Total pages in book: 167
Estimated words: 164557 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 823(@200wpm)___ 658(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 164557 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 823(@200wpm)___ 658(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
My lab partner is an idiot.
Fine, maybe idiot is the wrong word. IQ wise, he’s probably intelligent because you don’t take a senior-level engineering lab if you’re stupid. So perhaps the right word is…irritant. He’s an irritant. Like birch during allergy season. I hate birch. And I hate George.
The guy seems determined to drag down my average by spending all his time mooning over his girlfriend, Lourdes. They even text each other in class, and she’s only two workstations away. I feel bad for her lab partner. He and I are like soldiers in the same prisoner-of-war camp.
Except this afternoon, on a cloudy October day, something glorious happens.
“Charlotte,” our TA, Monica, calls when I enter the fluorescent-lit laboratory. “You have a new lab partner.”
I can barely contain my glee as I approach her workstation. “What? Since when?”
“The request was approved yesterday. Professor Bianchi deemed it necessary for the well-being of the student.”
My brow furrows. “The well-being?”
She glances around to make sure nobody is listening, then lowers her voice. “It was a mental health issue.”
“Wait.” I stare at her in horror-tinged confusion. “I’m sorry—is George alleging I’m a danger to his mental health?”
“Oh, no, no! Nothing like that.”
“Then why—”
Monica waves a hand, a wry smile playing on her lips. “Just take the win, Charlotte. You know you hated working with him.”
I shrug. Busted.
“You’ll be paired with Will for the rest of the semester.”
She gestures to the table where Lourdes and Will usually work. I don’t know anything about the guy other than he’s a fellow senior and another hockey jock. He wears the same black-and-silver jacket as Beckett from Climate Policy, with the Briar U logo and two crisscross hockey sticks over the left breast.
I don’t know a thing about the sport, and since my only example of a hockey guy comes from Beckett, I just hope this one spends more time working than flirting.
At the very least, I’m praying he’s an upgrade from George.
I slide into the chair next to him and set my bag on the floor beneath our table, next to his backpack.
“Hi,” I greet him. “I’m Charlotte.”
“Will.” His voice is deeper than I expected. I realize I’ve never actually heard him speak.
His gaze sweeps over me, so I give him a once-over in return, because fair game. He has those classically good looks that most guys would kill for. Symmetrical features, straight nose, great jawline. And although his clean-shaven face and easy smile lend him that all-American vibe, he also has the jock build that fits my hookup criteria. But I’m not going to hook up with my lab partner, no matter how cute he is.
His brown eyes, intense and focused, seem to pierce right through me, revealing both intelligence and a hint of mischief.
“Why are you staring at me?” I ask him.
“Sorry, I was trying to figure out if that’s a beauty mark or a poppy seed over your lip. I didn’t want to be all, hey, you have a poppy seed on your face and then it turns out to be a beauty mark. I didn’t want to embarrass you.”
“It’s a mole.”
“See? Well, now I’m glad I didn’t say anything.”
I snicker. People are still filing in, but I’ve yet to spot our former lab partners.
“Do you know what that’s about?” I ask, gesturing to my old table, which sits empty.
Will grins. “George didn’t fill you in?”
“I’ve never spoken a single word to George outside this lab. Why? You talk to Lourdes?”
“You’re so lucky. Lourdes made us exchange numbers on the first day, and she texts me at least once a week begging me to do her homework for her. She sent me a whole update last night. Basically, they can’t bear to be apart, and it’s affecting their work. They wrote a letter to the department head insisting that’s the reason they’re doing so poorly in this lab, and if they were partners, they’d be able to pass every assignment with flying colors, fueled by their love.”
I can’t help but laugh. “You’re lying.”
“Nope. She sent me a copy of the letter.”
“Oh my God. Text it to me now.”
He grins at me. “If you wanted my number, all you had to do was ask. Didn’t need an excuse.”
“That wasn’t an excuse. I really want to read this letter.”
“Trust me, you need to. It’s the most melodramatic nonsense I’ve ever read. Beautifully written, though. Which I guess isn’t surprising since Lourdes is a writer.”
“She is?”
“Sort of?” His lips twitch with humor. “She writes historical romance fan fiction. Or maybe it’s a historical adventure? I proofed one of them for her. It’s about Queen Elizabeth—the virgin—getting deflowered by Alexander the Great.”
“I’m no history whiz or anything, but didn’t those two live, like, two millennia apart?”
“Yup.”
“Okay then. I guess time knows no bounds in love and fanfic. Anyway, it’s probably a good idea to exchange numbers regardless. You’re my lab partner now.”