Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 151765 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 759(@200wpm)___ 607(@250wpm)___ 506(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 151765 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 759(@200wpm)___ 607(@250wpm)___ 506(@300wpm)
Here was my dilemma.
Yes, Alex was right. The whole keeping-the-cousins-quiet thing had been dumb, and it was already shot. Alex hugging me and putting his arm around my shoulders had cemented that. If our relationship weren’t already around school, it would be by lunch. My cousins were seniors and they were top shelf. But Clint and I? That was a whole other dynamic.
He got me in trouble.
I got him in trouble.
We got each other in trouble. We were the trouble twins.
But today, right now, I didn’t want trouble.
So I hugged my laptop tighter and headed for the seat in the front.
He harrumphed as I passed. “Chicken shit?”
The guys all choked. “Dude. Why?” one asked.
I swung around because, goddamn it, he’d already lit the fuse attached to my Clint bomb. It was permanently inside of me. “Excuse me, dipshit?”
The room went silent.
“Damn!” The same guy laughed.
Clint rotated on his stool so he was facing me, the same height as me standing. The tables were high-top chemistry tables.
He smirked. “You’re new. Why the fuck are you going to sit up front? Sit here. We’re the cool guys.”
I smirked right back. “Funny. When you have to explain that you’re cool, it makes you not cool.”
His eyes darkened, but I saw the flash. Clint loved this, loved when we fought. He leaned forward, placing a hand on the empty stool between us. “You’re scared. Don’t think you can handle hanging with us?”
The class was silent, listening. I had no doubt we were the new entertainment. Alex had been so right it wasn’t even funny.
I glared. “I can hang, honey. I just don’t want to.”
To our credit, the words weren’t really controversial or particularly mean for us. If we wanted to, we could really go at it. We had a complicated relationship, but everything was more dramatic since Clint was popular and no one knew who I was. If they knew this was a family dispute, half the people would’ve already gone back to their daily programmed conversations.
Just then, the teacher entered the room and sighed. “Clint, this is the new girl. Are you already flirting with her?”
Clint’s face screwed up in disgust.
I whirled around. “Don’t. Please. I don’t want to vomit in my first class here.”
A few kids gasped, but Clint snickered.
His friends laughed too. One whispered, “She’s sassy. I like it.”
“Don’t go there.” Clint’s voice cut off on a growl.
“What?” The guy was confused.
“Miss . . .” The teacher looked at his attendance sheet. “Williams?” He looked up for confirmation.
I gave a quick nod.
“I’m Mr. Leonard,” he said. He looked behind me and scanned the room. Then his eyebrows pulled together, and he went over the list again. “Where is Mr. Raiden?”
No one said a word.
“Clint, where is Mr. Raiden?”
Clint glanced at me. “I don’t know. He had a fight last night, so he might not be in today.”
The teacher let out a frustrated sound before returning to his current problem: me.
“You can have a seat with Miss Harthorne in the front.”
“What?” the girl in front protested. “I sit alone, Mr. Leonard. You know I have claustrophobia. I don’t know her. I’ll be claustrophobic if a stranger sits next to me.”
Another frustrated sound gurgled from Mr. Leonard’s throat. His eyes went flat. “Then sit with someone who won’t give you claustrophobia because you won’t be claiming an entire table to yourself and forcing three other students to share. Choose.”
Her mouth fell open, but when the teacher didn’t change his mind, she squeaked, shoved up from her seat, and looked over the class. She looked at Clint.
I looked at Clint.
He looked at me, a plea in his eyes. He did not want her to sit with him.
Just then, the door swung open, and I wasn’t prepared.
Someone should’ve told me because the guy who walked in was the most gorgeous specimen I’d ever seen, on or off screen. I got a little light-headed.
He was tall and lean, with a strong jawline. His shirt was kinda tight, but not embarrassingly so. More like tight in all the right places. His biceps were delicious. He had a tribal tattoo running around his arm, and when he raked his hand through his hair, I could see the same line on the underside as well. There was a peak of it under his sleeve.
His chin had a dimple in the middle, and his cheekbones were high, shaping his face so his lips were fucking mesmerizing.
Golden.
That was the best word to describe him.
A golden god.
I’d thought my cousins were golden, blond triplets, but not like this guy.
His eyes were dark and piercing, his hair a dirty blond and the kind of messed up that showed he didn’t give a fuck, and it worked because it made everyone want him. Like, immediately.
I felt punched in the face, followed by another hit to my chest, a third to my stomach, and a knee to the vagina. It was . . . not a reaction I wanted, and because of that, I hated this guy.