Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 100612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Easton grunts.
I hide my smile, brain on autopilot, doing laps around the conversation we had last night, picturing the look on his face when I’d admitted that I watched him.
And his muscles—my brain is definitely running laps around those…
After jamming his duffel bag into his locker, he finally throws a lopsided grin my way.
“Power hour.” He flexes, kissing his left biceps, causing me to immediately launch into a fake vomiting sound.
“Please. You’re one protein shake away from deflating,” I exaggerate, punctuating my barb with an eye roll.
My words are lies; he is in no danger of his sinewy muscles deflating. His arms are well defined and so, so nice to look at.
“You know you’d miss the view if they did.”
Oh my god—is he flirting with me? Or is he just in a really good mood? I told him to step it up, but I didn’t think he took my words seriously—and I didn’t think he’d turn that awkward grin on me.
“Are you flirting with me?” I pretend to search for my calculator, heart rate kicking up several notches.
“I’m supposed to be practicing, remember?” He rests against his locker like he intends to linger while I rummage around, giving me a slow, deliberate once-over, eyes dragging from my face to my shoes and back up again, and ugh. “I’m dedicated.”
I stop what I’m doing and arch a brow in his direction. “And I’m, what? A practice dummy?”
He grins. “I’d call you a challenge.”
A challenge? Not exactly a compliment. “I don’t know—I think you kind of like it.”
“Of course I like it. I’m an athlete; this is what we do.”
I watch him now, unsure what to say. My mouth gapes as I fumble for words, this flirty side of him so unexpected I’m caught off guard. Hope flutters in my stomach, and I—
“Clearly you’re being your usual bratty self today,” he goes on. “Or is this the sweet Harper?”
I’m mildly insulted that he thinks I’m a brat. “I am always sweet.”
“You’re such a damn liar.” He still has the smart-ass grin on his face as he removes his computer from his own locker. “I’d watch out if I were you. I know where you hide your stash of gummy bears.”
He knows I keep gummy bears in my locker? How?!
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Try me,” he challenges, leaning in closer. His proximity makes it harder to ignore the way my heart skips a beat. “You keep them on the top shelf, behind the makeup bag with flowers, where you put your tampons and shit.”
I cannot believe he just said the word tampon.
I want to die.
With flaming hot cheeks, I narrow my eyes at him. “Touch my gummy bears and you’re a dead man.”
He laughs. “I do like it when you get sassy.” Easton has his arm raised, hand on his locker door, poised to slam it shut. “But I might need a bribe to keep me quiet.”
“A bribe?” I raise an eyebrow at his audacity. “For what?”
Who is blackmailing who here?!
“Do you think you’re the only one who—”
“Hey, Easton.”
We turn our heads to the soft, melodic voice. My eyes widen when I see Maddie Miller standing behind us, all long legs and blond hair and lavender crop top mocking me and stealing the attention Easton was paying me like she’s a magnet and he’s steel.
The playful banter that was so deliciously beginning to sizzle between us vanishes, replaced by a sudden self-consciousness.
I freeze.
Easton freezes.
“Uh. H-hey?” Easton stutters, his gaze lingering on her face a second too long to be comfortable. Suddenly I am an outsider in what moments ago was a banter bubble.
“I heard you were on the prom decorating committee?” She slips her braid from one shoulder to the other, barely acknowledging me. Does not say hello.
“I mean—kind of” is his brilliant reply.
Maddie plucks at the ends of her hair as if searching for split ends, tilting her head in an artful way I myself never been able to master, a long stretch of silence following Easton’s response.
It’s so awkward I swear I hear crickets chirping in the hallway.
“Did you have a question about it?” The pitch of Easton’s voice has risen several octaves—a telltale sign that her proximity is stressing him out, though he’s trying to act nonchalant.
“Like—would you mind if I popped in and did a video for social media?” Maddie is fixated on Easton, her tone casual, ignoring me as if I’m not standing here.
Is she flirting with him? Hard to say.
My brain feels addled, as if we’ve entered a parallel universe. Just last week she rejected him in plain sight of everyone—and now she has the nerve to ask if she can pop in on us while we’re working on decorations to take a video? For social media?
Why?!
Why is she asking his permission and not mine? Need I remind Easton that he wanted nothing to do with the committee? Nothing! I forced him to be on it! I AM THE REASON HE IS ON THE DAMN COMMITTEE!