Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 60904 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60904 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
I glance at my watch. It’s past time to return to my flat and get ready for my first class.
Increasing my pace, I leave the peace of the willows behind and race towards my new life.
Two hours later, I’ve showered and changed into my usual jeans and a pale green blouse. It’s a casual but polished look, designed to blend in while appearing put together.
I pull my worn leather bag with my books and laptop higher on my shoulder and step through the iron gates that surround King’s Manor: the centuries-old stone building that houses the Centre for Early Medieval Studies.
It takes me a few minutes to navigate the repurposed manor and find my lecture hall, but I manage to get there before class starts.
Amala, a pretty young woman with a thick black braid and a broad smile, gives me a little wave, indicating that I should sit by her. Rich turns to look in the direction of her wave, and he shoots me a boyish grin.
I suppress a wince. I’d hoped his flirtatious advances at the pub after orientation had been influenced by the many pints he ordered, but I’m familiar with the way his gaze flicks over me as I approach. It’s not a blatant, disrespectful assessment, but there’s definite interest sparking in his blue eyes.
I return their smiles but choose to sit beside Amala instead of Rich. I’m happy to be friendly, but I don’t want to give him the wrong impression. I never date, and the few men who’ve shown interest have ghosted me, anyway.
It’s safer to maintain my distance. I have too many aspirations for trivial distractions like boys.
And I have Bones. No man could come close to fulfilling my darkest fantasies the way he does.
I drag my thoughts away from the painful fallout after our kinky hunt and focus on my classmates.
“We missed you at the club last night,” Amala says when I slide into my seat. “I wish you would’ve come out and danced with us.”
“Yeah,” Rich adds. “They had three-for-six tequila shots. We should go again next week.”
I shake my head with a rueful smile. “I don’t do shots. Especially not the night before classes start. I can’t believe you two aren’t hungover right now.”
Rich chuckles and shakes his blond head. “Are you that much of a lightweight? You’ll have to hold your drink better if you’re going to live in England.”
“Don’t pressure her,” Amala admonishes, then turns her dark brown eyes on me. “Just dancing next time. You don’t have to do shots if you don’t want to.”
“Thanks,” I say sincerely. “That sounds fun.”
“Or we can do karaoke!” she enthuses. “We can go sometime when we don’t have class the next day.”
“That sounds great,” I reply. “If you’re willing to put up with my terrible singing.”
“It’s all about the performance,” Rich interjects. “You have to have passion.”
His eyes pin me on the last, and I pretend not to notice.
“What’s your favorite song?” I ask Amala instead of flirting with him.
“Oh, that’s hard! I have a whole playlist saved on my phone. Let me check—”
“Phones down,” a new voice barks from the front of the room. “If you want to be on your phone during one of my lectures, take it outside, and don’t come back.”
Amala’s eyes instantly shine, and she immediately tucks her phone out of sight, pushing it deep into her bag to demonstrate compliance.
I whirl around to glare at our asshole professor. I don’t know Amala well, but she looks like she’s on the verge of mortified tears.
“Class hasn’t started yet,” I retort.
My gaze clashes with eyes so dark that they’re almost black, and my breath catches.
Professor Asshole is gorgeous—he must be nearly six and a half feet tall, and his tweed blazer seems to barely contain his broad shoulders. His round, gold wire-rimmed glasses don’t do anything to diminish his aura of raw power; if anything, they only enhance his air of authority. And that face…chiseled jaw, high cheekbones, and a slightly blocky brow. All artfully framed by caramel hair that falls around his shoulders in thick waves. No academic has the right to look that much like a male model.
His glower clashes with mine, and I swallow hard. My fingers fist beneath my desk in a reflexive gesture of strength.
I don’t care how hot he is. I won’t let him be a dick to my new friend. Especially when he’s barely older than we are.
“We’ll start now, then,” he replies coolly. “With you. Why are you here?”
My brows lift. “Excuse me?”
“I want a name and a reason.” He gestures at the lecture hall. “Why did you choose University of York and this course? The administration mandated an insipid ice breaker before I can start teaching you anything.”
I bristle at his arrogant attitude.
The demand to know what his problem is teases at the tip of my tongue, but I swallow it down. Provoking my new professor isn’t a good idea.