Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 105815 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105815 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
“I’m a bad boy?”
I arch a brow. “Seriously?”
His tattooed fingers tap the table. “Hmmm. Have you ever wondered what would have happened if I’d been the one waiting for you that night after the library?”
My heart dips.
Part of me wanted it to be him. I swallow and don’t speak—afraid of what I might say.
“I don’t think you’ll remember this conversation tomorrow or else I wouldn’t have mentioned it,” he murmurs, playing with his water bottle.
“I won’t?”
“I hope you don’t.” He reaches behind him, pulls my book out of his back pocket, and slides it over to me. “I came to see if you’d help me with my paper in this class. This I want you to remember.”
My heart kicks up as I recall the tension between us today outside the elevator. How close he stood to me, the tingles when he touched my face and wished me happy birthday. “I can’t.” It’s wrong.
“Why? No, don’t answer that.” A long exhalation comes from his chest. “Why did I come here? Shit.”
“You’re impetuous,” I say.
“I’m an electrical hazard plus impulsive. I see.”
“You’re dangerous…” to me.
And I lied before.
He’s exactly the kind of guy I go for: tattooed and sexy AF. He reminds me a little of Bryson, my great love at seventeen, but only in how they look. Deep down, I suspect they are vastly different, which is a good thing.
But I have Donovan.
From the den, the girls crank up “Apple Bottom Jeans,” and I jump up from the table. I need out of this conversation!
“That’s my theme song! Let’s go, Real River!”
He follows me into the den. Lila sways her hips to the beat, a teddy bear in her hands, and Colette sits on the floor, playing video games with streamers wrapped around her neck. Lila gives me a lopsided high five then moves the coffee table against the wall to give us more room. “Shake it, girl!” she calls out.
I spin in circles and whoop with my arms raised. Stopping in the center of the den, I bend my knees and twerk, the thump of the bass syncing with the pounding of my heart.
I can get down with a good beat.
When I was seventeen, my parents traveled to Vancouver and left me in New York City with one of the many friends they collected. His name was Bryson, a thirty-year-old musician with tattoos and dreamy eyes. I was there to study music with him and his sister. He’d crank up the speakers in his loft and we’d dance. Older people were all I’d ever known, and the thirteen years between us felt like a small, inconsequential thing. My mom is ten years younger than my dad, so it felt normal. I was young and looking for love in all the wrong places, and boy, did he ever woo me: long walks in Central Park, candlelit dinners, and poetry. He took my virginity—and my heart. Darker memories of him pull at me, recollections of the hurtful secrets he kept.
I shove them away, burying them deep down.
Then I think about Donovan, wondering where he is right now…
“Not here!” I say aloud to no one in particular.
River watches me, that eyebrow raised.
“Dance with me! It’s my birthday!” I tell him over the music.
He blows out a breath, makes a move toward me, then stops and shakes his head. “I can’t.”
“You can’t dance? I’ve seen you!”
“Rainbow, I can fucking dance, just not with you.”
I sway my hips toward him and shove him down on the couch. “Then sit and stop hovering.”
I’ll recall ‘Rainbow’ much later.
The music booms, and I let it out: the hurt of today, the worry about law school, my parents, June. I dance like a madwoman, smiling as I bend and go low, low, low with the lyrics. River sits back and laughs, wiping his eyes as I give my ‘big booty a smack’—
“What the hell is going on?” comes a man’s voice.
I stop and flip around.
Oh shit.
9
Lila turns the music down as Donovan marches into the den. His hair is disheveled, and he rakes a hand through it, his brow furrowing as he lands on River. “River? What are you doing here?”
River stands, his face blank. “I dropped off her book and pan.”
“You’ve been here before?” Donovan’s eyes narrow.
“No.”
The five of us stare at each other, only I can’t look at River. I feel guilty for shaking my ass in front of him, and we can’t forget me running my hands over him in the kitchen. My stomach drops.
I blame it on the pot. Never again!
My body tenses as Donovan’s eyes flit to Lila holding her joint. He opens his mouth, then shuts it, an incredulous look on his face as he shifts his focus from River to me. “You’re high?” Disappointment settles on his face. “You aren’t a stoner, Ana.”