Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 126850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 634(@200wpm)___ 507(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 634(@200wpm)___ 507(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
AMBER: I’m sure he didn’t mean to do me up the bum. It was an accident.
AMBER: Are you in the library or did you get hit by a bus?
I frowned.
ME: I was about to reply to you and walked into a guy. Literally walked into him.
AMBER: This sounds like you’re at the cinema. I did that once. Smacked someone with those heavy doors.
ME: I wish. Neither of us were watching where we were going and collided. I’m covered in tea and coffee.
AMBER: Oops. Was he hot?
ME: The hottest. He’s replacing my drink now. What do I do???
AMBER: At minimum, get his number. At most, bang him in your car.
I should have known better than to ask such a question to a woman going on a second date with a guy who accidentally did anal with her.
ME: Thanks, very helpful. I’m going now.
AMBER: The washing machine will be done by the time you get home. I assume you’re coming straight home.
ME: Yep, gotta wash my coat. I’ll see you soon.
Before she could contaminate my mind with another ridiculous thing about having sex in my car, I dropped my phone in my bag and left the women’s toilets.
Sometimes, I wondered how the two of us were friends, never mind live together as successfully as we did.
Hot Guy was sitting at a two-seater table, looking at his phone, and he peered up as I slowly approached the table. A smile stretched across his face, and he locked his phone before tucking it into his pocket. “Did you manage to clean your coat?”
“Not really,” I replied, hovering awkwardly. “Got more annoying bits of tissue on it than anything.”
He chuckled. “You did a good job getting it off.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“You really didn’t.” His chuckle deepened into a belly laugh. “I got your coffee.”
“Thank you.” I looked at the two cups in front of us. “It’s in a mug.”
Hot Guy’s tongue flicked out to wet his lower lip when he grinned, almost mischievously. “Is it? I didn’t notice.”
I sat down in the empty chair and raised my eyebrows at him. “Funny how that happens.”
He laughed, leaning back in his seat, and held up his hands. “Hey, you can’t blame a guy for trying, can you?”
I couldn’t help but let my own gentle laugh escape. “I suppose not.”
“William.” He held his hand out across the table. “Or Will. Whichever one you’re comfortable with.”
I put mine in his. “Grace.”
“Ooh,” he said, tilting his head to the side.
“What?”
“I’m just considering how badly my sister will take the piss out of me if I, Will, bring home someone called Grace.” He wrinkled his nose. “She loves that show.”
Realisation dawned as I took my hand back, and I brought it up to cover my mouth as I laughed. “Well, that puts an end to taking me home.”
William laughed, shaking his head. He sipped his tea, looking over at me. There was something almost familiar in the glint in his eye, and his lips parted as if he was going to say something before changing his mind.
“What?” I asked. “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“No, no, you didn’t.” His brow furrowed. “You just look familiar, that’s all. Have we met before?”
“I don’t think so,” I replied.
Heck, I’d remember meeting his fine arse.
“Did we share any classes at university at all?”
“I don’t think so,” I said slowly. “Maybe. I suppose it’s possible. Where did you go?”
“Oxford.”
I couldn’t help it.
The groan that escaped me was almost instinctive at this point.
Anywhere but Oxford.
He stilled. “Oh, no.”
“We most certainly did not encounter one another in a university class.” I picked up my coffee cup and sipped. “How did you enjoy losing last year’s boat race?”
Will looked at me flatly. “I’m so glad we beat Cambridge every time I was on the team.”
“Well, at least I know how old you are now.”
“You do?”
“Yes. Oxford haven’t won in eight years.” I grinned.
He sighed, dipping his chin. “First you walk into me and throw coffee on me, now you’re a Cambridge graduate. Can this day get any worse?”
“I won’t tell you I’m studying for my PhD there then, no?”
“Best not to.” His lips twitched. “What’s your field of study?”
“I’m a history graduate.” I set the cup down gently. “And my PhD area is, theoretically, how the British aristocracy affected the slave trade and their relevance to British society since the United Kingdom abolished it.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Wow. That’s a deep field of study. Any particular reason for it?”
Yes.
I want anecdotes for dinner parties to shut up my stepmother when she goes on her factually incorrect social justice crusades.
“I enjoy connecting obscure corners of history.” I fought back a smile. “And correcting people who are wrong about historical events.”
His shoulders shook with a silent laugh. “A worthy pastime, I find.”
“It certainly doesn’t improve my relationship with my stepmother. She usually finds herself on the receiving end of my corrections,” I admitted. “Although, that’s more her fault than mine.”