldn’t let him bite you.”
My cheeks start to warm already and we’ve barely started talking. “Well, anyway, it’s a great backpack. You chose well.”
Rather than feign modesty, Hunter nods. “Damn right I did. I read the reviews and everything—found a durable one with strong straps. It shouldn’t be so easy to break this one, no matter how many rocks you lug around.” He tweaks the hanging backpack strap. “Did you start your book yet?”
I sigh heavily, dread washing over me at the mere thought of the book. “I finished it.”
His eyebrows rise. “Already?”
I nod miserably. “I stayed up all night reading.”
“And?”
“It was terrible,” I enthuse. “Nothing went the way it was supposed to. I’m so mad!”
Hunter smirks. “Perfect. Now you won’t try to make me read it.”
“You should still read it, that way you can be mad with me. Right now you don’t understand my anger. You need to experience the story yourself, then you can join me in my suffering.”
“I guarantee I wouldn’t care as much as you do,” he assures me.
Rather than take his word for it, I sling my new backpack off my shoulder and unzip it while I walk. Drawing out my black paperback copy of Hunger Games, I lovingly pass a hand over it, then I offer it to him. “I brought you book one.”
“I never agreed to this,” he reminds me, looking at the book, but not taking it.
“Come on. My best friend doesn’t read and I need someone to talk about it with.”
“Hard pass.” I wrinkle up my nose at him, but before I can further pester him about it, he takes me off guard by asking, “You want to come over?”
I miss a step and nearly trip, but I try to recover as smoothly as possible. “Come over?”
He nods, walking gracefully. “To my house.”
Every thought in my head seems to explode, leaving nothing left but confused thought-shrapnel. I forget how to make sounds. I forget how to do anything but stare at him and blink in a sort of awed confusion.
He wants me to come over to his house?
“I’m gonna take your silence as a yes,” he tells me.
Finally finding my words, I offer, “That’s a dangerous precedent.”
Hunter smirks over at me. “Tell me no, then.”
“Well, I don’t…” I sigh, unsure what to say. I want to say yes, but seeing how weird Mom got over the backpack, I probably shouldn’t. “My mom gets off work in an hour, so I wouldn’t be able to stay long.”
He shrugs. “That’s all right. I’ve got drama homework you can help me with.”
Cocking an eyebrow at him, I ask, “Oh, so you’re just inviting me over to use me for my homework-doing abilities?”
“Obviously,” he says lightly, knocking into me with his shoulder in a teasing gesture. “Why else would I invite you to my house?”
I roll my eyes at him like he’s annoying me, but he’s definitely not. I don’t know why I’m excited to spend time with him or why I’m so preoccupied by him today, but I can’t deny that I am.
When we make it to his place, I see he was definitely underselling the size of his house when he said it was a “little bit” bigger than mine.
Hunter lives in a mansion with a huge back yard. We cut through the woods to get here so I don’t see the view from the road, but four of my house could comfortably fit in his back yard alone.
While I look around in mild awe, Hunter casually fishes his key out of his backpack and leads me up the steps of their back deck. He unlocks a sliding door that opens up right behind their dinner table.
That seems like a good place to do homework, so I stop and start to drop my backpack on top. Hunter keeps going, though, so I follow him instead.
Seeming to remember his manners, he stops before we leave the kitchen and looks back at me. “Want anything to drink?”
I shake my head no.
“You sure?” he asks, walking over and opening the stainless steel refrigerator. “I’m gonna grab water. You want one?”
I shrug. “Okay.”
Hunter grabs two bottles of water out of the fridge, but keeps his slightly narrowed eyes on me. “Are you getting shy on me?”
My cheeks warm and I drop my gaze, embarrassed that he’s calling me out on it. “No.”
“You sure?” he prods, his tone lightly playful. “You’re starting to turn pink.”