Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 125852 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 629(@200wpm)___ 503(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125852 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 629(@200wpm)___ 503(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
Brady grins, pushing off his shoulder and walking closer with his arms behind his back. “It’s eight in the morning, baby girl.”
“Like I said: the witching hour.” My lips poke out in a pout, shoulders drooped and all. “The sun isn’t even fully in the sky yet.”
“If you took those giant saucers you call sunglasses off, you’d see the sun is nice and high, but either way, you know I got you.” He brings his hands forward, revealing what he was hiding.
I freeze on the spot, eyes glued to the familiar to-go cup. “Is that an iced Caramel Cookie Crumble with extra cookie and extra crumble?”
“You mean is this a whole-ass sugar bomb for the sugar queen? Yes. Yes, it is.”
I squeal, erasing the distance between us, and take the large drink into my hands, inhaling the addictive scent of toasted chocolate chip. My eyes close, and I go in for a decent-sized suck through the straw, so I won’t get brain freeze. “I fucking love you, Brady Lancaster.” He merely laughs and I can’t be bothered to open my eyes, just sigh, leaning forward and letting my forearms rest against Brady’s chest with a smile. “Such a good boy, you are. Let’s make Ari jealous.” I pull my phone out, putting my straw to my lips, and Brady lifts his drink into the frame too, pressing his chin to my cheek with a smirk.
I snap the photo and send it to my best friend.
Me: Proof. He loves me more.
“Wait!” Brady tries to snag the phone, but I dodge his grabby hands and spin around, straw stuck between my lips.
“Girl.” He points a finger at me. “If you just cost me that plate of spicy spaghetti she promised to bring me tomorrow night, you’re getting an ass whoopin’.”
“You mean the way I’m about to whoop your ass in Communications.”
“Oh no. I’m talking a full-on, over-the-knee ass whoopin’, Cammie Baby.” He steps in close. “No one messes with my food.”
I hum, cocking my head to the side, straw stuck between my teeth. “Is that what you tell the girls at night, Big Daddy?”
“Wouldn’t tell you if it was, Little Mama.”
“Original,” I tease.
“I was trying to be matchy-matchy.”
A laugh spurts from me, and Brady’s chuckle follows.
He shuffles back only to lock his arm around my neck so he can tug me along at his pace. “Come on. I think the sugar is kicking in, so we should hustle our asses to the library before the good spot is gone.”
“Good spot,” I deadpan. “At the library? Aren’t all the tables in the same area?”
“You’d know if you ever spent any time in there.”
“Hey, number ninety-eight,” a group of girls calls out, giggling and waving at Brady.
“Ladies,” he damn near croons, glancing back at me with a laugh he swallows for their benefit.
I, unfortunately, accidently let mine slip but continue with our conversation. “Why would I do a thing like that when I have a perfectly good dorm room?”
“Uh-huh, and how much studying did you get done last night?”
“None. I watched a whole season of The Last Kingdom.”
Brady throws his head back with a laugh and mine follows. “Thanks for making my point, even if I have no idea what that is.”
“Vikings. Big ones. Hot ones.” I side-eye him, peeking up at his dirty-blond hair. “Actually, you would make a good Viking.”
“That right?” His lips quirk, and he nods at someone who walks by, guiding me along the walking path.
“Oh yeah, I can see it now. You would be right at home—eat meat with your hands, never have to wear a shirt, and fuck whoever you wanted.”
Brady’s head snaps my way, and he gives me a teasing glare. “First of all, I don’t eat meat with my hands.”
I raise a brow. “Three weeks ago. Santa Monica Pier.”
“It was a food truck festival, and they had turkey legs!”
“That you…” I lead.
He grins, tickling my side, and I duck out of his hold, pointing my drink at him.
“See? Right at home.” I laugh.
“You’re a brat, Cameron Cox.”
“And you still love me.”
He scoffs, but it’s playful, and this time when he hooks his arm over my shoulders, he curls it, using his other to make a mess out of my hair.
“Shithead!” I shove, but his big-ass body goes nowhere and then we’re both laughing, but as I face forward, I instantly pout, realizing we reached the steps of the dreaded library. “Curse you for dragging me here…but bless you for feeding me sugar first.”
“You didn’t really think I’d expect you to make it through the walk here, let alone the rest of the morning, without a pick-me-up did you?”
“I would very much like you to pick me up right now, thank you.”
Brady shakes his head and starts up the steps. “Come on, girl.” He chuckles.
I follow like a sad puppy and blindly drop into the chair that Brady pulls out for me, glancing around as he lowers into the seat at my side.