Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 133655 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133655 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
I tuck the phone away and smile softly, apologizing. “Sorry about that, Drew. Won’t happen again. I think he’s done.”
“He?” Drew asks, but it’s not unkindly. “Please don’t break my heart and tell me you have a boyfriend.”
“Oh, no.” I laugh. “No boyfriend, just a best friend named Ace. We’ve known each other since we were born, practically.”
“Ace Kelly?”
“That’s the one.” Obviously, everyone on campus knows Ace Kelly, just as he intended. He told me at the last party we attended together that his aura arrives ten minutes before his physical body.
“Got it.” Drew smiles. “I was just making sure I wasn’t being unknowingly cockblocked by a six-foot-tall problem.”
“While my best friend is technically six-three, and a very loud, very chaotic problem, I’m single.”
He chuckles. “Good to know.”
We settle back into conversation, and it feels like we’re finally getting into a groove.
I’ve done little more than glance at Drew this whole time, which is truly an injustice to his good looks. He’s got that blond, preppy, rich-guy style with pressed pants and loafers and the perfect collared shirt. He has a dimple in his left cheek and Caribbean blue eyes and the kinds of muscles born from a strict gym regimen.
He picked me up from my parents’ Manhattan apartment in a Bentley with a driver and brought both flowers and candy for the occasion. We left them in the car—in the built-in refrigerator so they wouldn’t melt—but I’m still amazed he was thoughtful enough for the gesture.
It’s not that I don’t know good guys—I know the best of them, really—but college-aged jocks aren’t usually in the most romantic of subsets.
“Ugh. I’m so sorry,” I say when my phone buzzes obnoxiously again from my purse.
And once again, Drew is gracious, waving a hand and scooting back just enough to cross one ankle over the other knee. “Oh, no problem. Is it an emergency?”
“I… No. I should put it on Do Not Disturb.” I wince. “I’m sorry I didn’t before. Let me just do that really quickly, and then we can focus on us and dinner. Anyway…you were asking about classes. I haven’t picked my major yet, so I’m still kind of exploring, you know? What about you? Do you know what you want to do?”
“My dad’s in private equity. I’m kind of thinking I might go that direction too. The pay is good and stuff. But I don’t know… I’m not really passionate about anything yet, I guess.”
“Would your parents be okay if you decided to do something else? Or is there, like, pressure there?” I ask, but I’m also fumbling with my stupid phone, trying to discreetly find the setting to put Ace on Do Not Disturb.
“They’re pretty cool. My dad might be a little disappointed, but overall, I think he’d support whatever I wanted, however begrudgingly. Are your parents cool with you taking your time deciding?”
My phone buzzes with another message from Ace, and regardless of whether it’s a good idea or not, I find myself glancing at it. His last message said he wouldn’t text unless it was urgent, and believe it or not, he’s usually pretty trustworthy. People mistake his goofiness for something else, but he’s solid. I’ve never had anyone I could count on more.
Ace: Oh jeez I think I need help you might need to come over here… Gunnar is fucking nuts and I’m in over my head, Jules!
My heart kicks into overdrive as possibilities of trouble Gunnar has found run through my head. They are endless and varied in danger, but seeing as he’s shown up at home with a few members of the Pagans—a very real 1% biker gang—gone into anaphylaxis because he took some random food from a random stranger outside of a Dollar General, and painted their entire house with baby powder just to make a YouTube video before, I can’t just assume it’s nothing.
Right now, there’s a very real chance that Ace could be texting with his hands behind his back while being held at gunpoint.
“Shit. Drew, I’m sorry, but I need to cut our date short. There’s kind of a family emergency I have to tend to. I’m so, so sorry. I feel terrible.”
“No, no, of course. I understand. Don’t feel bad. Can I help? Do you want me to come with you?” he asks, shoving to his feet and jumping to my side of the table as I sling my purse on my shoulder and stand.
“No, thank you. Really.” I shake my head. As much as some extra hands could be useful, I hardly think it’s smart to enlighten Drew on just how much ridiculous fucking drama comes with the Kelly family at this stage of the game. I’ll need to ease him in—soften the blow. One of Gunnar’s emergent situations with undisclosed details is not at all a gentle introduction, seeing as it has a very real possibility of ending in a cavity search. “I appreciate it so much and how understanding you’re being. I really hope we can reschedule?”