Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 113699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 568(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 568(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Lee Sterling is my opposite in every way, and I have no right to feel this strange warmth in his presence. If anything, I should feel anxiety, or at least irritation, but not warmth. Yeah, something is very wrong with me.
“Sorry I’m late!” he announces, all windswept hair and explosive energy. “It’s always something.”
It’s incredible how quickly the atmosphere changes. The air becomes electrically charged, a current of energy rippling through me. I’ve noticed Lee has that effect on people—drawing attention like gravity, making everyone else orbit around him like he’s Earth and we’re his moons. I try to look away, but my gaze gravitates back to him.
He’s wearing ripped black jeans and a vintage T-shirt. Simple but expressive. It’s almost annoying how carefree he is. The way he oozes confidence and commands the space like it belongs to him.
One glimpse at his face and I’m taken back to that dark pantry, where he showed me a side of him I doubt anyone else in this room has seen or even knows exists. The person he projects to this room is nothing like that man I met.
Right now, he’s loud, bright, happy…a social butterfly. Offering casual hugs, shoulder clasps, and quick kisses on the cheeks. It’s all an act. I can’t imagine how exhausting that must be. To pretend to be something you’re not.
Looking up, he finds my eyes, and recognition filters into his expression. The mask slips away, just for a second, and I see a flash of the boy from the pantry. Changing course mid-conversation, he heads toward me with purpose in his stride.
Oh god. My heart hammers against my ribs—one, two, three beats of panic.
“Don’t,” I whisper, but he’s already too close.
I’m on the fringes of panic, knowing he’ll enter my careful bubble of space and send me into a spiral. I’m not sure why, but he pauses, stopping right where he stands. The air ripples around us like waves lapping against the shore.
He makes no attempt to touch, crowd, or push past my barriers.
“Hey, Pantry Girl.” His soft voice is nothing like his loud entrance. “Saved me a seat?”
I blink at the clean couch section beside me. “Umm …”
His smile is different up close. Realer. Brighter. “Mind if I join you? Promise to keep my germs to myself.”
And just like that, my careful count of breaths falters. “I …” I start, but Marcus’s voice cuts through again.
“Careful, Sterling. She might sanitize you to death.”
Lee’s expression darkens. I know he’s going to say something and stick up for me just like Bel did. I don’t want him to fight my battles. I don’t want anyone to do anything for me. Without thinking it through, I say the first thing that comes to mind. “Better than catching whatever STD you’re carrying, Chen.”
Did I just say that?
The words hang in the air, and then Lee throws his head back and laughs—the sound warm, soothing. Around us, conversations resume, and Marcus sulks away without another word. It’s weird, but that tiny bit of laughter eases the tension in my chest, and when I take another breath, I’m lighter, calmer.
“Pantry Girl’s got teeth.” Lee’s smile grows while settling beside me—close but not touching. “Feisty. I like it.”
Pantry Girl? I should tell him to stop calling me that. Maybe tell him my real name.
No, he definitely already knows it.
Everyone knows it. At this rate, the smartest thing I could do was to vacate to another area of the room. Stick to my rules about interaction, distance, and safety. I think all these things, but I already know I have no intention of doing them.
Instead, I find myself sitting there smiling like a fool.
Lee’s presence carries both a calming and terrifying effect on my nervous system. He doesn’t fidget or try to close the careful gap between us. He just exists in the space like he belongs there. Like sitting quietly with the campus freak is totally normal for the popular playboy who could be talking to any girl, or boy, he wants right now.
“Thirsty?” he asks, gesturing to my still sealed La Croix.
“I …” The word sticks in my throat as I watch someone across the room sneeze into their hand. One, two, three seconds of pure horror.
Lee follows my gaze and stands smoothly. “Hold that thought. I’ll be right back.”
I watch him walk across the room, and without meaning to, I start counting his steps. He stops at the fancy built-in fridge, peers inside, and pulls out a sealed water bottle. My breath catches in my throat when he grabs a paper towel and wipes it down before returning.
“Still sealed.” He smiles, presenting it with a flourish but maintaining that careful distance. “And sanitized because I’m a gentleman.”
“You’re something,” I mutter but accept the bottle. Gentleman? I don’t know about that. Our fingers don’t touch, but an electric current ripples between us, zinging across my skin.