Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 104766 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 524(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104766 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 524(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
Winnie presses her hands against the exit bar across the back door, ready to push through it to the back alley.
“Want to study tomorrow night?”
“Uh, yeah.” I nod. “I have a quiz Monday in my biology class and I got a D on the last one, so…”
Lucky for me, I only have to take a science class to meet a general core requirement and there are no more needed for my mass comm major.
“It’s a date then.” Winnie hugs me before stepping out into the cold—I’m assuming Rookie is grabbing her at the end of the alley in his beat-up pickup truck, the one they had sex in at the beginning of the semester, in the bed of it.
She’s gone before I can open my mouth again and ask for a ride.
I zip my coat to my chin, ready to hunker down for the walk home, grateful it’s still somewhat light outside. And not snowing. And not negative temperatures.
“Why did I choose a school in the Midwest?” I grumble to myself as I walk through the restaurant to the front door, doing a double take when I see a guy leaning against the building, one leg bent, foot up on the brick, hands in his pockets, bright blue baseball cap on.
He rises to his full height when I pass by, walking in the same direction.
Shit.
Shifting my gaze so I don’t make eye contact, I pull the jacket collar higher to shield my face from the wind.
“Hey.”
I don’t stop. Why didn’t I turn around when I first saw him? Why didn’t I just—
“Ryann Winters?”
At the sound of my name, I do stop.
Do turn around.
I give him a good once-over, passing my gaze over his hat, face, and jacket. The hands he has stuffed in his pockets, the joggers and expensive black sneakers.
I neither confirm nor deny that Ryann is my name; after all, I don’t know this guy from Adam. What’s it to him what my name is?
“Are you Ryann?”
I shift on my heels. “I don’t talk to strangers.”
Obviously.
“False. Otherwise you wouldn’t have just told me you don’t talk to strangers.”
“Excuse me?”
When the guy laughs, a puff of steam leaves his lips. “I’m Dallas—and I’m cold as fuck, so…”
“Yeah, well, so am I because we’re standing here and you haven’t gotten to your point.”
Sensing I’m in zero danger, I start walking again, brain shouting that this is the elusive Dallas Colter Winnie was dishing about. I’m confused about why he was waiting for me outside of my job.
I stop again on the sidewalk. “Wait—were you waiting for me?”
That is what he was doing, right?
“Yeah.”
“Why?” I’ve never met this guy in my life—it’s not as if we run in the same circles. This is a guy who, if Winnie and Kyle are correct, is headed for the major leagues or professionals or whatever they call it when a guy keeps playing ball after they graduate.
“It’s about Diego.”
Instantly, my hands fly up to cover my mouth. “Oh my God, did something bad happen?”
“Why would you think something happened?”
“Um, because you’re here at my job like a creep, leaning up against the building waiting for me! Plus, he canceled our date.” I gasp again. “Oh my God, is this why he canceled the date? Because something is wrong?”
“Dude, calm down.”
Dude, calm down? Never have I ever been called dude by a guy; not sure how I feel about it, either.
The wind whips my hair, sending my ponytail sailing past my mouth.
“So. I’m just going to rip off the Band-Aid.” Dallas Colter pulls his hands out of his jacket pockets and claps them together definitively. “Diego is breaking up with you.”
I’m sorry. What? “Excuse me?”
“I said, Diego is breaking up with—”
I hold my freezing-cold hand in the air. “No, I heard you. I just…” I start to laugh. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. No offense.”
I begin walking down the sidewalk, still giggling to myself at how absurd that is, why some strange guy I’ve never met has appeared at my job to dump me.
As if.
“Diego sent me to break up with you,” he calls to my back, and when I turn to glance at him, I see he’s still in the middle of the sidewalk. Legs parted, arms crossed.
My steps falter.
“Sorry, dude,” he says. “He paid me to break up with you. Didn’t have the balls to do it himself.”
This time when I turn to face him, I storm forward, finger pointed in his direction. “Are you kidding me right now? Diego Lorenz would never pay someone to break up with me. We’re barely dating!” I laugh. “We barely kiss!” I point out. “We’ve never even—”
“Had sex? Yeah, I know.”
If my face wasn’t already red from the harsh wind hitting it, it would be red from embarrassment.
He told this guy we’ve never had sex? Like it’s my fault we weren’t doing it? What an asshole!