Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 86833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
No. Fucking. Way.
All seven of them drop their shit at the table, Nate resting comfortably beside me and Bishop sitting directly opposite me.
“I can’t do this,” I murmur to myself, shaking my head.
“Do what?” Bishop asks, eyebrow cocked. He leans forward, and whispers, “Wanna play a game?”
Tatum tenses and then looks to me. I ignore everything that’s going on behind me, my eyes remaining locked on Bishop’s dark, murky green ones. My jaw clenches. He leans back into the chair, and I stretch my leg out under the table, only for it to connect with his leg. His eyes twitch slightly before a grin appears.
Tatum clears her throat. “Um.” I look at her, leaving Bishop to continue his stare-down on his own. “Are you going to text Tillie?”
I pull my phone out of my pocket, sliding it unlocked. “Yeah, I’ll text her now.”
“Two questions,” Nate starts, taking my sandwich and biting into it. I whack his arm with the back of my hand. “What?” He looks at me annoyed.
“Can you fucking not? I’m hungry. Eat this.” I throw him an energy bar.
“I didn’t eat this morning!”
“Well, that’s your own fault for not coming home last night. Eat. Give this—” I take the sandwich from his grabby hands. “—back.” He looks longingly at my sandwich, and I chuckle.
“Mmm.” I curve my mouth around it slowly, biting down on it. “So...” I chew slowly until I swallow. Swiping a drop of mayonnaise of the corner of my mouth with my thumb, I suck it off. “Good.” I laugh again, taking another normal bite, and then look around the table at everyone’s silence. They’re all watching me with mixed expressions. I look back to Nate, about to ask what the hell is going on, only his mouth is hanging open.
“Yeah.” He takes the sandwich from me. “No more mayonnaise sandwiches for you. Mmkay?” Then he shovels the remainder of what was left into his fat gob. I flip him off, looking back down at my phone. I scroll through the contacts until I’ve find Tillie, and send her a quick message.
Me – Hey, it’s Madison. Are you still on for tonight?
Tillie – Hey! I was wondering when you’d text. Sure, what time?
Me – Tatum and I will come pick you up after school if you want?
Tillie – Um, I can get dropped off.
Me – Are you sure?
Tillie – Yeah. Just send me your address and I’ll be there.
After sending Tillie my address, I look back up to Tatum. “She’ll get dropped off after school.”
“Back to my questions. Who is Tillie, and is she single?”
I throw a carrot stick at Nate and then go back to eating whatever is left on my plate. My eyes fall on Brantley, who has gone from scowling at me to flat out ignoring me, and then drift down to the rest of the guys, who seem to be eating and conducting small talk among themselves. My eyes eventually fall on Bishop… and… he’s staring at me again.
“You know,” I whisper, inching toward him with a teasing grin, “it’s rude to stare.”
He clenches his jaw, his eyes and face hard and unfazed. Then his mouth tips as he leans forward until his lips are a mere breath away from mine. “You know,” he whispers back, cocking his head, “I think you know how poor my manners are.”
I look from his eyes, down to his mouth, and then back to his eyes. Narrowing my glare, I slide out of my seat.
“Oh, come on, kitty,” Bishop taunts as I walk toward the trash can, dumping the rest of my food. “I know how you like games.”
I flip him off over my shoulder and walk toward the girls’ side of the school, Tatum quickly catching up to me breathlessly.
“What the ever-loving fuck is going on with you and Bishop?” she asks loudly, gaining the attention of Ally and Lauren, who are stashing their books into their lockers.
“Shh!” I scold her, walking toward my next class. “I’ll tell you later.”
She stops, letting me carry on my walk toward my next subject alone. “You better!” she yells to my back.
I look down at my watch, seeing I still have some time to burn, so I decide to take a detour to the library. I haven’t checked it out yet, but it has been on my list of things to do.
Pushing open the double doors, I walk into the smell of worn paper, sound knowledge, and history, and it instantly warms my heart. Pulling in a deep breath, I close my eyes and exhale softly, unleashing any bad juju I had by leaving it at the library’s door. There’s just something magical about a library. It’s like a portal to many different worlds. We have one ready to be set up at home. My dad at least made sure to get a house with a library in it, so all I have to do is fill it and furnish the place. I’m sure I could do it anytime I want, with my dad’s little plastic friend, but I want to make sure we really are staying here before I put down roots like that, and also without getting too attached. I’ve never let myself get too attached or too comfortable with where we have been, because I’ve been afraid. Afraid, because anytime I start getting comfortable, Dad would uproot our life and we’d be moving somewhere else. Do I know what Dad does for work? I mean, we all knew he is wealthy and came from old oil money, but he also has shares in different establishments, not only in the United States but in Europe as well. Money has never been an issue for me, but having an actual home has.