Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 122125 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 611(@200wpm)___ 489(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122125 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 611(@200wpm)___ 489(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
I unbutton my cardigan slowly, listening as Ty talks about how differently women were viewed in classic literature than they are now.
“The softness and curves of a woman were seen as desirable and unique during these times. There wasn’t a diet culture in place—in fact, it was the opposite. Food, and the weight it contributed to, were seen as luxuries—as evidence of class and wealth. Look at any period art, and you’ll see the same thing. Voluptuous women, secure and sexy in their curves.”
I know the words aren’t meant directly for me, but as I pull off my sweater, folding it over the back of my seat, and turn around to find Ty’s hard eyes locked on my chest, it still feels like it. The hold of his stare, the weight of his words… Together, they feel like an actual touch of his warm hand, sliding across the focus of his gaze—my breasts.
And it’s sexy as hell.
My abdomen feels heavy with arousal—a physical line in the sand that should very well indicate we’re approaching a point of no return here. But its effect is just the opposite. It fuels me further. It drives me to drive him as close to the edge of the cliff as I can get him. It makes me crave the power of watching him stumble—to see the evidence firsthand, that I’m the kind of woman who can bring even a man like him to his knees.
It’s a whole kick in the ass to the insecurities of my childhood.
“A little part of our assignment today involves a demonstration.” He glances at me again, but this time, it feels different. It feels calculated, like a move to regain some power is coming.
I brace myself.
“But I’m going to need a female volunteer. Someone who is confident and not shy,” he explains. “Someone who is willing to stand up here and let a few people give body-positive descriptors.”
He glances around the classroom, and both of the girls beside me have their hands raised up high in the air. A few other girls raise their hands too, but Ty’s gaze is on me again. “Ms. Rose?”
I glance around the classroom as every set of eyes comes to me, and I bite my lip. Suddenly, taking off my sweater isn’t seeming like such a good idea…
You made your bed, Rachel. Now you get to lie in it, nipples out and all.
Shit. I almost say no, but when I feel like he wants me to say no, like he did this to prove some kind of “don’t flash your nipples at me” point, I end up agreeing.
“Sure.” I shrug one shoulder. “Why not.”
Ty smirks, crooking a finger at me and announcing to the class, “Looks like we have a volunteer. Ms. Rose, why don’t you put your sweater back on and come up here.”
Ohhhhh. Put my sweater back on? Ha. That’s cute.
And what if I don’t want to put my sweater back on? No one told Jennifer Aniston to put a sweater on when she was on the set of Friends. Hell, you could see her nipples on every freaking episode.
I might not be Rachel Green, but I am Rachel Rose. And you know what Rachel Rose doesn’t like? She doesn’t like when men try to tell her what to do.
Anger starts to roll around in my belly when I let his words marinate inside my brain. The nerve of this man to try to cover me up. What if I don’t want to be covered up? I’m a grown-ass woman, and I can wear whatever the hell I want, show whatever I want.
Patriarchy rules be damned.
“Do you guys think I should put my sweater back on?” I ask the class, damn near blurting out the question before I realize what I’m saying. I almost feel shame over my audacity and apparent temporary insanity of forgetting that I’m in a class filled with college-aged boys, but when Ty’s jaw practically hits the top of his fancy shoes and said college boys in the class offer their enthusiastic opinion of No, I can’t stop myself from taking the proverbial ball and volleying it right back to Ty.
“Looks like you’re in the minority, Professor,” I say and climb from my seat, smoothing my skirt down my legs and pointedly leaving my sweater behind.
He clenches his jaw, and the look in his eyes is a mixture of shock and anger, but I don’t let it falter my steps. I strut right toward him while holding his eyes in challenge. I intend to stop within only a couple of inches of him, but as soon as I get within a couple of feet, he stumbles back in a hurry and rounds the room to the other side, pointing to indicate that I should stand in the spot he’s vacated.