Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 70294 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70294 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
I followed him over to his room. He turned on his bedside lamp and rummaged through some papers on his desk, then unearthed a huge stack of TNU Weekly papers.
“Wow.”
“I managed to get the last twenty papers,” he said. “I found every article you wrote and I sat and read through every word.”
“Were you afraid of what I might write about you, so you went and read my old stuff?”
“At first,” he said. “Then I just kind of… lost myself in it. You know you’re a really fucking good writer, don’t you, Gray?”
My heart did something weird when I heard his compliment.
“I’m serviceable.”
He shook his head. “No. You’re incredible. I can promise you that I’m not a big reader, but the moment I started getting into any of your articles, I could not stop reading. You fucking hook me in.”
“I do always try to have a good hook in the articles.”
“I saw that you wrote one about the treasurer of the accounting club. I thought there was no way in hell it would be possible to get me interested in that. But then you started making comparisons of that guy to Yoda from Star Wars, and I kept thinking how the fuck is Gray going to make this analogy work? And then it did.”
I smiled softly. “I did enjoy that one.”
“Nobody told me that you don’t always skewer your article subjects. Sometimes you make them seem wise. Important, too. You’re incredible at it.”
“You sure are buttering me up. You feel bad that I bled?”
“No. Well, I do feel bad that you got hurt. But I… I was so fucking impressed with your writing.”
“Thank you.”
Compliments always felt weird.
Even weirder when they came from a person who usually seemed like he wanted to rip my head off.
But compliments from Andrew hit different.
It was so obvious that he meant them. The man wore his heart on his sleeve, and he usually wasn’t afraid to tell me anything, positive or negative.
I didn’t really know how to handle it.
“You’re a good person,” he said now.
My chest did something weird.
I really didn’t know how to handle that one.
“I’m really not,” I told him.
Andrew shrugged. “I don’t believe that. Never will.”
“I used to steal. A lot. I hurt people who didn’t deserve it. I was a cute kid on the outside, and a fucking ugly one on the inside.”
“And that was because it was forced on you,” Andrew said, his gaze growing serious.
I breathed in slowly.
I moved to sit down on the edge of his mattress.
Of course, I knew it was true. I’d known it for a long time. I was abused, and as a kid, I didn’t know better for a very long time.
But that didn’t change the fact that those experiences would be baked into me for a lifetime.
I’d never be able to forget them.
Never be able to make up for some of the people who had been manipulated by my mother.
My chest felt heavy. I was still very drunk, but also cut up, bruised, and feeling way too vulnerable after sharing things with Andrew.
“No one who knows the real me sticks around for long, Andrew,” I said softly.
The words were so real.
Too real.
But Andrew just looked at me, shrugging one shoulder, as if all of my ugliness could just melt off of him.
“Well, I would. If you weren’t such an egotistical prick.”
A smile tugged at the corner of his lips and after a moment, I couldn’t help but laugh.
Andrew sat down on the mattress right beside me and both of us giggled like idiots for a minute.
He was still smiling when he moved in to kiss me.
Just a soft, chaste kiss this time.
Almost like boyfriends would share, after a laugh.
My heart lurched in my chest. That kiss was different. It wasn’t a hungry kiss that came from fighting or fucking, like most of our others had been.
It was intimate.
And completely fucking sweet.
The room started to spin a little, and I knew better than to blame it entirely on the alcohol or the cuts along my skin.
“I, uh, think I might need to rest a little bit,” I admitted as I pulled away, my lips still slicked from his.
Andrew pulled back, his big, brown eyes so full of understanding.
Full of caring.
“Of course,” he said in an equally sweet voice.
Fuck, that is only making me feel dizzier.
I let myself lie back on his bed, because right now it was the only thing that was going to stop me from feeling way too much.
“Just need to rest my eyes. Just for a minute.”
When I next opened my eyes, though, it was hours and hours later.
CHAPTER 11
ANDREW
I woke to the sound of chanting coming from somewhere lower in the house.
“Chocolate chip pancakes. Chocolate chip pancakes.”
It was a ritual the frat guys had started up only at the beginning of this semester, but so far, it was holding strong.