Total pages in book: 168
Estimated words: 164910 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 825(@200wpm)___ 660(@250wpm)___ 550(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 164910 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 825(@200wpm)___ 660(@250wpm)___ 550(@300wpm)
I hover over the signature line.
Buses…
And hotel rooms.
They’re going to be staying overnight in a hotel. For the first time all day, my heart starts racing. Glancing at my watch, I see my pulse rate rise from seventy-eight to ninety-one.
I clench the pen. “He’s already agreed?”
I hear her hum. “No one says no to me,” she jokes.
Whipping my hand across the paper, I swipe my signature.
But I don’t give it back right away, standing up straight and capping the pen again. “I don’t need to remind you,” I tell her, my eyes lowered, “of the clause in your contract regarding fraternization with faculty, do I?”
Finally, I lift my gaze and watch her smile fall and her nervous eyes search the rest of the table. Her cheeks flush. “No, sir.” She squares her shoulders. “My relationships here are appropriate.”
I hand her the signed form and watch her quickly exit the room.
Milo leans in. “It’s in our interest if her relationship with him isn’t appropriate.”
Yeah, I know. It just came out.
Dallas will only be able to hold off his own nature for so long, and I’m not paying for them to screw in a king room with an ocean view.
Picking up my cap, I fit it back on my head. “Rosenthal’s bachelor party Thursday?”
They nod, confirming, and everyone gets up.
Jerome and Vincent take off, Milo following me for some reason.
Approaching room 244, I see the lights are off again, Dallas organizing a stack of small novels on his desk.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Sophia is at the windows, painting, but I lock eyes with him. The first time I’ve seen him since Friday night.
His wrinkled white shirt outlines the muscles of his broad chest, his tie loose around his neck. Is the hickey I left still there? Above his collarbone?
He doesn’t blink, and I note how his left eye is still bruised.
I hold back the smile of satisfaction. The swelling in my lips has gone down, so he didn’t do nearly as much damage. I’m sure my friends noticed some lingering bruising, but I didn’t give them a chance to pry. Nor would they probably. It’s not unusual for sons, daughters, and wives in St. Carmen to cover up some kind of violence happening at home.
I turn to my stepsister. “Sophia?”
She doesn’t face me, of course, painting in long, steady strokes.
“Sophia?” I ask again, politely.
She continues on with her task, and I step up behind her where she’s perched on the windowsill.
“Anna-Katherine?” I say in a soft voice. “We have to go.”
She turns her eyes on me, smiling. “Beautiful, right?”
She gestures to her work, and I give it a once-over.
“It’s lovely,” Milo tells her, joining me at my side. “Maybe I should have you come to my office and paint.”
Yeah, not happening.
She looks back to her work, her smile falling. “This will take me a long time,” she states firmly.
And it doesn’t escape my notice that she can read him like a billboard, no matter how little she may let on.
It also doesn’t escape me that she’s alone in here with Dallas all the time and doesn’t bat an eyelash.
My phone vibrates, and I slide it out of the pocket of my track pants.
Leaving her to paint for another minute, I step away and answer. “Hello?”
“Hi,” the man’s voice says, and my heart skips a beat.
“It’s Micah Hearst.”
I glance at the others as if they can hear. Dallas sets a book on each desk, glancing at me as he moves slowly.
“I know who it is,” I murmur.
Quickly exiting, I head into the hallway. Jerome must’ve passed on my number. I did feel a little guilty about running out on him the other night, but it was quickly forgotten.
“Look, I’m going to be straight with you,” he tells me, “since I don’t have time to waste.”
Turning my head over my shoulder, I watch Milo try to engage Sophia, Dallas continuing with his task.
“I don’t know if you’re interested,” Micah continues. “I feel like I’m getting signals one second and not the other, but I’m definitely interested.”
My stomach falls a little, but in a way that feels kind of good. He’s good-looking, rich, and has a lot to lose, same as me.
And he’s honest. No games, no bullshit baggage.
I swallow, a little scared but also wanting more of something of my own.
“I don’t want love,” he says, “and I don’t want to make demands—just take as many long, hot nights as we want for as long as we want them.”
I can’t help the heat rising up my neck to my face. The smile is there before I can contain it.
“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he goes on.
Looking back to the classroom again, I see Dallas standing at his desk, watching me. His glare is stern, and I realize I’m still smiling.