Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 112892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Moving into Baylor House—free university housing for former foster kids like me—is supposed to be a fresh start with others who’ve faced the same challenges. The only problem? The hot-as-hell residential advisor is the man I made out with at a wild costume party last week.
Diego doesn’t recognize me, but I remember the hunger in his kiss and the possessive glide of his hands over my body. I should be focused on my classes, not bracing for the moment he puts it together. And he’s not the only one of my new roommates who drives me to delicious distraction.
Aaron is gorgeous, confident, and every time he’s near, I forget how to breathe. He flirts like it’s a game, but the heat in his eyes tells me he’s not playing.
Cody is guarded and quiet, but his touch speaks volumes. There’s a lot I don’t know about the talented musician, but I’m dying to find out.
And Diego is supposed to keep us in line, but he bends his own rules for me. Our first kiss was reckless, but his cocky grin makes me crave more.
These men teach me things about pleasure I never even imagined. Our chemistry is off the charts, but old wounds don’t heal overnight. For the first time in my life, I feel like I might truly belong somewhere, but trusting it enough to build a future together could be the hardest lesson of all
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
1
MIA
I’d survived five foster homes, a high school that barely qualified as one, and a year at community college. But now, I’d finally reached my goal: a scholarship to the prestigious Langley University, where I’d started my classes six weeks ago.
So why did tonight feel less like a welcome meeting and more like a gladiator pit?
The house I’d moved into earlier today felt like it had stories. It had seen dozens of students cycle through, and it wasn’t impressed by any of us. The couch I sat on was threadbare in spots, and one armchair had duct tape on the side. Four of my new housemates sat nearby. I wondered if they were nervous, too, or if they were just better at starting over than I was.
Odds were, we’d all had plenty of practice at it.
The other students looked to be within a year or two of my age, twenty. That probably meant none of them were the residential advisor, who was supposed to be running this meeting. He was in graduate school, and no one here looked like they were.
The guy in the armchair off to my left looked like a freshman, as did the shorter guy on the other sofa. The young man and woman seated with him looked to be sophomores or juniors.
The older of the two guys on the sofa got to his feet, and my first thought was that he’d just stepped out of a campus brochure—he was handsome, confident, and looked as if he’d never been nervous a day in his life. His tight jeans emphasized his long legs, and his navy sweater looked soft in that unmistakably expensive, definitely-not-from-a-clearance-rack way. He had a casually put-together vibe, while I was in jeans that hadn’t fit right since high school.
When he walked over, I almost glanced behind me to make sure he wasn’t aiming for someone else, even though there weren’t many of us here. “Got to even things out,” he said with a friendly smile, dropping onto the couch next to me. “You looked a little outnumbered over here.” His voice was easygoing, his posture relaxed. “I’m Aaron.”
It did feel better now that I wasn’t sitting by myself. “Mia,” I said, trying for a carefree tone. “Nice to meet you.”
Up close, he was unnervingly handsome. Square jaw with a trace of stubble and hazel eyes that flashed warm gold near the center and brown at the edges. His chestnut hair was styled casually and the way his sweater clung to his chest and shoulders made me assume he was no stranger to the gym. I became suddenly aware of my posture—legs tense and pressed tightly together, hands folded nervously in my lap. Hopefully, I didn’t look like an alien approximating human behavior.
“So, you were in the Stepping Stones program?” he asked.
Though Langley was an elite private school nestled in the smoky mountains in northern Georgia, it still provided some scholarships and assistance to students like me. “Yes.” It seemed like I should say more than one syllable, but nothing came to mind.
“What’d you think?”
“It was okay.” The program I’d just completed was for students from shaky academic backgrounds. I’d gone to my classes as normal, but the program layered in extra lectures, meetings, and support. Basically, it was handholding, though no one called it that. Some parts helped, but I was relieved it was over. Now it felt like my real time at Langley had finally begun.