Total pages in book: 33
Estimated words: 30019 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 150(@200wpm)___ 120(@250wpm)___ 100(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 30019 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 150(@200wpm)___ 120(@250wpm)___ 100(@300wpm)
"That's not the problem, Gage. It's her I don't trust." Not even to save herself, apparently, because I know Gage, and I know he meant it yesterday. If she bothers me again, he will follow through.
"Then trust me." He runs his thumb over my bottom lip. "Otherwise, I'm going to have to distract you right here in the truck. You can't worry and stress if you're coming all over my fingers again."
I whimper embarrassingly loud, suddenly thinking about other things—things Victoria has nothing to do with.
Gage chuckles in response. "I'll make you a deal. If you get out of this truck right now, we'll have lunch in the library again today. I'll make you come all over me before the bell rings."
"What if we get caught?"
"In the four years you've been hiding out in that alcove, has the librarian ever once come back there to check on you?"
"She might."
He quirks a brow at me.
"Fine. No."
"Then we won't get caught." The tip of his thumb dips between my lips. I'm not sure why I do it, but I rake my teeth across it, biting down.
He growls, a feral sound I've never heard, his eyes darkening. "Get out of the truck, Troian. Before we give the whole fucking world something to talk about."
I don't climb gracefully from the truck. I throw myself out like salvation waits outside the door. His soft laugh follows me.
God. This day is going to be hell. But I'm suddenly a whole lot less worried about Victoria than I am about surviving until lunch.
To my utter shock, Victoria doesn't even look in my direction when we pass her. She pretends I don't exist at all. So do her friends. It's almost more uncomfortable than being their constant target.
"Told you," Gage murmurs, his lips brushing my ear. "She's done tormenting you, butterfly."
I'm not convinced but…I can live with her ignoring me.
I'm not sure how I feel about everyone staring at me and Gage, though. As we pass by with his arm around my waist, literally everyone stops to stare. It makes my stomach churn, both because I'm not accustomed to the attention and because I'm unsure of our current status.
We're not dating, but we're not really just friends, either. We're…something else. Something that has no name. It's new and terrifying and beautiful and exhilarating all at once.
Unlike yesterday, I don't sit at the back of the class today. I take my usual seat, which Gage immediately drags a whole foot closer to his with a grin on his lips.
I just roll my eyes at him, fighting a smile.
This is so much better than yesterday.
I spend the first half of class daydreaming.
"Troian."
I jerk when Mr. Blake says my name, blinking wide eyes at him. And then I frown when I realize he isn't speaking to me. He's pointing the way toward me.
A ripple goes through the class as Mrs. Alexander, the secretary, starts in my direction, a bright smile on her face, and a massive bouquet in her arms. The thing is so big she can barely fit her arms around it.
"Lucky girl," she says, smiling gently as she holds it out to me.
My cheeks blaze with heat as I take the bouquet from her, the scent of roses and freesia swirling around me. The flowers are stunning, a riot of white and red and pink and yellow.
There's a card tucked between the bulbs.
I reach for it with shaking fingers while Mr. Blake tries to get the class back on task. Half of them are still watching me, though, curiosity in their gazes.
Gage is staring at me. I feel the heat of his gaze boring into me.
I open the little envelope, slipping the card out.
Troian,
I have spread my dreams under your feet. Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
I love you,
Gage
My hands are shaking when I look over at him, but he just smiles at me as if he didn't just ruin me with a Yeats poem and three little words.
By the time lunch rolls around, I'm a mess. I've been thinking about him and his poem and his confession all day. They're all I've thought about.
I practically run to the library, desperate to see him, to touch him.
He's already there when I arrive, leaning in the corner of the alcove with a smirk on his handsome face.
I walk right up to him.
"You sent me flowers." I've said it at least five times already today, but I can't stop myself. No one ever sends me flowers.
"You liked them?" he asks, his grin boyish.
I throw my arms around him in response, squeezing.
He chuckles, wrapping me up in a hug that makes my heart sing.
"You cheated," I murmur, tipping my head back to look at him. "You used Yeats."
"He's your favorite."
I love him for knowing that.
He curves his hand around my jaw, his expression serious. "I meant it, you know. My dreams are spread beneath your feet, butterfly. They're all I have to give you right now, but they're yours."