Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 91299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
“You good?” He’s back in his seat, his forearms tight as he rests them on the sides of the chair.
I nod and clear my throat. “Some of your guys met me on the landing.”
“They give you any trouble?”
“Nothing I can’t handle. They knew who I was.”
He looks away. “Yeah. That’s on me. I told everyone to stay clear of my room. I told them I had a date.”
Oh.
Oh.
He watches me. “I have a movie if you wanna watch? Or a show?” He looks around uncertainly.
“Okay.”
He stands again. “We can’t watch out here though. Dillon will be home soon and there’s no telling who’ll be with him. I have a TV in my room. It’s small, but it gets the job done. We’ll have to sit on my bed.”
“Sure.”
He walks over and reaches out to help me up from the couch. His hand engulfs mine and I think back to how he held Bill. So careful.
He doesn’t let go as we walk down the hall and enter his room.
It’s the usual dorm setup and I take it in again, from the navy and orange comforter to the trophies scattered around, some on the floor, some on his dresser where the TV is. His room is messy, but it fits him.
“What’s wrong?” he asks as he faces me.
“I… Do you have a shirt and maybe a pair of shorts I can put on? Me in this dress will not work on your bed. It’s going to ride up and I’ll be squirming—”
He lets go of my hand and is at his dresser, holding up shirts for me. “This one?” It’s a soft pale blue with a tiger on it. “It’s one of my practice shirts from Alma. It’s old but pretty much the softest and smallest thing I own.”
“Perfect.” I take it from him along with a pair of gray shorts and dart into his bathroom to change.
I ease the door shut and move fast, finding a hook and slipping my dress on it. I kick off my shoes and set them in the corner.
Once that’s done, I make sure I still look presentable. My eyes take in the motivational notes taped there, lingering on You is all you have. I think about him vowing to be good for his aunt and uncle but still feeling left out in the end.
I come out and he’s already propped up against the headboard, pillows behind him. He pats the area next to him. “Or I can bring a chair in here for you?”
A chair? Is he for real?
“No, the bed is great.”
“I like my shirt on you.”
I touch the hem, which reaches my lower hips. “It’s big.”
“You look good.” The words are gruff.
I swallow. “What movie are you pulling up?”
He’s got the remote in his hand and looks down as if he’d forgotten. “How about some old episodes of HBO’s Rome? You a fan?”
I laugh as I ease up on the bed until I’m sitting next to him. “I haven’t seen it, actually, but I heard it was great.”
An hour later, we’re in deep, and some of the tension has eased. There’s another bowl of popcorn between us, and we’re tearing it up as we stare at the TV. The room is dark since he got up earlier and turned the lights off, and the only illumination comes from the glow of the screen.
“I can’t believe how they stabbed Caesar—ugh—and Mark Antony is a useless politician. Well, except for that speech on the steps of the capitol. He’s a lucky sonofabitch. Does he screw everyone in this show?” I say as he sweet-talks a girl in a tavern on screen.
“Hmmm, he gets what’s coming to him later in Egypt—”
“Don’t spoil it.” I throw a piece of popcorn at Blaze.
He catches it in his mouth.
“It’s Cleopatra, right? She’s the end of him. She uses an asp?”
“Not telling you, but bad girls are usually the end of men.”
I snort. “There are two other whole seasons! I’ll never catch up.”
“You will. You’ll catch up. I’m catching up, Charm.”
There’s an earnest quality to his voice, and I glance at him.
Did he mean something else when he said that?
Later, I’m closer to him, my leg pressed against his, and his hand…it sits right next to mine, his pinkie softly touching my skin. It’s not even a caress, just an acknowledgement that he’s aware of me, and I shiver.
“You cold?” His head leans down.
“No. Yes. Maybe.” My stomach flutters. “I’m all over the place.”
“Yeah, I know. You’re fidgeting worse than I do. I wonder why?” His hand tilts my chin up and he stares down at me.
“What?” I say, feeling strung out. We’ve been sitting here for three hours and I’m anxious. What are we going to talk about?
“I’ve been wondering…am I the only guy you’ve kissed at Waylon?”
“Was it that bad?”