Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 103109 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103109 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Steve looks up from his notebook and grins at me. His eyes cut to the clock meaningfully. When he arrived tonight, he was all over me. I told him we had to study for one hour before we could make out. Now time’s a-ticking.
I return his smile, my cheeks heating and my thoughts blessedly turning away from Easton and back to Steve and an evening in the house alone. Right where they should be.
Then my phone buzzes again.
Easton: Is he good to you?
Me: I wouldn’t be with him if he weren’t.
Easton: So I guess this means . . .
I swallow hard. How do I tell him that I need him not to do this? How do I explain that his flirting messes with me without revealing that I’ve had a crush on him my whole life? Because despite my stumble with the UCLA thing, I think I’ve managed to hide the truth of my lifelong crush from everyone.
Me: It means I have a boyfriend, and I owe you no more secrets.
Easton: Ah. Message delivered. Have fun in New York. Behave.
Frowning, Steve pushes his notebook away and leans back in his chair. “Who’s blowing up your phone?”
“Easton.” I bow my head and pretend to study the irregular verb conjugations for my French exam.
Steve clears his throat. “Easton Connor? You’re texting Easton Connor?”
I lift my head and smile. Steve’s eyes are wide, and he looks like a starstruck little boy. “You know he’s a family friend.” I wave a hand, indicating the empty house. “And that he’s the reason we’re here alone right now?”
“Yeah, but I didn’t know you texted with him.”
I shrug. “Not that often. He’s just thinking about me, since my family is there and I’m not.”
Steve pushes his chair back and walks around the table. Taking my hand, he pulls me out of my chair and steps close. He’s tall—taller than Easton, even—and I have to crane my neck to look up at him. Unlike Easton, with his effortless athletic grace, Steve is gangly and a little awkward. More than once he’s reminded me of the Great Dane pup the neighbors adopted last year. The dog grew so fast that he could hardly walk straight. Now, like every time the comparison comes to mind, I feel guilty for it. Steve might not be an athlete, but he’s absolutely adorable. Anyway, it’s not like I’m some prize in the physical beauty department.
He presses a chaste kiss to my lips. “I’m glad you decided to stay home.”
I loop my arms around his waist. “Are you?”
He dips his head and nuzzles my neck. “Yeah,” he says against my ear. “We have the whole house to ourselves.” He skims his hand up my side and under my shirt, and I laugh. He stills and pulls back. “Seriously?”
At the petulance in his tone, I train my expression to neutral. “Sorry. I’m ticklish.”
He blows out a breath and shakes his head. “I thought you were laughing at the idea of enjoying an empty house with me.” He nods toward the clock. “Time for our study break.”
“I guess it is.” I skim my fingers over the sparse stubble on his cheek. He has no business trying to grow a full beard, but he’s been working on this since Christmas break, and I’m not going to be the one to tell him it needs to go. “What do you want to do?”
He arches a brow, as if this is the dumbest question in the world. “I mean, we could . . . You know . . .”
I frown. Steve’s pretty articulate. He doesn’t stumble over words, so his vague reply takes me a minute to understand. “Sex?”
The word is a giant record scratch in the empty house.
“Wow. Not the reaction I was expecting.” He steps back, and my hands fall to my sides.
“Sorry, I just . . . I didn’t realize we were there.”
“Isn’t everyone?” His smile is a little goofy when he adds, “And when’s the next time we’re going to have a house to ourselves like this? I want to take my time with you, not have some sloppy first time in the back of my car.”
My jaw works. I appreciate the sentiment, but should we really be making the choice because it’s convenient? “I don’t know.”
“We’re seniors. It’s not like we’re kids anymore.” He shrugs. “But maybe you don’t want to do that with me. Whatever.”
I gape at him. He’s never acted like this, and I don’t like it. “Are you seriously pouting right now?”
“I’m not pouting.”
“Yes, you are. You’re pouting because I don’t want to have sex.”
“Maybe I’m just hurt. Did you think of that?” His chest rises and falls with his deep breath. “Shit. This isn’t how I wanted this conversation to go. I sound like an ass.”
“Yeah.” I hug myself. “You really do.”