Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 127201 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 636(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 424(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127201 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 636(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 424(@300wpm)
“Is there something you’d like to share with the group, Miss Bardot?” my professor demands, all eyes falling on me.
Ahh fuck.
“No. I apologize, Professor,” I murmur, resisting the urge to slide down in my seat. “Just something caught in my throat.”
He gives me a blank stare that seems to singe me right where I sit. “Mm-hmm.”
I blow out a breath and make a show of waiting for him to continue as though I’m so overly intrigued with what he has to say. Though, I suppose that’s not fair. I’m more than interested in what he has to say. He’s a great professor and actually gives a shit about the course content and ensuring his students actually understand what he’s teaching. After all, this room is full of future psychologists, and with the work they’re planning on going into, there’s no room for error.
The professor finally takes pity on me and shifts his attention back to his lecture, and as he’s trying to wrap up this portion of his lesson, he gets in a heated debate with a girl about the ideologies of what’s socially acceptable when using mental health as a scapegoat for neglect. I zone out. This isn’t a new debate in this auditorium. Our professor and this one particular student haven’t seen eye to eye all semester, and judging from past debates, this could go on for a while.
Clutching my phone, I drop my gaze again and finally begin to reply to Chloe’s message.
Tilly: Holy fucking shit!!!!!!!!! Tell me you’re lying. Are you for real right now?
Chloe: YES, I’M BEING FOR REAL! WHY WOULD I LIE ABOUT THIS? I’m not sure you’re fully understanding the magnitude of my situation, Tilly. I. FARTED. IN. THIS. MAN’S. GODDAMN. FACE. The hot Italian mob boss guy had his face RIGHT UP IN MY STARFISH, AND I BOOTY BELCHED IN IT! He’s probably still bleaching his eyeballs.
Chloe: What if I legit gave him pink eye?
Chloe: OMG! I’m mortified.
Chloe: WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH ME?
Tilly: You know, some dudes have a fart kink. You could shoot that shit straight into an air-tight bag and sell it on the internet. You’ll make a killing! Then we can both retire early and live it up on the beach with cocktails and shirtless waiters.
I grin to myself, all too proud of my response, when I sense the eyes of someone on me from across the room. My brows furrow, and I shift my gaze, searching the faces until I find the culprit. His dark, penetrative stare is locked on mine, and it somehow reminds me of the older man from Vixen.
His stare is dark and alluring, but it doesn’t hold the same overwhelming intensity as the other guy’s did. He’s attractive. More than attractive. He’s gorgeous with a head of thick hair. It’s dark and scruffy as though he just rolled out of bed this morning and left the house without bothering to look in the mirror.
His brow arches as if to ask, “What’s up?” and in response, I simply shrug a shoulder, not really sure what kind of message that conveys, but he seems to approve.
There’s something cocky there, something playful in his grin, and it more than has my attention. Do I see myself falling madly in love with this guy? Not even close. But can I see him potentially being able to scratch the itch that Mr. Vixen left behind? Maybe.
And for that, he’s more than worth my time. After all, I think it’s time I start to realize that my fantasies with the silver fox aren’t ever going to happen, and if I’m going to get any kind of relief from this desperate pulsing deep in my core, then I need to get railed.
Hard.
The guy indicates between us, gesturing to me first before pointing back at himself. “You and me,” he mouths before making a circle with one hand pointing his other finger through it. “Wanna fuck?”
My gaze sails over him one more time. He looks tall and broad, just like the Vixen guy. Maybe I could even pretend it was him. “You and me?” I mouth back, pointing between us the same way he had.
The guy nods, and the second that cocky grin comes out to play, I’m a goner.
“Right now?” I question, noticing his friend sitting beside him, watching our exchange with a deep scowl that I instantly ignore. That seems like a him problem, and I’m not interested in discovering what the hell that’s about. I’m only in need of one thing right now. Though, I suppose if it’s a jealousy thing, I could take them both. It wouldn’t be the first time. Not even the second, third, or fourth. But I’ve come to learn with college boys, when it turns into a party, the guys are too busy wanting to be the best performer that they forget all about what I need or want.