Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 57139 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57139 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
“I’m back!” I announced.
He held up his hand for an air high five. “You lived.”
“I did!” I said excitedly walking over to him. “So it was crazy I was—”
“—Sorry.” He yawned, “Sorry, I’m just, not feeling that great, I swear I’ll hear all about it in the morning, okay?”
He got up from the couch and leaned over like he was going to kiss my forehead, instead he stared down at it, and backed up then went into the guest room and shut the door quietly behind him.
What the hell was that?
CHAPTER
TWENTY-THREE
EZRA
…look, it’s just weird that you burped, like what would make me want to kiss you if you burp? It just makes me imagine all the other disgusting things you do with your body when it should be my temple, you feel?
—James
He sent me the footage on purpose. Graham was a fucking bastard.
He wanted my reaction, so I did the opposite—I didn’t react at all. Not to him, anyway. Stone face. No reaction. Totally fine.
Did I check my phone every five minutes to see if she’d texted? Yes.
Did I panic when my calendar alert for my morning meeting went off because I thought it was her? Yes.
Did I drop my phone in my beer because of it? …Almost.
Then Graham happened.
“Just some highlights,” he’d said, smug as hell, before sending me the reel.
The shot of her laughing so hard she had to cover her face—gut punch.
The way she leaned in at the table, eyes shining like he was the funniest bastard alive—another hit.
And then. The forehead kiss.
He froze the frame. Zoomed in.
Her eyes. That look. That yearn.
Why show me the yearn? I didn’t need to see the yearn. I’d been begging the universe to put me on the other side of it for years.
I slammed my laptop shut and swore loud enough the neighbor’s dog started barking. Okay maybe it was the guy taking out the trash but still. My chest felt tight, my skin buzzing, like I’d run ten miles without moving an inch.
It wasn’t jealousy. Couldn’t be.
This was stress. Overwork. Heartburn. Anything else. How could I already be jealous of a guy I didn’t even know?
But the truth crawled up my throat, no matter how hard I tried to choke it down:
If I didn’t do something, I was going to lose her.
Was she still up? Uploading? I jerked open the guest room door and padded down the hall to hers. Lights off. Probably exhausted. What was I thinking?
With a sigh, I turned toward the bathroom—pushed open the door—
And there she stood.
A siren.
A mermaid.
A goddess.
Aphrodite herself.
Every programming-obsessed particle in my body gave up and lit itself on fire while I stared like an idiot.
Her eyes widened.
I opened my mouth. Closed it. Tried to turn, only to pivot straight into the wall. My forehead cracked against it. “Son of a bitch!”
“Ezra!” She rushed forward.
Warm breasts slammed into my chest. Fuck my life. I was moaning. Actually moaning. Because breasts. Supple. I hated that word. Wanted to chew it, suck it, worship it—
“Is your face okay?”
“I didn’t think you were awake. Or naked. Or naked—did I say naked?” I groaned. “You should…clothes.”
“I was going to shower.”
“Shower him right off you!” I shouted. Out loud. Not in my head. Out loud.
Her brows shot up.
“I mean—good. Yes. Because being dirty is…bad for sheets. And the environment.”
I winced.
She pressed her palm to my forehead. “Are you feeling okay?”
“Bit hot,” I admitted, biting my lip. “Clothes. Right. Shower. I’ll just—go this way.”
I turned the wrong way again and cracked my head on the wall. “Door! I know there’s a door!”
“Right there.” She pointed.
“Yes. Yup, that’s the one. Solid. Groovy. Ha-ha.” Shit. Damn. Hell. Shit. “I’ll see ya.”
See ya? What, at the neighborhood barbecue? Did I need to wave goodbye?
I fled, slammed my door shut, and whimpered at my reflection in the mirror. My face was red, my soul in shambles.
That went well. Real well.
This ended now.
So she wanted to date him? So she’d had a good time? Fine.
I was going to change her world.
And it started with playing dirty.
Her classroom.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FOUR
HARPER
Sorry that breaking a bed is such a turn off, prude, next time you match with someone maybe lead with the fact that you’re a pearl clutching KAREN! It’s not like I didn’t buy her a new one! Canopy beds are expensive!
— Gill
He wasn’t there again. Typical.
I grabbed a coffee and drove to Sheraton Shore Elementary—my school, my happy place. Old brick, low ceilings, and the smell of pencils and books baked into every sweater I owned. Fifth grade was chaos and miracles mixed together: half my class still innocent while the other half were busy sprouting hair and answering questions in squeaky voices. Not all heroes wore capes. Some of us wrangled the wonders of puberty and long division—often times with red bull in each hand.
I was smiling to myself when I pushed open my classroom door and froze. Everything was set up. Desks arranged, bulletin boards decorated, supplies unpacked. Even the little nametags for each of the desks were already on top ready for me to mark up their names and draw a little picture. I kept looking around and stopped when I saw it in the reading corner, a neon sign glowed: Perseverance. In bold green. Just like his glasses—reminding me of him. It had always been my favorite corner—even more so now. He was bent over a blue bean bag and stacking books onto the shelf.