Total pages in book: 167
Estimated words: 164557 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 823(@200wpm)___ 658(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 164557 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 823(@200wpm)___ 658(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
“Dude, why are you all jumpy? You keep tapping your foot.”
“I don’t know, maybe some of your ballroom dancing rubbed off on me,” I say sarcastically.
Although I can’t deny Shane killed it last week. He and Diana had entered an amateur dance competition that Coach made the entire team go and watch.
“Your pants were so tight,” Trager says, overhearing us. “Like, I thought your cock was gonna burst out of them.”
“You wish,” Shane says smugly before sauntering toward the exit.
Beckett appears from the steam-filled doorway, a towel wrapped around his waist. “You have lab now?” he says in a low voice. His class with her isn’t until tomorrow morning.
“Yeah.”
“Text me after. Let me know she’s okay.”
Charlotte’s been on his mind too. Charlie, I mean. Charlotte, Charlie. It’s hard to reconcile the two. But I suspect I know which one I’m going to find when I walk into the lab.
I’m right.
Her gaze is shuttered, indifferent, as I settle onto my stool. She’s wearing black leggings and a gray, belted sweater dress, her hair in a bun with two wisps framing her face.
She is so damn cute, and my groin clenches involuntarily at the sight of her.
I remember how tight she was.
I remember the way she moaned when she came.
When we were in the living room, she tried so hard not to vocalize her pleasure. I can still hear Beckett’s raspy voice in my head. Teasing her. Let us hear you, baby girl.
Fuck.
“Morning,” I say through the lump of pure lust clogging my throat.
“Morning.” Her tone is devoid of emotion.
“How was your weekend?”
Charlotte keeps her gaze on her textbook. “Good.”
“Mine was good too,” I say, even though she didn’t ask.
She doesn’t answer. She flips to another page.
I want to talk to her, but Professor Bianchi enters before I can. It’s rare of him to make an appearance in lab—usually Monica monitors our experiments. But we’re starting a new unit of study today, and much to my chagrin, Bianchi doesn’t stop talking for the next two hours. I swear the man has a hard-on for stem cells.
I sit there trying to listen, frustration building inside me. When class finally ends, my lab partner wastes no time gathering her stuff.
“Charlie,” I say.
Her jaw is tight. “Charlotte.”
“Sorry. Charlotte. Can we talk?” I frown at her cold demeanor, the way she continues to avert her gaze.
“I have a meeting with my capstone advisor,” she says, and I pick up my pace as I practically chase her to the door. “It’s all the way across campus.”
“Fine. I’ll walk you.”
She rejects the offer without even turning around. “No. You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to.”
“Well, I don’t want you to,” she says in a strained voice.
I know when to back down, so I don’t push the issue. That one anyway. But I do reach for her hand and stop her from scurrying away from me.
“Can you please just talk to me for three seconds before you go?”
She hesitates. Then dips her head in a nod.
We walk to a quieter area of the hall, where Charlotte fidgets with the strap of her oversize bag.
“I just want to make sure you’re okay,” I say quietly, searching her face. “You deleted the app, so Beckett and I were—”
She glances around at the mention of his name.
I stifle a sigh. “No one’s listening to us, Charlotte.”
Her teeth sink into her bottom lip for a moment before she lets out a hasty breath. “I’m okay. I promise.” Her firm tone and resolute gaze tell me she means it.
“We didn’t make you uncomfortable or…hurt you?” My stomach twists at the notion.
“Not at all.” The hard edges in her expression soften, smooth out. “Shit. I’m so sorry if I made you think that.”
I offer a rueful shrug. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I literally haven’t heard from you since you snuck out of the house yesterday at five in the morning.”
“I’m sorry. But you don’t have to worry.” Her voice drops so low I can barely hear her. “I had a really good time.”
“You sure?”
“Positive. It was…” She bites her lip again. “Fun.”
Her cheeks are bright red. If this weren’t such a tense exchange, I might tease her about it, but she’s still on edge, and I don’t want to scare her off.
“But it can’t happen again, Will. It was a one-time thing. And it needs to remain a one-time thing, so that’s why I deleted the app. I needed to…” She trails off.
“Eliminate temptation,” I supply.
“Yeah, I guess.”
“Because it can’t happen again.” I raise a brow. “For some reason.”
“No,” she says. “For a thousand reasons.”
“Okay, well, give me at least one.”
“Becauseitsnotnormal” is her hissed, unintelligible reply.
“What?”
“It’s not normal.” Jaw clenched, she meets my eyes as if daring me to contradict that.
But I was right there with her this summer. I backed away from Beckett and our sexual escapades because I thought the same thing. That what I was doing was wrong. That it wasn’t “normal.”