Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 104050 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104050 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
I hurl a crop top at her, which she dodges. “Don’t you have a field hockey game?”
She makes a face. “It’s not until four. Besides, watching you stress-shop your own closet is, like, more entertaining than TV. What’s the occasion, Simone?”
“I have to go meet with Liam Thomas. The professor.”
“Office hours on a Saturday?” She slides onto her bed and fluffs a pillow behind her back, eyes bright. “Do I need to call HR?”
I toss a black skirt on the bed, then shake my head. “It’s not like that, Andie. He said I could get extra help on my paper if I wanted. I want.”
She raises her eyebrows. “Do you want, or do you want want?”
I glare, but it’s mostly for show. “It’s not a sex thing, it’s a GPA thing. Can you focus please?”
Andie sets down the cereal. “I’m focusing. You just stress me out when you do this. You act all chill and then two hours before, you’re hyperventilating in the stairwell.”
“I’m not hyperventilating,” I say, already out of breath from squatting to find my tights. “I just don’t want to bomb out and get sent back to West Texas because of a literature essay.”
“Yeah, but isn’t Professor Thomas, like, obsessed with you?”
I feel my face go pink. “No, Andie. He’s obsessed with Herman Melville. And maybe with failing me.”
She shrugs. “Every girl in the class says he’s a dom. Like, the way he stands at the podium? It’s a vibe.”
I roll my eyes and drop a stack of bralettes on my bed. “That’s just a rumor.”
“So is the thing about him knocking up some co-ed last year,” she says, picking at her cuticles, “but the rumor persists.”
I groan. “Andie. Please.”
She spreads her hands. “I’m just saying, if you come home pregnant, I’m not helping you pay for raising a child. Not unless it’s a girl, and not unless she’s as cute as a ladybug.”
I snort, because she’s incorrigible. “If I get pregnant from a writing tutorial, I’ll personally eat all of your secret Lucky Charms stash.”
Andie laughs, and for a second, it’s not so heavy. She flops back on the bed and sighs. “You know, you could just wear normal clothes maybe? Like, jeans? A t-shirt? And not, you know, whatever outfit you’re constructing right now.”
But I’m already holding up two options: the miniskirt that’s short, but not too short, with a baby blue sweater, or a red plaid skirt with a tight white tee. Both hint at “sexy,” but I don’t care. I’m playing for keeps.
Andie gestures lazily to the blue set. “That one. It’s wholesome. Like you’re trying, but not trying to get arrested.”
“Fine.” I grab a bra—white, lacy, and most importantly, clean—and wriggle it on under the sweater. My nipples pop through the thin fabric, and for a second, I wonder if it’s too much. But then I remember who I’m seeing, and how he looked at me in class, and the thought turns the nerves in my stomach into something molten and fiery.
I shuck off my sweatpants and pull the skirt up over my hips. It’s short but still decent, and shows off my long legs. I check the mirror and suck in my tummy, then smooth my hair into a ponytail so high it’s almost satirical.
Andie makes a low whistle. “If you don’t get an A, I’ll eat a field hockey stick.”
I smile, finally. “Thanks, babe. If I’m not back by six, call the police.”
She grins. “You want a condom, or you want plausible deniability?”
“Surprise me,” I say, and stuff my phone and keys into my purse. The clock reads 1:34. I have twenty minutes to spare. My heart is pounding, my legs are shaking, but all I want is to walk into Thomas’s house and see if the rumors are true.
I spray perfume on my wrists—one, two, three, just in case—and take a deep breath.
Andie watches from her bed, her expression suddenly serious. “Hey. Be careful, okay?”
I give her a half-smile and a wave. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
Andie pauses for a moment, weighing her answer, and tries again. “Well, like I said, you heard those stories, right? About Professor Thomas knocking up some girl? There might even have been more than one girl.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re the one who keeps telling me, Andie.”
She shrugs, suddenly unsure. “Yeah, but what if it’s, like, true? What if it’s not just rumors?”
I slip my hands up under my skirt, adjusting the waistband of my thong, and watch her watching me. “What’s the worst that happens? He gives me an F? I already have an F.”
“You could get hurt,” my friend says, and her voice is so honest it almost breaks my surface tension. “Not everyone’s as tough as they look, Simone.”
For a second, I almost feel the warning. Almost. But then the nerves in my stomach start spooling into something hot and bright, and the memory of Thomas’s stare—cool and furious, like a wolf sizing up a rabbit that might bite back—makes my thighs tighten in anticipation.