Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 71565 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71565 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
“What’s the score?” Eric asks, grabbing a seat on the sofa.
“Twenty-one to seventeen, Giants lead,” Finn responds and drops back on the couch on the other side of Eric.
I’m still standing, Sawyer beside me. I eye the spot Sawyer vacated when he stood, next to Finn, but make a quick judgment that it would be weird if I took Sawyer’s spot, so I take a seat on the huge sectional in a spot where I can see Finn instead.
Sawyer sits beside me.
I can’t discreetly glimpse at Finn with Sawyer between us.
He’s already on my nerves.
Eric and Finn jump right into conversation, interrupting themselves to make commentary on the game. I glance over at them a few times and realize that Sawyer is watching me. His spot on the sofa puts me between him and the television, so it looks like he’s watching the game, but he’s not. He’s watching me. He’s not even hiding it. Every glance I make back towards Eric and Finn, I catch him, if you can catch someone who isn’t attempting to hide. I meet his gaze and give him a snarky look, one I’ve perfected with men that says, I see you staring at me, asshole.
He laughs.
The sound catches Eric’s attention and reminds him I’m in the room, his head snapping over to me. “You guys don’t need to leave before the game’s over, do you?” he asks, glancing between me and Finn.
Finn looks bewildered by Eric’s question. Then realization dawns and he rubs the back of his neck and shakes his head slightly. “Everly…”
I’m not sure what he’s about to say, but whatever it is, it’s not going to end well for me, I know that much. I open my mouth to say something, anything, to defuse the situation but I don’t get a word out because Sawyer interrupts before I get the chance.
“Finn’s not headed back to Philadelphia until tomorrow morning,” he says.
Oh. The second the words are out of his mouth I remember that Finn doesn’t teach an early class on Mondays. Why didn’t I think of that when I hatched this plan to drop in and get a ride back to school? I almost groan out loud. What a rookie mistake. “Well,” I begin, but Sawyer interrupts again.
“I’m heading back to Philadelphia right now. I’ll be happy to drive you.”
Of course he will.
I want to kill this guy. Instead, I stall. “You live in Philadelphia?” I ask, turning my head towards him.
He’s still looking at me, of course, his eyes making a slow survey of my face.
“I do,” he says.
“I’m sure it would be out of your way to drop me off on campus,” I say with a stiff smile, staring back at him.
“It wouldn’t be,” he answers, the corner of his mouth twitching.
Finn is already nodding his head, a relieved smile on his face. “Perfect. Sawyer will drive you back.”
My brother frowns, looking from Sawyer to me, but keeps his mouth shut.
I stand, defeated. I straighten my sweater over the waistband of my leggings and look towards the doorway, stating I’ll grab my things from Eric’s car.
“She’s twenty-two, Sawyer,” my brother says as soon as he thinks I’m out of earshot. I roll my eyes and keep walking. He’s wasting his breath. Sawyer Camden is of zero interest to me. None whatsoever.
Sixteen
Three Hours Ago
I step outside and slip my phone out of my pocket as I walk to Eric’s car to retrieve my bag. I type out a quick text to my roommate Chloe as I walk. You’ll be happy to know my latest Finn Camden scheme has just tanked. Epically.
Delighted. Her reply is quick and I smile. Chloe would never dare pull the stunts I do. She’s a habitual rule-follower. A text bubble on my phone indicates she is typing again and then, Dare I ask? appears on my screen.
My scheming just landed me a car ride back to Philly with Finn’s asshole brother, I type, smiling as I lean against the car.
Oh, a brother… I’m intrigued.
Don’t be, I type.
The front door shuts and I glance up to find Sawyer walking towards me. He’s attractive, I’ll give him that. If you go for tall, incredibly fit men with chiseled jaws and thick dark hair. Which no girl does, ever. It must suck to be him.
He grabs my stuff and leads me to a small silvery blue sports car—a Porsche, I note with a roll of my eyes. He holds the passenger door open for me before tossing my bag in the trunk.
I slide into the passenger seat of the low-slung car as the door thuds shut behind me and busy myself with the seatbelt, using the opportunity to watch him as he crosses the front of the car. His strides are confident, unhurried. The fingers of his left hand skim the hood before he rounds the headlight and reaches the driver’s side door.