Total pages in book: 52
Estimated words: 52643 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 263(@200wpm)___ 211(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52643 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 263(@200wpm)___ 211(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
"Oh, mine too." She laughs. "Weird. Anyway, since we have tons of incoming staff joining us on campus this year, a few things will be different. Have you looked at the new Advanced Filmmaking syllabus?"
The door suddenly opens behind me, and I turn away, crouching lower against the sink.
"Yeah, I uh—" I turn down the water. "I'm looking at those changes right now. They're very intriguing."
"I know, right! I can't wait to get some critiques during Week Seven. The guest speaker is Steven Soderbergh!"
"Oh, wow. I still watch his version of Ocean's Eleven every weekend."
"Me too!" she says, and some guy rudely turns on the loud-ass hand dryer. Then he grunts.
What the hell?
"Um… What's that growling sound?" Heather asks.
"Nothing. I need to finish this research while I can, but I'll be back soon. I swear."
"Okay." She finally relents. "Try to be back before sunrise, okay?"
"Absolutely." I end the call and turn around. "Can't you see I'm on the phone? Like, why would you—" My sentence stalls on my tongue once I take in who I'm talking to.
This man is living, breathing perfection.
Dressed in a charcoal overcoat that sheathes a dark grey suit, his deep blue eyes are complementing his tie's sapphire pin stripes. His hair, a sleek raven black, is cut low enough for me to run my fingers through, and his chiseled and smooth jawline is begging me to step closer and caress it.
Stop it! Snap out of this.
"I was clearly on the phone when you walked in here," I say. "The least you could've done is stay quiet."
"My apologies." He smirks. "Who were you lying to?"
"That's none of your business," I say as he steps closer. "You're intruding."
"And you're fucking stunning."
I blush, unsure of how to respond to that.
"I'm Liam," he says. "Are you here alone?"
"No," I say. "My boyfriend is the master poet onstage."
"I'm sorry to hear that." He looks disappointed. "I just gave him a hundred dollars to stop reading and put us out of our misery."
"I gave him twenty an hour ago, so he probably thought it was a tip."
He smiles. "So, he's not your boyfriend?"
"Never."
"Does that mean you can tell me your name?"
"Rebecca."
"Hmmm. Rebecca." The name rolls off his tongue so seductively that I wish I could hear him say my real one. "Can I buy you a drink?"
I nod, and he opens the door, ushering me into the hall. Clasping my hand, he leads me up two flights of steps to a tin-covered rooftop.
A waitress serves us wine, and I glance at my phone to ensure I have plenty of time to catch the last three trains of the night.
"What do you do for a living?" he asks.
"Nothing. I'm just studying right now."
"So, are you in graduate school or college?"
"Grad school." I don't want to risk him leaving. "My specialty is Creative Writing."
"Interesting." He smiles. "I studied that as well, but I wound up working on Wall Street."
"Are you trying to warn me that there's no money in English?"
"I'm pretty sure you already know that."
"I'm prepared to be homeless." I laugh. "Who's your favorite author?"
"I'd have to give you an entire list."
"I'll wait."
He smiles, and somehow, we dive deep into the waters of all things literature, and this man matches me stroke for stroke. We share the same favorite authors (minus those who leave me on heartbreaking cliffhangers), love getting engrossed in similar fantasy worlds, and harbor a deep passion for writing.
Before I know it, it's three o'clock in the morning. I'm two shots past tipsy, Liam's knees are touching mine, and I've missed the last train.
Unless I can figure out how to teleport by sunrise, I'll need to come up with one hell of an excuse for missing Senior Dorm Orientation.
Shit. Shit. Shit!
"Something wrong, Rebecca?" Liam leans closer, and I press my forehead against his.
"No." I say as his lips brush against mine. "Not at all."
I spot the bulge in his pants and hold back a gasp, knowing that he's probably seconds away from asking me to go home with him.
"I don't believe in sex on a first date," I say, and his lips curve into a smile.
"Okay." He threads his fingers through my hair. "Do you believe in letting me devour your pussy until you come while dripping all over my face?"
"I…" I've never experienced a man talking to me like this before. "Yes…"
"Good." He slowly pulls back and downs the rest of his drink. "Where do you stay?"
"My place is an hour and a half away by train."
"You commute that far to school every day?" He raises an eyebrow. "Which university are you attending?"
"Um, it's more like a…"
Bzzzz! Bzzz! Bzzzz!
His cell phone suddenly rings, serving us the first intrusion we've had all night.
"Hold that thought," he says, answering it. "Hello? Yeah, I'm still in Boston…You need me to do that now?" He sighs. "No, I understand. I'll grab my car and handle it. Just give me the address as soon as you know it."