Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 107803 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 539(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107803 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 539(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
"What would you have majored in," I ask, "if that hadn't happened?"
"I don't know." He lets go of my wrist. I press my palm flat against his chest, faintly feeling his steady heartbeat as he speaks again. "That's not who I am now. I hardly remember that man anymore."
He pushes his chair back, my hand dropping from his chest. I take it as my cue to move away when he starts buttoning his shirt again. I stroll back over to the bookshelf, surveying his collection of textbooks. "Did you like philosophy in college or something? You have a lot of books about it."
He scoffs. "Hated it. Failed it."
"Funny, me, too. Probably wouldn't be if my professor wasn't such an asshole, though."
"Ah, Daniel Santino." Naz laughs to himself. "He's always been a bit of a dick."
I turn to Naz curiously, wondering how much I can question him before he shuts down again. "How do you know him?"
"He knew my—" He pauses for a beat. "My family."
I don't know what answer I expect, but that's not it. "So you're friends?"
That thought creeps me out.
"Hardly," he says. "I only see him in a professional capacity."
"Thank God," I mutter. "I don't know how I'd feel about you being friends with the devil."
"The devil?"
"Santino... I'm pretty sure he's Satan."
"Nonsense," he says. "The man is little more than a pesky cockroach."
"Yeah, well, in that case, I wish someone would squash him."
Naz laughs. "Be careful what you wish for, sweetheart."
He stands up and grabs his tie, laying it around his neck, not bothering to fix it. "You hungry?"
"Uh, yeah, but I really should get going," I say, pulling out my phone to glance at the time. "I can just grab something back at the dorms."
"I'll drive you."
"You don't have to."
"Nonsense."
Nonsense. I think that might be his favorite word. "But—"
"But what?" He cuts me off before I can answer. "You don't want to inconvenience me? Waste my time? Waste my gas? Don't want me to have to go out of my way? You don't want to be a bother?"
"Well... yes."
"What did I tell you that night in your room? I said there was no turning back. So don't start getting cold feet on me now. I'm yours, Karissa, anytime, day or night."
"I'm not getting cold feet."
"But you're thinking and not feeling. You're overthinking."
I can't really argue with that.
Guilty.
"Let me drive you to the dorm," he says. "It's the least I can do."
He drives me back to Manhattan.
Despite my earlier words, he buys me dinner on the way. Nothing fancy, nothing he would even eat, but it's definitely more my speed.
I'm still sipping on a chocolate milkshake when he pulls the car into the parking garage beside my dorm to drop me off. I thank him, leaning over and kissing his cheek. I'm about to get out when he says my name, drawing my attention to him.
"I have a party to go to this weekend," he says. "Come with me."
My eyes widen. "A party? Like, with people and dancing?"
"It's more of a dinner party, but yes, there may be some dancing."
"A dinner party," I echo. "Like with… dinner?"
I have no idea what a dinner party is really like, but I watch TV. I watch Real Housewives of wherever the fuck they are these days. I've seen what they call dinner parties.
"Yes, with dinner," he says with a laugh. "They're not usually my thing, but it's business, and I'd rather not go alone, if I have someone to go with me."
"Uh… I don't really have anything to wear to a dinner party."
"Don't worry about that. I'll have something dropped off. You're, what, a size two?"
I bark with laughter, still sipping my milkshake. "Maybe one of my ass cheeks."
He smirks. "Just say you'll go with me and I'll handle the rest."
I consider it for a moment, wanting to say no because of my nerves, but I can't get the word to come out. How can I deny him when he's been so great to me? "Yeah, okay, sure."
"Great," he says. "I'll be in touch."
I get another C- on my paper on happiness. It's all marked up, more red marring the pristine white paper than black ink from my words. Santino has critiqued every line to the point that I can practically hear his ridiculing voice when I read his comments. On the very top, in all capitals, underlined half a dozen times, is the word PRETENTIOUS.
Pretentious. Me.
The man with a flashy pointer and a stick up his ass called me pretentious. I'm stunned. I'm pissed. I'm upset on the trek home from class, so furious that Melody doesn't even try to speak to me as she clutches her paper on Disney World.
She got a B+.
I caught a peek at it when he handed them back, seeing very little red scribbled on hers, so little, in fact, that it made what was written up top stand out even more.
REFRESHING.
I quote Walt Disney in class and am mocked. She writes an entire paper on the subject and he calls it refreshing.
As if I couldn't be any more dismayed.
I stride right into the building, swiping my student ID for entrance. Melody's right behind me, treading lightly. We walk to the elevator and cram inside when my phone starts to ring. I consider not even looking at it, in no mood to talk to my mother, but I pull it out to silence it. I just happen to catch sight of the screen right before I hit the button and stall, seeing Naz's name.
"Hello?" I answer hesitantly.
"Are you busy?"
"No."
"Good, because there's a car waiting downstairs to take you to Fifth Avenue."
"Right now?"
"Yes, right now," he says. "You need a dress, don't you?"
"Uh, yeah."
"And take your roommate," he says. "I seem to remember owing her a dress, too."
I don't know what to say, but it doesn't matter, because he doesn't wait for me to respond, anyway. I lean against the side of the elevator, waiting, as we seem to stop on every floor on the way up. By the time we reach thirteen, Melody and I are the only ones left. It dings and Melody starts to step out, but I grab ahold of her and pull her back in, pressing the lobby button.