Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 99623 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99623 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
As I near the trio, Melanie’s eyes narrow and her lips quirk up into a perfectly evil smile. “Whore,” she coughs into her hand, like a middle school bully.
I’m usually not one for confrontation, but for some reason today, I find myself over it. “What is your problem?” I ask, stopping in front of her.
“You are.” She drags her eyes over me and curls her lip in disgust. “What kind of woman hits on another’s man? It’s pathetic, really.”
“Listen, I didn’t know y’all were together. Furthermore, I’m not interested in Sterling in that way. I’m not your competition, Melanie. He’s all yours.”
The girl I don’t know watches the two of us with wide eyes while Abigail looks concerned, but not shocked.
“Sterling made it official?” the gorgeous redheaded RA asks. “I thought he all but ghosted you.”
Melanie’s entire face darkens with rage. “You bitch!”
Abigail shrugs. “I’m just saying. No reason to invoke girl code when you’re not exactly keeping it yourself. Y’all aren’t together, and Emmy couldn’t have known you were into him.”
“What the fuck? Whose side are you on?” Melanie demands, nearly shouting.
“Girl, it’s not a fight. There shouldn’t be any sides.”
“Whatever.” Melanie shoves her way out of the line, intentionally knocking into me.
“Oh my God!” I shout as the ice-cold coffee seeps into my shirt. “What in the hell?”
“Watch your back, slut.” She struts out of the coffee shop with a venomous smirk playing on her lips.
So much for the tide turning. My luck’s as shitty as ever. I guess now I just have to hope this isn’t an omen of what’s to come in class.
“Are you okay?” Abigail asks as her friend hops out of line to grab napkins. “I’m so sorry about Mel. I don’t know what’s gotten into her!”
“Good dick can drive even the sanest girl crazy,” no-name says, pressing a wad of napkins into my hands.
“True,” Abigail muses. “But I know for a fact they haven’t fucked.”
Listening to their conversation feels weird, especially since they’re semi-talking about me.
Even worse is the spark of hope that flares in my heart at Abigail’s words. I really am pathetic.
“Emmy, did you hear me?”
"Huh?"
"I asked if you're okay."
"Oh. Um. I'm..." Confused. Upset. Sopping wet. "Fine. I'm fine."
"Are you sure?"
I know she's trying to be nice, and to help, but right now, I just need to get out of this shop. "Thanks, but I–I need to go."
I turn and race out of the coffee shop, chunking my uneaten croissant and mostly empty cup into the trash on my way.
My hoodie is soaked through, but my tank top underneath is mostly dry. On any other day, I'd count that as a win, but it's in the low fifties, which is far too chilly for a damp shirt with no sleeves.
A quick glance at my phone tells me I only have eight minutes to get to class, so going home to change isn't an option. So, tank top it is.
I tug off my hoodie and tie it around my waist, with the wet side facing out before turning and rushing to my class. I'm nearly a popsicle by the time I arrive, but I make it with seconds to spare.
"Emmalyn, a word?" Sterling words it as a question, but his tone tells me it's a command.
"What's up?"
He glares at my exposed shoulders as if they personally offend him. "Where are your clothes?"
"Um. I'm wearing them."
"No. You're not. You have on glorified pajamas." He notices the hoodie tied around my waist. "Put your jacket on."
"No can do."
"Why?" he asks through gritted teeth.
"Your girlfriend spilled coffee on me."
"My what? I don't have a girlfriend. What are you talking about?"
"Melanie."
Sterling pinches the bridge of his nose and exhales slowly. "Don't move." He bends down and riffles through the bag at his feet. "Put this on."
"What?"
He shoves the shirt, one of his shirts, into my hands. "Put this on."
"Why?"
"Emmalyn, don't test my patience. Put on the goddamn shirt and take a seat so we can get started. You're holding up the start of class."
Anger, disbelief, and embarrassment burn my cheeks, but I shrug the button-down on all the same.
Immediately, his scent surrounds me, making me want to inhale deeply and hold my breath all at once.
The implications of our little spat don't really hit me until I turn around to find a desk only to find the entire class gaping at me. Well, except for Summer–she's glaring daggers.
I duck my head and rush to an open seat, sliding my laptop from my bag, determined to ignore the whispers. But Summer isn't content to be ignored. "I heard she's sleeping with him for an A, but after they fucked, he told her the best he could do was a C."
My eyes fill with tears, but I don't speak up in my defense. If high school taught me anything, it's that giving them a reaction, any kind of reaction, only makes it worse.