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)
His eyes narrow. “You think people don’t talk? You think nobody noticed the way Thomas looks at you in class?” He snorts, then shakes his head. “You’re smarter than that, Simone.”
My cheeks go cold. “You’re out of line,” I whisper, but it comes out weak.
He ignores me. “Look, I don’t care who you fuck. But just so you know, if it comes out, he’s done. They’ll fire him so fast you won’t even get to say goodbye.” His lips curl in what might be a smile. “And they’ll kick you out, too. Century College doesn’t do scandal.”
I want to punch him. I want to run. Instead, I just sit, mouth open, hands shaking under the table.
Dylan stares at me a moment longer, then leans back, the old smile back on his face. “I’m just looking out for you, Simone. We’re friends, right?” He winks, then stands, stretching like a cat. “If you ever want to talk—about anything—you know where to find me. But be sure to bring condoms because we’ll need them during our so-called chat.”
He leaves, the scent of chlorine and aftershave lingering.
I sit there, blinking, the yellow pools of lamp light suddenly feeling like interrogation bulbs.
Andie returns, two paper cups in hand. She takes one look at my face and sets the coffee down. “What happened?”
I can’t speak. My hands are trembling so hard the pen rolls off the table and clatters to the floor.
Andie bends down to pick it up. “Simone? You’re scaring me.”
I swallow. “I have to go to the bathroom,” I manage, grabbing my phone and stumbling away. I don’t head to the bathroom, though—I head for the stacks, deep into the warren of back rooms and silent alcoves, until I find an isolated area near the law journals where nobody ever goes.
I dial Liam, hands shaking, breath coming in short, sharp bursts.
He picks up on the second ring. “Simone? Hey babe.”
I can’t answer. I can barely keep the phone from slipping out of my hand.
He says my name again, this time sharper. “Simone.”
I force the words out. “He knows. Dylan Tourneau. He knows about us and just threatened me!”
There’s a silence, then a slow, careful exhale on the other end. “I’ll handle it,” he says. “Don’t talk to him again. And don’t—” He stops himself. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
My vision swims, but I nod. “Okay,” I say, voice small.
“I mean it, Simone. I’ll take care of this. Just—stay away from him.”
The line goes dead.
I stand there, phone pressed to my ear, heart slamming against my ribs.
For the first time in months, I’m not glowing.
For the first time, I remember what it’s like to be afraid.
I find my way back to the table, eyes down, and slide into the chair without looking at Andie.
She waits until I’ve taken a sip of coffee before asking, “Do you want to talk about it?”
I shake my head.
We work in silence, the only sound the soft, steady whisper of pages turning, the hum of the heat, and the faint memory of something dangerous lurking just outside the yellow pool of light.
Somewhere in the distance, a clock chimes. I don’t know if it’s counting down to something terrible, or just marking time.
Either way, I’m not ready.
I’m not ready for him to show up again. But less than an hour later, Dylan is back—just as I’m settling into a rhythm of note-taking, trying to forget the green-eyed warning that’s burning a hole in my mind. What the fuckity fuck? Why can’t this guy leave me alone?
He doesn’t ask if he can sit. He just materializes beside our table, so close I can feel the heat coming off his skin, the way you can feel the sun before you see it. Only this sun feels like it wants to burn me alive.
“Hey,” he says, softer now. “You want to get coffee after this?”
He asks it with the confidence of a guy who’s never been told no. Andie’s head snaps up, searching my face for a cue.
I keep my voice frigid, practiced. “Sorry, Dylan. There’s a lot on my plate right now. I have to finish this chapter and work on my essay.”
He nods, a single, slow dip of his chin. “That’s cool.” Then, as if he’s reading a cue card, he tries again. “How about Thursday? There’s a team party, just a few people. You should come.”
This guy is unreal! But I shake my head, keeping my gaze fixed on the margin of my book. “Really can’t. I’m slammed until finals.”
For a beat, there’s nothing. I can hear the sound of his fingers drumming the wooden table, the way the pulse of his annoyance syncs up with the clock on the wall.
Then he says, “Funny. I think you don’t understand what I’m saying, Simone.”
I smile at him, although my eyes are frozen.
“I understand just fine, actually.”