Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 163475 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 817(@200wpm)___ 654(@250wpm)___ 545(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 163475 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 817(@200wpm)___ 654(@250wpm)___ 545(@300wpm)
“You look completely with it to me.” He gives me his first genuine smile, and I feel it to my toes.
It’s official: this man is delicious.
“And your name?” I ask, holding my pen to his cup.
“Sebastian.”
“Mr. Sebastian?”
“Mr. Garcia.”
Sebastian Garcia. Even his name is hot. “Would you like another coffee for your wife?”
“There’s no wife.”
“Girlfriend?”
“No girlfriend.” A smile crosses his face once more. He knows I’m fishing for information.
Our eyes are locked, and the air crackles between us.
The man behind him in the line sighs heavily. “I’m in a rush, you know.”
Oh, get lost. I’m trying to flirt here.
Dickhead.
Mr. Garcia steps to the side, and I bring my attention to the man behind him. “Can I help you?”
“I want a toasted ham and cheese sandwich, and you’d better make it quick,” he barks.
“Of course, sir.” Fuck, why is every asshole in London in my café today?
“Excuse me.” I hear from the side.
The man and I look up to see Mr. Garcia has taken a step toward us.
“What?” the asshole snaps.
“What did you just say?” Mr. Garcia raises an eyebrow, clearly annoyed.
The man shrivels, taken aback. “I’m in a rush.”
“No need to be rude.” Mr. Garcia’s eyes hold his. “Apologize.”
The man rolls his eyes.
“Now.”
“Sorry,” the man mumbles to me.
I press my lips together to hide my smile.
Mr. Garcia steps back to his place by the wall.
I feel my cheeks flush with excitement.
Saw-oon.
“That won’t be a minute,” I say, and the man nods, not saying another word.
I glance around, wondering who is making the coffees.
Oh, shit, I’m supposed to be.
Wait, how do you make a double macchiato again?
I have never done this before. Although, I have watched the others do it a million times. I concentrate and do what I think they do. I turn back to the customers.
“Mr. Garcia,” I call, and he steps forward. “Here you go.”
His eyes hold mine as he takes it from me. “Thank you.” He nods and then turns, and I watch him walk toward the door. Shit… that’s it?
Turn around and ask me out, damn it.
He stops on the spot and I hold my breath, he turns back. “April, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I smile. “I hope so.”
He dips his head, and with one more breathtaking smile, he turns and walks out onto the street. Like a little kid, I pick up a cloth and practically run to the front of the café so I can watch which direction he takes.
I pretend to wipe a table near the window so I can spy.
Sebastian walks past a few shops, and I see him take a sip of his coffee and then wince. He screws up his face, and with a shake of his head, he throws it in a trash can.
What? After all that, he didn’t even drink it!
My mouth falls open.
“Am I going to get served here or what?” the rude man calls from the counter.
“Yes, of course, sir.” I fake another smile and make my way back to the coffee machine.
You’re going to get the worst fucking coffee I’ve ever made, asshole.
And judging by Mr. Garcia’s reaction, that’s pretty bad.
I walk down the corridor of Holmes Court, my dormitory accommodation at university.
I think I flunked my exam, damn it.
The sound of laughter echoes through the hall, and a faint techno beat can be heard in the distance. Coming home to this place is a living Hell.
I have never hated living somewhere as much as I hate it here. I mean, everyone is nice enough, but I feel like their grandmother. At the age of twenty-five, I’m considered a mature student, yet for some unknown reason, my scholarship houses me with the freshmen, all of which are eighteen and on their first leave of absence from home.
Everyone is either blind drunk or having sex, and I don’t really care what they do, but do they have to make so much fucking noise when they do it?
This place is like a twenty-four-seven nightclub. They party all night and sleep all day.
How they are actually passing any of their subjects is beyond me.
I exhale heavily as I trudge up the stairs. The music is getting louder now. Of course, it is.
Penelope Wittcom: my neighbor and arch enemy. We share a common wall and on my side of it, I try to study, sleep and be a respectable student. On her side it’s party and orgy central. Her bedroom is known around campus as the ‘Rave Cave’.
Open all fucking night.
She even has a disco ball in there.
People come and go at all hours, slamming doors, partying and yahooing. To be honest, I think she may be dealing drugs. She has to be. Nobody can be that popular and have so many visitors. It’s annoying that she’s so intelligent and she’s going to become a computer scientist.
And that’s not the worst of it by far.