Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 90672 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90672 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
This strikes a nerve. His eyes widen, and he studies my face before glancing into the dining area. Is he worried the guys might hear? That I know something I shouldn’t?
But then a mask of indifference slips into place, and he shrugs. “Seth has a talent for deescalating tense situations.”
“I know what he did to me, Brad,” I spit out, and he doesn’t break eye contact this time, but his expression is frozen in place, not revealing a damn thing.
Finally, he says, “Really? And what is that?”
“He fucking hypnotized me.” I keep my voice low because I can only imagine what the others would think if they heard me.
Brad’s lips curl upward and his eyes close as he chuckles. It quickly turns into a laugh. “Of course. That’s totally what happened. You got him.” He moves closer and whispers, “Maybe cut back on the weed you do before bed. Or really, whatever you’re treating yourself to.”
He’s much more relaxed now, which makes me think I fumbled on the hypnosis theory, but even if it’s something else, I can’t be that far off.
“Whatever the hell he did to me, I’ll figure it out, so just let him know that if he tries his mind games again, it’s not gonna be so easy.”
That sobers him up. That impressive jaw of his tightens, but I’ve said my piece, so I turn my attention to my omelet, squeezing ketchup along the side for dip. A bit squirts out, scattering across the plate and—
“Fuck,” I say as I notice a few drops across my tank. Now I’ve just given Brad Henning ammo. Here it comes.
I brace myself for the inevitable smart-ass comment, sure Pretty Boy will come up. I grab the hem of my shirt, and as I’m pulling it off to rinse it under the sink, Brad grips my wrist.
“Don’t,” he whispers, clinging to me. It’s not a tight grip, but it’s firm, and where he touches, a low, steady jolt of electricity pulses through me, exciting all my nerves. What felt like anger in my chest is now a powerful heat that sweeps through my body.
Our gazes lock, and I see a flash of panic in his wide-eyed expression. I’m fucking frozen in place, this energy coursing through me. My heart races, and my nerves are doing fucking somersaults in my chest.
With his free hand, Brad reaches into his shirt collar and pulls out his necklace, gripping it. The moment he does, he breaks our eye contact, and the sensation coursing through me cuts off.
“Good chat,” he spits out, releasing my wrist. He snatches his smoothie off the counter and dashes off, leaving my body buzzing with life.
By the time he’s in the hall, I’m able to catch my breath, which is when I notice the tent in my pants.
What. The. Hell. Was. That?
3
BRAD
“If you’re not gonna get into why you called this meeting, will you at least stop pacing?” Cody says. “You’re making my anxiety flare up, and it’s been bad enough lately.”
I halt, steadying my breathing. Deep, measured breaths. “Better?” I ask.
“No. You’re making me even more anxious that way. Just keep pacing.”
As I resume my back and forth, my mind’s all over the place. I’m a fucking wreck since my interaction with Luke this morning at breakfast.
“What the hell is going on?” Seth asks, trying to get it out of me after I finished rubbing one out in a restroom stall and grabbed him when he got out of his next class.
“We need to have a meeting. Later. With Cody.”
“You can’t give me more than that?”
“It’s about Luke Waters, and I just want to wait, okay? Back off, and we’ll talk about it later.”
That whole discussion in the kitchen fucked with my head.
That Luke remembered what Seth did to him.
Then how he started to take off his fucking shirt…and I about lost my fucking mind…well, my load, really.
Yesterday in the showers, after our fight on the field, my physical reaction to him was intense but only showed with a semi. This time it was overwhelming.
And excruciating.
Something’s wrong. Very wrong.
Which is why I called the meeting at the old church this evening.
I check my phone. We said eight, and it’s 7:56 now. Seth is punctual. He’ll be here soon.
Cody, sitting at an old desk—one of many around this cellar—folds his arms, nestling his face in them like a pillow. Despite what we’ve done to straighten the cellar out, it’s still just a bunch of junk—old boards and furniture—that we’ve rearranged so we can have our meetings.
A familiar sound comes from upstairs, and a few moments later Seth comes through the door at the top of the stairs. “So what the hell is this about?” He heads down, slinging his backpack around to his front.
I spit it out. “Luke knows what you did yesterday.”