Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 75754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
She scoffs, but it’s such a lame attempt to cover up the fact she does find me attractive. I grin, leaning closer—so close I could nip at her earlobe if I chose to. I’m considering it when her hand moves swiftly. Something pointy pokes my dick.
This crazy chick is really about to stab my dick with her fucking pen?
Slowly, she turns toward me and uses her other hand to push at my chest. Considering she has a weapon aimed at my junk, I obey, retreating a few inches. Her eyes are flashing like bright blue electric lights. She’s clearly taking pleasure in her upper hand.
“You’re not going to stab me there.”
She presses harder against my jeans. One slip and she’s going to skewer one of my goddamn balls. I tense and grit my teeth, glowering at her.
“Won’t I?” she taunts, a golden brow arching in obvious amusement.
Our stares lock, neither of us backing down. The longer I look at her, the more I decide she’s completely fuckable. Once I melt the ice a bit first.
“Truce, Laundry?”
Despite her irritation, her lips quirk on one side. “Does that mean you’ll stop talking to me for the duration of class?”
“Yeah. I like my balls.”
“You’ll give up just like that?”
“It’s not giving up. It’s a truce.”
“Then what are you getting in return for said truce?”
I slowly reach down and curl my large hand around her slender wrist, giving it a warning squeeze. She bravely jams the pen harder until I hiss at the sensation of the thing threatening to rip through my jeans and do real damage.
“I said we’ll have a truce, woman. Fuck.”
“And I asked what you’ll get in return.”
“Coffee later.”
She shoots me a bewildered look. “Seriously? You think I’d actually have coffee with you or go with you anywhere willingly?” A dark laugh escapes her. “I don’t have a death wish, dumb boy.”
Boy.
What the fuck ever.
“You’ll give in.” I catch the eye of a girl gazing at me and wink at her. She blushes and turns away. “They always do.”
“Maybe one of your groupies,” Landry hisses. “But I’m not one of your groupies.”
The professor walks into the room and lightning quick, Landry jerks out of my hold, taking her wicked pen with her.
“Yet, Laundry. You’re not my groupie yet.” I grin devilishly at her. “But don’t worry. We’ve got all semester.”
We’re going to turn your world inside out, little ice princess, and it’s going to take a helluva lot less time than a semester.
Chapter Five
Landry
Another class in the same day with this idiot?
Ford Mann.
Ugh, great.
If my life were normal and he wasn’t such an epic asshole, he’d be the kind of guy I’d be interested in. He’s assertive and commands a room, but not in the same way I’m used to with my father. Something about Ford assures me that, even when being a douchebag, he could probably make me laugh and show me an epically awesome time. I think, if allowed, he might be the kind of guy who grows on me.
His cockiness aside, Ford is extremely easy on the eyes. Dark brown—nearly black—overgrown hair on top of his head is gelled back and the sides are trimmed short. The curve along his jaw is severe, compelling your eyes to travel its sensuous line. Dark facial hair sprinkles his cheeks as though he were too lazy to run a razor over it this morning, but it somehow looks stupid-hot and gives him a bad boy edge.
Everything about Ford seems effortless. Like he doesn’t have to try too hard to look like a god who accidentally stumbled onto a college campus. It’s just natural for him.
When his eyes—the color of dark maple syrup—meet mine, they flash with mischievous delight. I want to ignore him, but he makes it impossible. I manage to tear my gaze from his face and let it roam down his body as he approaches. At well over six feet, and muscles barely hidden behind a black T-shirt, he’s a fine specimen of a man.
He’ll ruin it by opening his mouth, though, in three…two…one…
“Are you stalking me, Laundry?” One of his dark eyebrows arches up in amusement. “I knew it’d only be a matter of time.”
I bite down on the inside corner of my bottom lip hard enough to stab some sense into me. The sharp pain of the bite has me jolting my attention from him and back to my notebook—the same notebook I took pages of notes on in my English class while Ford just stared at me.
“And it’ll only be a matter of time before you fail,” I grumble, trying not to tense when he drops into the seat beside me. “Time to go back to the Jersey Shore, douchebag.”
He snorts out what sounds like a surprised laugh. “Bitch.”
I shrug, doing my best to ignore him. But, that’s nearly impossible when I can’t seem to breathe without inhaling him. Whatever expensive cologne he’s wearing makes my mouth water—like the scent of the sea with a hint of spice.