Total pages in book: 36
Estimated words: 35946 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 180(@200wpm)___ 144(@250wpm)___ 120(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35946 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 180(@200wpm)___ 144(@250wpm)___ 120(@300wpm)
His arms circle me, his hands never leaving my skin, his lips never leaving mine, and his pulse beating in time with mine.
10
Ethan
Okay, I’ll say this about Winchester. Even if it’s full of rich snobby douchebags, it’s got one thing going for it: the food they serve at lunch is fucking amazing. I mean, it costs more per year to go here than most people make in a year, so, I guess it fucking better be good, right?
Well, it is. A professional kitchen that most Michelin-rated New York City restaurants would kill for, and a chef that literally has a Michelin star. That’s all to say that the cheeseburger I’m currently eating for lunch is fucking incredible. That is, until I start to overhear the jock douchebags at the table behind where I’m sitting alone.
I glance over my shoulder, brow furrowing as I scope out the guys from the football team. I roll my eyes and turn back. These guys are fucking royalty at this place, and yet, here they are throwing fries at each other and talking about who’s tits are better, like a bunch of clowns.
“No, bro, but really. Which one?”
I growl around the bite of burger in my mouth and glance over my shoulder again. One dude in a letterman jacket is grinning away as he pours what’s clearly booze out of a flask into a can of soda. He nods his chin at the equally douchey looking prick across from him.
“Fuck, man, I don’t know. I mean, Anastasia’s got the cute innocent blonde thing going on, but Waverly Owens?”
He whistles.
“Shit, I love me some red hair, man,” he grins.
“Anastasia’s taken anyways,” another guy pipes up.
The first guy frowns. “By who?”
“Some older guy I heard. Doesn’t go to Winchester.”
The first guy rolls his eyes. “Whatever sounds like bullshit. She’s still fair game.”
Fair game.
My hand clenches into a fist. I don’t even know the girls they’re talking about, but guys like this make me want to hit things.
“And Waverly Owens? Fuckin’ seriously?” The third guy snorts and punches the second guy in the arm. “Bro, the Vice Principal’s daughter? Are you high?”
“Whatever man. You seen her at a swim meet? Hell yeah, I’d get a piece of that!” His buddies cheer around him, and I grind my teeth.
“Yo, how about Ramona Weiss?”
Yup, that’s it.
I turn around completely and clear my throat.
“Hey, shithead.”
The jock bros pause, turning slowly to glower at me.
“What the fuck did you say, trash?” the first guy spits at me.
“I said hey shithead.”
I stand, flexing my full height and clenching my hands to fists.
“How about you jerkoffs spare us your dipshit fantasies about girls who I’m pretty sure wouldn’t give you the time of day.”
The group glances at each other before the first guy snorts and flips me off.
“Fuck off, trash. Go back to the trailer park or something.”
For whatever reason, he’s going with “trash.” Maybe it’s the tats, or the scruffy look even in the lame uniform. I doubt he knows my family’s history of coming from nothing into the fortune my dad has built today. But also, I really, truly don’t give a shit what these meatheads think of me.
“Gladly, but first, you’re going to stop talking shit about those girls.”
“The fuck do you care?” the second guy mutters. “You even know them?”
“Ramona Weiss is going to be my stepsister, so, yeah, I do. And I’m asking you nicely to knock it the fuck off.” I smile thinly at them.
“Anyways, enjoy your lunch and jerking each other off.”
I turn and sit, picking up my burger and taking another bite as I ignore the muttered insults at my back.
“Yo, but what about teachers?”
I hear the first guy chuckle.
“Shit, you wanna bang some MILF-y teacher ass?”
“Hell yeah, bro! And not even MILFs, man. You know who I’m talking about.”
“Who?”
I hear a low whistle.
“Dude, Ms. Hayes.”
There’s a round of hoots and catcalls around the jock table, but I can barely hear it over the sound of my fury rising and the blood thundering in my ears.
“Oh shit, bro!”
“For real! And, you know how art chicks are. You know she’s down to get freaky. Shit, I bet she’d take us all—”
I’m up and whirling on them in a second, heat blazing through my veins like diesel as I snarl.
“Hey,” I hiss. They all turn, almost surprised to see me again.
“What do you want now, trash?” the first guy sighs.
“I want you to shut the fuck up, before I shut your mouth for you.”
The guy pauses, his eyes narrowing at me as he swallows.
“And how you gonna do that, gutter trash?”
“By sticking your head up his ass,” I say flatly, nodding at the second guy.
The table goes quiet as they all glance at each other.
“Good talk,” I hiss.
I start to turn, and that’s when the French fry hits me in the face.