Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 46198 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46198 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
I run across the grass next to Zoe and Riley, the two girls I have bonded with most in my pledge class. They laugh and point at guys across the lawn from us. We must take a selfie with a hot guy for our final task. Bonus points if he’s popular or plays a sport.
Buildings surround us on four sides, boasting a massive water fountain at the courtyard’s center. The Quad is a popular hangout for a lot of students. The building to my right has a large placard that reads Penn Hall, and to my left, Jefferson Hall, respectively, the junior and senior dormitories.
I live in Penn Hall. But I have spent little time there since I accepted my bid. Between school and sorority duties, I hardly sleep. I eat between breaks or on my way to class. The last month has been a nonstop rollercoaster of coordinated events.
Jordan waits with our sorority sisters by Jefferson Hall, their eyes burning a hole through us from across the lawn. The Quad is bustling at this hour, packed with at least a hundred students hurrying along the walkways to their next class. Others are lounging on the grass while some shirtless guys are playing football. Organizations set up booths on one side of the lawn, where students hand out flyers.
Running alongside fourteen other girls, I focus on the task. And I find my target. I lock eyes with a tall, gorgeous man with muscles for days. He smiles at me, and I take that as my cue.
I stop in front of him, my lips inches from his. “I need a favor.”
His beautiful blue eyes travel over the length of my body. “What’s in it for me, Red?”
“Red?” I clench my teeth. “Don’t call me that.”
He twists a lock of my hair between his fingers. “Beautiful. How about that?”
The most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen thinks I’m beautiful. Okay, maybe I hate him a little less than I did a few seconds ago. But I’m not cool with anyone calling me Red.
His blond hair is so light it looks bleached. But it’s natural, his eyelashes and eyebrows are the same color. A dimple on his right cheek creases his sun-kissed skin. He’s beautiful, even though I know that’s not the right word to describe a man. Handsome doesn’t even cover it.
Tiny bumps run down my arms and legs, a strange effect I wasn’t expecting. Heat courses over my body in waves. He stares at me with so much intensity my cheeks flush. My nipples are like hardened peaks poking right at him and saying hello.
My body wants him.
Craves him, even.
He notices his effect on me because popular guys like him never skip a beat. He looks like a player who goes through women faster than he changes his socks. He carries himself like he owns the world. By the looks of him, he’s probably rich. Even in sporty clothes, he appears polished and stinks of entitlement and privilege.
Now aware of my body and how it reacts to him, I need an escape.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.” His voice is so smooth and sexy that it sends a shiver down my arms. He extends his hand for me to shake. “I’m Trent.”
His fingers close around mine, making my hand seem tiny in comparison. He’s well over six feet tall, broad-shouldered, and perfectly toned. In a pair of mesh shorts that hang low from his narrow waist and a fitted tee, which shows off his thick biceps, Trent is a walking wet dream.
He gives me a curious look. “And you are?” Trent releases his grip on my hand. “Have we met before? You don’t look familiar… and I know almost everyone on campus.”
He has the body of an athlete. My ex played football in high school, but even in his prime, he never looked like Trent, whose legs are solid muscle, sculpted to perfection. I’m staring too hard, to the point Trent notices and smiles. More like smirks. Because isn’t that what guys who look like him do? They’re all wicked smirks and killer looks.
“No, I’m new. Just transferred.” I hold out my hand for him to shake, this time less nervous than before. “I’m Jemma.”
Trent smiles so wide it reaches his eyes. His fingers brush against mine, creating a shock of electricity that skates along my skin. I bet every girl with a pulse has this reaction to him. Even my stupid body is a traitor, and I’m not the type to lose my shit over a guy I just met. But I want to know more about Trent.
“You have the same name as the mom from Sons of Anarchy,” he says, which I have heard dozens of times.
“Yeah, except my name starts with a J instead of a G.”
“Jemma with a J,” he says. “I won’t forget it.”