Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 103104 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103104 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
I tear my eyes off him and stare down at my laptop, shuffling around to get my things arranged. I slam down my notebook and pen.
For some weird reason, I have perfect clarity on seeing him with Tawny, his hand tucked into the back pocket of her jeans as they walked away from the bonfire and got into his car.
Yet…
It feels as if something big happened before they left, an elusive memory that dances just out of reach and is up in smoke before I can grab hold and pin it down. It’s been like that for months, bits and pieces all jumbled together.
“We’re going to be working on a movie project for the next few weeks, so where you’re sitting today is your permanent seat for a while,” says Mrs. White as she begins her lecture.
“Great,” I mutter.
Knox gives me a dark look. “My sentiments exactly.”
She continues. “We’re going to focus on movies at least twenty years old. Some perhaps you’ve heard of. Some are iconic, some suck, and I can’t wait to get your thoughts on the issues they cover, which you’ll put in a five-thousand-word essay.”
Groans come from the students.
“What kind of movies, Mrs. White? My dad doesn’t let me watch sexy films, so I hope they’re all G-rated.” It’s Dane, his voice lazy as he sits next to Piper.
A few people snigger until Mrs. White gives them a pointed glare. “I’ll make sure you get Charlotte’s Web, Dane. Too bad, really, especially with so many good movies on the list, like The Godfather, for one. Guess I’ll assign that one to someone else.”
He deflates. “Please don’t give me Charlotte’s Web. The spider dies and all that crap. I hate it when people die in movies.”
“Too late,” she says, already writing his and Piper’s names on the board.
I chance another glance over at their table, and Piper does a gagging motion at me as she points to him. I grin. Dang, I’ve missed her.
The teacher goes down the list of pairs, assigning movie titles. Field of Dreams goes to Chance and his partner, Brooklyn, and from the way she’s tracing her fingers over his hand on the desk, she’s evidently happy to be next to him.
I flip back around and face the front, my hands clenched in my lap.
“Not over him?” Knox drawls. “He’s dating her, you know. Might be serious. He claims it is. Never seen him be so nice to a girl. Do you still love him?”
I slide my eyes to him.
His facial expression never changes. Cold. “Not that he’s a bad guy, but you and him don’t go together.” He pauses as if a light bulb just clicked on. “Huh. Maybe it was all about security when it came to him. Nice, clean-cut, boy next door. Is that what you saw in him?”
The. Nerve.
He doesn’t know me.
I cared about Chance.
I study my nails.
“I do that too—look at my nails. It says I know what I know and you don’t know shit.”
I blow out a breath.
“Nothing to say? I guess that means you’re still carrying the torch. Silly girl. How can you want him when he left you high and dry?”
Anger flares to the surface at the memories he brings up. “Zip your lips, Cold and Evil, or I’ll punch you in the face.”
His head leans in close, too close. “I believe you, which is funny, because I took you for the quiet type, but I think I always knew you were something else underneath…” He laughs and leans away from me, but not before the air around him shifts and I catch his cologne. He smells like the ocean, salt and sunshine and coconuts, and my chest swells.
I turn my head and stare at him, facing off with those gray eyes. “What kind of cologne is that? Eau de fish?”
He looks at his nails.
“It reeks.”
It’s freaking divine.
He whistles and stares at the ceiling. Rakes a hand through his hair.
“And if your girlfriends aren’t telling you the truth about your stupid cologne, they’re pussies.”
I swear I see his mouth twitch.
“Maybe cats would like it. Meow.” I claw at him, and he breaks with a smirk.
“It’s actually something my mom picked up in Paris. She bought it for me every Christmas. Guess I have enough to last a lifetime.”
“Ah, Paris. Nice. Beautiful place—Eiffel Tower, cheese, wine, fancy accents, poodles. I shop there all the time.”
“Really?” An eyebrow pops. “I wouldn’t have known from the state of your shoes. When’s the last time you had a new pair?”
I give him a fake smile. “Maybe I like worn-out things. At least they’re original and not a cookie-cutter leather loafer. Let me guess…” I tap my chin and take in the immaculate shoe on his large foot. I see the meticulous stitching, the honey color, the comfort it no doubt provides with a nice insole. “Fresh from Italy, I presume.”