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)
“Why are you so gung ho about this, Beck?”
“I just like the idea of having you guys there.” I hesitate for a beat. “If you were, maybe I’d move back too.”
“Would you really?” Dad sounds surprised.
“Maybe. I don’t know. I’d have to think about it. But I definitely think you should do it. Do you want me to talk to Mum about it?”
“I do, but then she’ll think we’re ganging up on her, so let’s hold off for now.”
“When do you need to give an answer about the job offer?”
“They said I have until December to let them know. The starting date isn’t until the spring.”
“That gives you time to work on her. If you need to tag me in at Thanksgiving, give me the signal.”
He chuckles. “Thanks, kid. Now go on your run. I’ve kept you on the line long enough. Talk to you later.”
“Later.”
I pull a hoodie on and tuck my keys and phone in the front pocket. I hate running with my keys, but Will isn’t home from class yet. I pop my earbuds in and, for the next hour, try to blast away the sound of the keys jingling in my pocket. I return home sweaty and cold but feel better after a hot shower and some leftover pizza.
I resettle on the couch to find my laptop dead, so I grab Will’s off the side table because I’m too lazy to go look for a charger. I open his computer to find an unsaved document on the screen. Something called The Virgin and the Blade, by something called Lourdes.
What the fuck is he reading?
Curiosity gets the best of me, so I lean back and start to read. And…damn. This…sure is something. The author used the word effulgent three times in one paragraph. I don’t think I’ve ever used it once in one lifetime.
There’s a note in the sidebar. I click on it to find a comment from Will that says: Lourdes, nobody uses the word effulgent. It’s very off-putting.
I snicker under my breath. And for some inexplicable reason, I keep reading, getting sucked into the story. I had no idea Alexander the Great had a huge cock. Is that historical canon? I could look it up, but it’s more fun to text my teammate Nick, whose girlfriend is a history major.
ME:
Yo, ask Darce if Alexander the Great was known for having a big penis.
NICK:
No.
ME:
Please?
NICK:
ffs one sec
He texts back about ten minutes later. By then, I’ve already gone back to chapter one to read the story from the beginning. This is how I learned that the blade they keep talking about is sometimes an actual dagger and other times his hard dong. They still haven’t boned, though. This slow burn is excruciating.
NICK:
She says no and why do you ask.
ME:
I’m reading Alexander and Queen Elizabeth fanfic.
NICK:
Why are you this way, Dunne?
I grin at the phone and go back to reading. A minute later, another message arrives.
NICK:
Darcy wants the link to the fanfic.
I’m a bit disappointed when I realize there’s nothing after chapter seven. Will is apparently proofreading the story as it’s being written.
Swear to God, though, if Lourdes throws in the twist that Alexander the Great is a time traveler, this piece instantly soars into five-star territory.
When I hear the front door opening, I snap Will’s computer shut and reach for the TV remote. I did not just spend the past hour reading weird fan fiction. Nope.
“Hey.” He pops his head into the living room. “I’ve got news.”
“Yeah?”
“Oh yeah.”
He saunters down the hall toward the kitchen. From the other doorway that separates the two rooms, I glimpse him at the fridge, grabbing a bottle of water. He twists off the cap, leaning against the doorframe.
I roll my eyes at him. “Are you going to share this news or keep me in suspense—”
“I know who Charlie is.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHARLOTTE
Is this dumb jock bothering you?
IT’S WEDNESDAY MORNING, AND THERE’S A MINI DOUGHNUT ON MY desk. It’s small and covered in white icing sugar. A lot of icing sugar.
I look from the doughnut to the blond Australian sitting two rows below me. As if sensing my gaze boring into him, Beckett twists in his chair and flashes a smile.
“Morning, sugar puff. I brought you a sweet treat.”
I wince. “Please don’t say the words sweet treat.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s creepy coming out of your mouth.”
“Nah. You like the things that come out of my mouth.”
He winks at me.
I glare at him.
Will warned me yesterday that he would tell Beckett I’m their match, but I was hoping Ice Boy would have the courtesy of not bringing it up.
With stiff, jerky movements, I sink down and pull out my laptop case, wishing I chose an elective that doesn’t have lectures on back-to-back days and doing my best to ignore the “sweet treat” on my desk. It’s sitting on one of those lacy, white doily papers.