Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 83760 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83760 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
“Whatever,” I grumble, typing in Brett Powers. And there he is. I look up just to make sure no one can see that I’ve now been reduced to stalking my professor. So apparently he went to Stanford and went on to earn his doctorate here. He’s single… interesting. But maybe he and Skylar are too new for anyone to know about it.
My heart flutters, and I puff out some air as I look at pictures of him with a bunch of different women, none of them my sister. He’s basically the foremost expert in environmental engineering, and it looks like he just got green-lighted for a fifty-million-dollar project…
“Jesus.” I swipe away my browser. He’s a fucking hot genius. What am I doing? I head toward class. Something is not right. I mean, maybe he’s not with Skylar? God, Alex, it doesn’t matter anyway. He’s dangerous in that he could steal your heart in seconds. He’s also the dean, and on his way to great things. What happened earlier was probably nothing to him.
Push him out of your mind. Maybe Jordan was right. Maybe I do need to have fun. Because if Brett Powers is with my sister, and he just… with me, on his desk… then he’s an asshole. And if he’s not with my sister, but he’s letting me think he is… still an asshole.
Therein lies the problem: I don’t really think he’s an asshole. Exciting, fucking hot, and dangerous? Yes.
I realize I have to let all this go as I walk into my literature class. Stay on course, and see what happens. Focus on getting my car fixed, remain positive, and everything else will work out the way it’s supposed to.
ALEXANDREA
“Three days. You said that’s how long it would take,” I yell into the phone, dodging a bunch of people running past me as I move outside to hear.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Carter, but the part we need didn’t come in today like I had hoped. If we’re lucky, it will arrive Monday morning, and we’ll have your car ready for you by Monday night.” The mechanic’s voice sounds like he’s barely even paying attention. Biting my lower lip, I look out at the sunset, which at any other time I’d find stunning with its deep oranges and reds, but not now.
“This is very disappointing. I need my car,” I snap.
“We can offer you a rental, but as it’s already six o’clock, you’d have to come right now.”
“Really? You tell me this now? Look, just… call me when it’s ready,” I say, looking down at my white Converse.
“Will do. You have a nice weeke—” I hang up on him, not in the mood to hear anymore crap. Because the last three days have been exactly that.
Shitty.
My whole positive attitude has slowly disintegrated like fruit left out too long. That’s me, a three-day-old banana, once yellow, now rotten and angry. Not only have the last few days been miserable with my sister, but Dean Powers has not said one word to me.
Nothing.
Literally glances over me as if I’m a ghost. At first, I thought he was just playing it cool and would ask to see me in his office, but Wednesday came and went, and here I am on Friday, standing outside a fraternity house with nothing but my phone.
“Yo, Alex.” Jordan comes stumbling over to me carrying two red plastic cups as I look at all the mayhem around me. Basically, he guilted me into coming to this party. I know I should be more excited. After all, this is a real fraternity party, but to be honest, I’m exhausted. I’m running on coffee and nervous energy. I stayed up until three in the morning on Thursday fine-tuning my first paper for engineering. Not just because I’m going to be judged by Brett, but also because writing is something I excel at.
“Thanks.” I take the plastic cup from him and wrinkle my nose at the red liquid, which smells like rubbing alcohol.
“Is your car ready?” He smiles. See, Jordan promised if we just stopped by his fraternity party, he’d drive me to get my car as soon as it was ready. But from the looks of him, he’s already drunk.
“No. The part didn’t come in,” I grumble. “Are you drunk?” My eyes take in his flushed cheeks.
“No. No way, I was just arm wrestling.” He laughs as a couple of guys shout behind us.
I almost ask why, but who cares. Taking a sip, I almost gag. “What is this?” I shove the cup at him.
Laughing, he chugs his.
“It’s Danny Boy’s famous punch,” he yells even though we’re outside. “Trust me, after the first couple of sips, it tastes good.”
“Come on, Alex, let’s have some fun. We survived the first week.” He holds up his hands and does a really bad dance, which of course makes me grin at him.