Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 116362 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 582(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116362 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 582(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
“So you want to be a writer?”
I don’t answer her at first. “I want to get this project done and over with, and I want to graduate.” All right, maybe it was a non-answer, but I don’t feel like giving her any ammo. I sigh and lean back in my chair. “I’m sorry about the email. I guess you rubbed me the wrong way.”
“Because you rub me the wrong way!” she says, and another “Shhhh!” comes from down the aisle.
“Quiet,” I hiss at Amanda. “Do you want Treebeard to kick us out or what?”
A flash of worry comes across her brow and she nods, knowing exactly who I’m talking about.
“Regardless of who rubbed who first,” I tell her, trying not to smirk at my innuendo, “we need to at least try and get along if this is going to work.” I pause. “Or if anything, at least not kill each other until the novella is done.”
“I’m not sure that’s possible.”
I shrug. “Well, a good start would be if you just accepted my apology.”
She blows a strand of hair out of her face. “Fine.” But of course she’s not looking at me, she’s pulling her laptop toward her, going into serious writer mode, just like in class. Whatever, I’ll take what I can get at this point. Though I have to say, even though it was my idea, it’s going to take a lot of discipline to not press her buttons. And no, that’s not innuendo this time.
“So I’ve been doing some thinking,” she says after a few beats, scrolling through something on her computer.
“Other than about turning me over to the dean?” I ask.
She glares at me over her glasses. “Yes. Since we both don’t like this arrangement, I think one of us should do most of the work. Pick the topic, outline the plot and characters, while the other contributes a few chapters. Preferably in an alternate POV to make it easier.”
“And you’re thinking it’s best if you do all the work?”
“Nope. If you want to do the work, that’s fine with me. Just whatever has us seeing each other less.”
I frown. She really has it in for me. “I foresee some problems with this. For one, we have completely different writing styles. I think it will be quite obvious who is pulling most of the weight. Two, how do I know that you’re not going to throw me under the bus and complain that I didn’t do any of the work? Or, for that matter, throw me under the bus and blame it all on me if we get a shitty grade?”
She eyes me over the top of her computer. “Because I could throw you under the bus right now if I wanted to. And I’m not.”
I sigh and run a hand through my hair. “I’d rather just split the work and do the alternate point of view.”
“You don’t trust me?”
I laugh. “Do you trust me?”
“Fine,” she snipes. “Then I’ll work on the plot and characters.”
“No. We both work on it. Together.”
She gives an exasperated snort and cocks her head. “Why are you trying to make this more difficult?”
I honestly have no idea, other than it’s kind of fun. “I just want an honest grade.”
“Bullshit,” she mutters under her breath. She clears her throat. “You know we’re going to have to see more of each other this way. Might even take several days for us to plot this out.”
“That’s fine with me.”
“Don’t you have a store to help manage?”
I feel my jaw tighten for a moment before I manage my most charming grin. “I can do a lot of things at once. I’m very resourceful. Talented, some say.”
She rolls her eyes. “We will let Marie be the judge of that. So, dare I ask if you have any ideas? Other than the ones proposed in the email, that is.”
“Actually, I thought of several on the way over here,” I tell her, which is true. “All based on different themes. Sex, death, guilt, betrayal, and deceit.”
Her eyes widen, looking impressed. “Okay,” she says slowly. “Are you serious?”
I nod. “How about you pick a theme and I’ll tell you my story idea.”
She bites her lip, and I find myself momentarily drawn to them and the light ruby sheen of her lip balm. If I let myself get carried away, I can almost—almost—see them wrapped around my dick. I squash the thought before it has any effect. Besides, I know the last thing she’ll pick is sex.
“Betrayal,” she says.
A little close to my heart, but she doesn’t need to know that. “Betrayal,” I repeat. “Where a husband ends an affair with a woman in order to make his marriage work, only to catch his wife cheating on him.”
Those damn lips of hers form an o-shape. “Heavy. Personal experience?”
“No,” I tell her. Not really. “But heavy is interesting. We could reverse it. Tweak it.”