Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 112449 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 562(@200wpm)___ 450(@250wpm)___ 375(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112449 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 562(@200wpm)___ 450(@250wpm)___ 375(@300wpm)
I tugged my hand away, picking up my bagel to cover it. My stomach knotted and pushed my bite back up my throat.
This is what they’ve made of me. I can’t hang out with a new friend without wondering if they’re a killer.
It can’t be her, a voice spoke up. What do kookaburras have to do with Paris Keller, political science major, and pretty, popular girl waving to almost everyone walking by? Disturbed sociopaths tend not to fit in that category.
“I’m glad we met,” I finally said. “I don’t have a lot of friends. It was always me, Gran, and Ivy growing up.”
“Can I ask what happened to your parents?”
“They died in a car accident when I was three. I never really got to know them.”
“I’m sorry. Gosh, I feel like I’m always saying that to you.”
I flicked over her shoulder. “Anyone who knows me for more than twenty-four hours ends up apologizing for asking me about my life.” I spoke to her, but I was looking at the sight that caught everyone’s attention. “It’s just that depressing.”
“It’s not depressing. You’ve just had— What are you looking at?” She twisted in her seat. “Oh.”
Have you ever seen those movies where a group of blindly attractive people walk and not even the cameraman can resist zooming in and capturing every inch of them? I mean, that’s the real reason almost every movie has a hottie slo-mo moment. All that recording and footage is expensive, and yet twenty minutes just watching people walk is a vital scene.
The thing is, you never think you’ll have that moment in real life. To have such a high concentration of gorgeous people in the same place at the same time is rare. To have them all walk in while your lips are covered in cinnamon sugar and your hair is in a messy bun because you rushed out to get bagels, that’s one of the many reasons people were always apologizing for my sad life.
The world slowed around them, stopping the birds in flight, silencing the cicadas singing to the trees. He swayed as he moved side to side with a walk reserved for the runway. Dressed in a jacket, white tee, and baggy jeans, Cairo took the simplest of outfits and reduced the guys loitering around the terrace to hobos in cloth sacks.
Were there other guys on the terrace? I could only see Cairo and them.
A tall guy with glasses and inky black hair strolled at his side. A long-sleeve sweater and black pants should’ve turned him into a library assistant. If they had angular cheeks, a broad nose, and a shadow’s dusting on their chin and cheeks, changing my opinion on beards forever.
“That’s Jacques,” Paris said. “He and Cairo have been friends longer than the others. Judge’s son and sheriff’s son. They used to sit in the back and watch when they were in court. Jacques is insanely smart. Seriously, IQ off the charts. Highest GPA in the school. His mother used to enter him in national tournaments. Earned us some recognition in the big papers. Bedlam, home of the prodigy. Did you ever see the articles?”
I shook my head. “My Doctor Who DVD marathons didn’t come with interruptions for news of local celebrities.”
“Just as well,” Paris said. “He’s a complete douchebag.”
I choked on a laugh. “Just to save myself some time, are all of your brother’s friends douchebags?”
“Absolutely.”
“Great.” I slid back to them. No one said the beautiful had to have personalities to match, but still, they were ridiculous.
“The guy on Cairo’s right is Roan.”
Roan Banks. I knew the names. Now I got to put them to faces.
Roan was the son of Dean Banks, the attractive woman at the end of the orientation video, welcoming us to the best years of our life. A head of wavy red hair pointed this way and that—falling over his eyes and brushing the tip of his pointed ears. People spent an hour in the mirror trying to get the sexily tousled look this guy was born with.
He was tall and slim without looking stretched. Roan laughed at something the person said on the other side of his phone, and his lips quirked up in a wicked half grin that must’ve gotten him in trouble even when he was innocent. I couldn’t say yet if he was a douche. I sensed all the same I should keep my distance.
“You don’t have to tell me who the guy next to him is,” I said. “Legend St. James. Gran used to do business with his father. I’d see him around the distillery sometimes when we made deliveries.” I was struck by how unnaturally perfect he was back then too.
Legend St. James balanced on the line of hard and soft expertly. Pronounced square chin and pink top-heavy lips. Dark locks gelled into submission and Bambi brown eyes that made you feel the world revolved around you whenever he turned on the charm.