Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 83550 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83550 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
“Hey,” he says, glancing my way. “You doing all right?”
“Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?” With a shrug, I lift a brow. “After all, I’m the one behind all the messages, right? Pretty clever to throw myself into the mix.” I drop my voice and lean closer. His gaze dips to my mouth before flicking upward again. “And throw suspicion off myself.”
His eyes narrow but he doesn’t say a word.
I swivel toward the front of the room as Abbott dives into the lecture, talking about teamwork and communication. Us being paired up for this project feels more like an absurd joke.
We don’t need to spend more time together.
We need to spend far less.
Midway through the class, Abbott pauses and looks directly at us. “Holland. Bridger. Why don’t you share an update on your project.”
I stiffen as every set of eyes in the room lands on us.
“Sure,” Bridger says, jumping in and flashing an easy smile. “Holland and I have been making steady progress. She’s a natural when it comes to organization.”
I blink, caught off guard by the flattering remark. “And Bridger,” I say, forcing a polite tone, “has been surprisingly good at brainstorming ideas.”
“Surprisingly?” he murmurs, low enough that only I can hear. “Careful, Tate. That almost sounded like a compliment.”
The professor nods in satisfaction before moving on. Bridger leans closer, his voice dripping with amusement. “Guess we really do make a great team.”
I glare at him, but there’s no real heat behind it. “Don’t push your luck.”
It’s a blessing when the professor wraps up class and dismisses us. I shove my notebook into my bag and rise to my feet, ready to bolt from the room. But Bridger is already up, blocking my escape.
“Do you have another class after this?” he asks, falling into step beside me as I head toward the exit.
“Yup,” I mutter. “That’s what happens when you take eighteen credits a semester in order to graduate early.”
“Six classes, huh? That’s a heavy load.” He gives me a bit of side-eye. “And you still have time to screw with my life? Impressive.”
“Go fuck yourself, Sanderson.” I give him a tight smile. “I’m sure you’re used to that by now.”
He snorts. “It’s a real wonder that you don’t have a boyfriend.”
“Oh, but I do!” I raise my brows and feign innocence. “Remember?”
His lips curve into a smile. “How could I forget?”
“Well, I’m sure you have someplace to be that’s not here.” There’s a pause before I add, so he’ll get the hint, “With me.”
“Actually, there’s no other place I’d rather be than with you, my girlfriend.”
“How lucky,” I mutter, picking up my pace.
“And here I thought you’d want to spend a little quality time with your new BF.”
“Turns out I like the idea of it more than I actually like having one.”
His grin widens. “I’m just trying to be the best fake boyfriend I can be. You’re welcome.”
We bicker the entire way across campus. It’s exhausting and exhilarating at the same time, like sparring with someone who knows all your best moves. I find myself having to level up my game.
When we reach the building, his movements stall as he clears his throat. “Look, I was serious when I asked how you were doing after this morning.”
I blink, startled by the sincerity that fills his eyes. “I’m fine,” I lie. “It wasn’t a big deal.”
“Well, if you’re not actually the one behind the messages…” There’s a pause as his tone softens even more. “Then I don’t want you getting caught in the crosshairs.”
The simple admittance has the rare ability to melt my irritation where Bridger is concerned. It takes effort to keep my walls firmly in place.
“I appreciate you looking out for me.” I say the words before my brain catches up with my mouth. “I’ll let you know if anything happens to change that.”
He nods, his gaze steady. “Good.”
And just like that, the tension between us shifts, softening into something quieter and far more complicated.
Western University Chat App
FragileLikeABomb
So, Cold, do you always play it cool, or do you occasionally break character and laugh at dad jokes?
ColdAsIce17
Only if the joke is exceptional. I have standards, Fragile.
FragileLikeABomb
Oh, good. I was worried you might laugh at “What do you call fake spaghetti? An impasta.”
ColdAsIce17
…
FragileLikeABomb
Admit it. You cracked a smile.
ColdAsIce17
I’ll admit nothing. But for the record, that was terrible.
FragileLikeABomb
Denial is the first step. Acceptance is the last.
ColdAsIce17
And what’s in the middle?
FragileLikeABomb
Me, telling you more bad jokes.
16
Bridger
Every step that brings me closer to my father’s office has my pulse thrumming with irritation. This is exactly what I didn’t need today.
All right, let’s be honest… I don’t need an ass reaming from him any day of the week.
The eerie quiet of the hallway doesn’t help dispel the dread pooling at the bottom of my gut. I can’t remember a time when it wasn’t like this between us. After Mom picked up and left, everything got a whole hell of a lot worse.