Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 86833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Tatum strolls past me, a paperback clutched in one hand and a pink duffel bag in the other. “I see that.” She waves her hands around my head, referring to my wayward bun that’s messily scrunched up and sitting lopsided on the side of my skull.
“Hey!” I scold her, giggling as I point to the bed. “This is nothing. You should see it in the morning.” This is true, because my hair game is atrocious in the morning. Not only is it thick and long, but it also has a natural bouncy wave to it too, coming from my mom’s Spanish background. “Relax.” I eye her suspiciously. “Where’re your pajamas?”
She looks at me with a smile, pulling out a pack of Twizzlers. “In my bag.”
I bend over, snatching candy from the pack, and walk toward my closet, taking out my cotton pajama shorts and a light tank. “I’ll take a shower. I came straight home and didn’t get a chance to clean up.”
“Oh,” Tatum clutches her chest in mock awe, “you’re getting pretty for me?”
I scoff, walking toward the en suite bathroom. “Definitely not.”
After scrubbing up in the shower, I brush my teeth quickly, just in case I fall asleep during the movie, and flick Nate’s door unlocked before slipping into my room.
I look down at the mountain of sweets around her legs. “Holy mother of f—”
“What?” she asks innocently. “Did you underestimate my sweet tooth?” I look down at the cheesecake, potato chips, M&M’s, packaged donuts, gummy bears, and soda. “I think I’m about to get diabetes.”
She tosses a handful of M&M’s into her mouth. “Possibly.”
“I’ll go down and get some spoons for that.” I flick my fingers toward the cheesecake. Leaving her unattended with the goods, I fly down the stairs and run into the kitchen, my head bobbing as I hum the tune to “Simple Man” by Lynyrd Skynyrd—it’s still stuck in my head from my sketching. With two spoons clutched in my hand safety, I fly out of the kitchen, but pause at the foot of the stairwell, backing up until I’m in clear vision of the sitting room, where all the boys are sitting around on the large L-shaped sofa.
Nate is leaning back, his hand hiding his mouth, but the smile lines around his eyes show how much he’s trying to hold back a laugh.
“What?” I snap at him, ignoring the rest of the boys. God, he annoys me.
Uncovering his mouth, he shakes his head. “Nothing.”
My eyes narrow. “Yeah, sure.” I look to his left to see Bishop sitting there, his arms sprawled out over the couch. His dark T-shirt hugs him in all the right places, and his dark jeans sit on him casually. He has white Air Force Ones on his feet, and by the time my gaze travels back up his body, landing on his eyes again, his features have changed. Wiped clean of anything else but the resting bitch face he gives like a pro.
“Don’t you guys have a place where you can all meet? Why here?” I tilt my head, looking at all of them.
“Calm down, kitten. I’m on babysitting duty, so we have to come here.” Nate pauses, his grin kicking up. “Unless, of course, you would like to come with us?” I look back to Bishop to see his eyes, which still haven’t moved themselves off me, darken. Ace whips his attention to Nate, scolding him.
“First of all,” I say calmly, “don’t ever call me kitten—ever again. Or I’ll shoot you.” I pause, laughing inwardly at his change of facial expressions. That probably wasn’t very nice, considering everyone already thinks I’m crazy because of my mom. “Second of all,” I add, “I’m not a child. I can take care of myself.” The end is more of a mutter, as I turn on my feet and walk up the stairs. I have just landed at the top, when I glance over my shoulder, feeling eyes on me. Bishop is at the bottom, staring up at me.
I turn to face him. “What?” He hasn’t spoken much to me, except for that day with Brantley. Tatum warned me about his reputation, and if that wasn’t a dead giveaway of how completely standoffish and uptight he is, not to mention unapproachable—have I said that yet? It deserves to be stated a second time—his personality in general would make you want to run. He reminds me of a king cobra. Silent, deadly, and leaving you guessing about what lies beneath his bite.
His blank face remains stoic, his strong jaw tensing, until eventually, I spin around and walk into my room. My heart pounds against my chest until my throat feels bruised and my saliva has run dry. Smashing my head against the back of my door, I watch Tatum scoot off the bed, now in her pajamas.