Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 138775 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 694(@200wpm)___ 555(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138775 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 694(@200wpm)___ 555(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
Kyle scoffed. “No. Because I’m not a rich pretty boy.” He reached in the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a bright red apple, which he tossed absentmindedly in the air. “They do throw some excellent parties, though.”
I watched as the apple flew straight up and then back down to his waiting hand. It was easier to focus on its fluid movement rather than his face because it was clear that at least half of his claim that he wasn’t a rich pretty boy was true. He was gorgeous. The tall, dark, and handsome type. The quintessential charming and popular college athlete.
And judging by his attitude, he knew it. It would be hard not to, with the way female students at other tables kept eyeing him.
I stifled a sigh. His apathy toward his schoolwork was definitely a problem.
“When can you start on the paper?” I asked, trying to get things back on track.
“I’ve got a game Friday night.”
Oh, right. Baseball. “When is your season over?”
“It’s already over, for the most part. Just a few exhibition games left. Have you ever been to one?”
“No.”
“Figures.” Kyle finally set the apple on the table next to his phone, but two seconds later, he was tossing it from hand to hand. He had a kind of restless energy that made me think that sitting still during class was a difficult thing for him.
“We need to work on the outline,” I insisted. “How about Thursday afternoon?”
Kyle studied me for a long moment before saying, “All right.” He didn’t consult the calendar on his phone.
“Three o’clock?”
His attention was on the apple he kept throwing and catching. As if it was more important than his grade—and mine.
Frustrated, I stood up, my hand shooting out. The apple grazed my fingertips and ricocheted away from the table. Kyle stretched his long arm out, almost to the point of overbalancing, and caught the apple.
“Maybe you should leave fielding fly balls to me,” he remarked, but he set the apple on the table.
“Fine.” Feeling foolish and a little angry, I sat back down. “Can you meet at three on Thursday or not?”
He frowned at me, as if I was asking some big favor of him. But his grade, and his position on the team was on the line. Shouldn’t he care about that?
“Fine.”
I nodded, feeling relieved. “You’ll need a laptop for this. Can you bring one?”
He tapped his index finger against his phone. “Have you ever seen one of these? It’s a tiny computer that fits in your pocket.”
“You can’t type a paper on a phone.”
He smirked. “I don’t need to type it. I’ll dictate, and you can take a memo.”
An exasperated breath escaped me. “Oh good, let’s resurrect the most sexist parts of the previous century. Good plan.”
“Thank you.” But he looked amused.
“Please take this seriously, Kyle.”
Saying his name seemed to focus his attention. “Why?” He sounded genuinely curious.
“Because it’s your grade. And my grade.”
“What?”
I sighed. “If you fail, I fail.”
From the look on his face, he hadn’t known. “Why the fuck did you agree to that?”
“I have my reasons.” My voice was stiff.
“Damn. It sucks to be you, then, Victoria.”
“Tori,” I corrected, though something deep inside me tightened at the way he said my name. “If you can’t make it on Thursday, text me.” Professor Abrams had given me his contact info, and I assumed he had mine.
“Okay. We done here, Victoria?” He cocked an eyebrow, which seemed to be his go-to expression.
I stared at him, two thoughts rattling around my brain. First, this was never going to work. And secondly… wow. Despite his attitude, he was sure nice to look at. “Yes,” I said with a sigh.
“Excellent.” He picked up the apple again, but instead of throwing it, he clutched it in both hands. He twisted it sharply, and it split into two perfect halves.
I gaped at him. I’d never seen anyone do that—hadn’t known it was possible. This guy must have hella strong hands.
He held a half out to me. “An apple for the teacher.” Sarcasm tinged his voice, but it was still a genuine offer.
“It’s half an apple.” I took it anyway, all but gawking at the way it was cut almost as cleanly as if he’d used a knife.
“Well, you’re just a tutor.” He got to his feet. “That’s like half a teacher. See you around, Victoria.”
He took a huge bite of apple and strode away before I could say anything else. Instead, I stared at his long legs as he walked away. Long, powerful legs—and a surprisingly cute ass. Then my brain kicked in. “Wait, not just around,” I called after him. “Thursday at three!”
He nodded, but didn’t look back as he disappeared, along with—I was pretty sure—my chance to pass my English class and work at the writing center.
Crap.
8
JAYDEN
It was dark outside the living room windows as I sat on the couch, scrolling on my phone and watching the occasional video. All was quiet, and it was well after eleven, but I couldn't go to sleep—not with the light shining from the dining room. Apparently, Tori took her studying as seriously as Lucas did, which was all well and good for their GPAs, but it wasn't so great for the guy who had to sleep on the couch.