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)
“Is this the grad school admissions essays?”
I nod. “They extended the deadline, so I want to reread them and make some edits. I rushed them before because of midterms.”
“If it helps, I can proofread everything before you submit it?”
I’m touched by the offer. “Aw, thanks. I’d really appreciate that.”
As we exit the bar, I stick my hand inside my purse and fish around for my car keys. My fingers collide with metal at the same time as the sight of a guy standing near the entrance, partially obscured by the night shadows, snags my attention.
There’s something about him—the haircut, his posture, the way he’s trying to blend in but failing—that makes my skin prickle.
Faith follows my gaze. “Do you know that guy?”
“I don’t think so—”
I cut myself off when he turns to leave and I catch a glimpse of his eyebrow. Suddenly, the image of that same guy lurking in the parking lot on campus comes rushing back.
“Wait, shit. I’ve definitely seen him before. Just…stay here a second.”
Faith frowns. “Charlotte—”
Ignoring her, I make my way toward him, my heart pounding not from fear but from the adrenaline of an impending confrontation.
At my approach, the raven-haired guy stiffens, realizing he’d been spotted. He tries to walk away, but I’m faster, blocking his path.
“Hey!” I call, my voice sharp. “Why are you following me?”
His eyes widen, and he takes a step back, hands raised in surrender. “I’m not following you, I swear.”
“Bullshit,” I snap, advancing on him. “I’ve seen you around campus, and now here? Are you stalking me?”
“Charlotte. What’s going on?” Faith comes up beside me while Blake remains near the entrance of Malone’s, on the alert.
“I think this creep is stalking me,” I inform her, and Faith’s eyes immediately narrow on him.
His face turns beet red, and he looks like he wants to melt into the sidewalk. “No, it’s not like that. I—”
“Then what is it?” I demand, crossing my arms over my chest.
He fumbles with something in his pocket.
Faith and I instinctively back away, and I feel silly when I realize he’s only pulling out his phone. He holds it out so I can peer at the screen.
“Look. You sent me this.”
Shocks slams into me when I recognize the BioRoots logo and see my own words reflected back at me.
“I’m not stalking you,” he says with a heavy sigh. “I’m your brother.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
BECKETT
Just lie and tell the lady she looks radiant
MY PARENTS HAVE BEEN FIGHTING FROM THE MOMENT THEY PICKED ME UP at the airport. They showed up together, then proceeded to spend the entire drive home bickering and haven’t stopped since. At least they’re still arguing at regular volume. Get two Australians drunk, and they can get pretty loud. Right now, though, they’re only a drink or two in.
We have no family here—everyone else is back in Australia—but over the past decade, my mum has cobbled together a nice little found family, which consists of two families on our street who are also immigrants with their bigger clans abroad and a retired couple, the Walkers. Helen Walker has been flirting with me from the moment she walked in. She’s had me refill her wineglass at least five times. This old lady is bombed.
Meanwhile, Mum and Dad haven’t been able to keep their bickering to themselves. I’ll blame Dad for this one. For some reason, he decided it would be a good idea to share the news of his job offer at Thanksgiving with all their friends. All their very opinionated friends.
Not all of them are on Mum’s side either. Mrs. Aghari even tells Mum that if she had the chance to return to Delhi with a good job and a good house, she’d take it in a heartbeat. “I miss my parents and sisters,” she admits.
And while Mum acknowledges she misses her own parents and extended family, she repeats the same thing she keeps telling Dad: “We’ve built a life here.”
“Meghan,” Dad sighs when the topic comes up again.
“No, James. I’m not uprooting my entire life again.”
I try to focus on the mashed potatoes on my plate instead of the rising tension between my parents. Mum is fiddling with her wineglass and avoiding eye contact with Dad, who stares at the turkey like it personally offended him.
“So how are your classes?” Mr. Aghari asks me.
I glance at him in relief. Mr. Aghari with the save. “Tough but I’m managing.”
At that, the conversation finally shifts to neutral topics like the weather and Mrs. D’Agostino’s charity work.
“Beckett, dear.” Helen taps her wineglass.
I hide a grin and push my chair back, heading for the built-in bar across the room. I love this house. I get why Mum doesn’t want to leave it, this big, sprawling spread in the suburbs, with a massive yard and a garden she spent more than a decade literally building from the ground up. But…