Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 100294 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100294 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Chapter Twenty
LUKE
I’ve been leaning against the wall outside Madeline’s door for twelve minutes, counting each second by the drip of a radiator in the common area. I made sure to arrive early enough that she couldn’t avoid me.
I barely slept last night, too worried about Madeline and the fact that whoever killed Coach Murphy probably knows we know she’s dead. We’re loose ends now, or maybe just targets to take the blame.
I didn’t want to take her back to the dorm last night, but I didn’t have much choice. Still, I slipped out at two in the morning to check on her. Having the dean as my brother means I can borrow his master key whenever I need to.
As I wait, doors crack open. I don’t look, but I hear the soft sound of fabric and notice how laughter and voices suddenly go quiet. Three different girls have found reasons to walk past me in the last five minutes.
The lock clicks, and Madeline steps out with a bag over her shoulder. The tightness in my chest eases. She’s not wearing makeup, and her hair is pulled up in a messy bun. She doesn’t spend ages in front of the mirror for anyone. She’s always herself. There’s still sleep in her eyes, and they go wide when she sees me.
“Why are you here?” She glances up and down the hallway.
I push off the wall. The paper bag in my hand says breakfast. I hold it out. “I’m walking you to practice.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be at practice already?”
“Yes.” I shrug. The movement loosens my shoulders that have been tight since I left her last night. The thirty-minute gap means nothing. The coach will yell. I don’t care. “Eat.”
She takes the bag and unfolds the top. Her expression shifts, surprise bleeding into something I can’t name.
“You went off campus for this.” I did. To the coffee shop with shit coffee but good pastries. She’s gone there almost every day.
“Eat,” I order. She rolls her eyes at me but unwraps the sandwich as we move through the common area. The couches are occupied by girls pretending not to stare. I feel their attention like pressure on my temple. I hate this shit.
I open the main doors for her as she takes a giant ass bite; the crunch of the toasted English muffin is loud, but it’s followed by a moan that goes straight to my dick.
My hand finds her waist and pulls her in. Her eyes widen; she’s close enough I can count the flecks of gold in them. I kiss her because I can’t stop myself.
Someone gasps behind us. A book hits the floor. I don’t flinch, don’t perform, don’t care about the eyes or the whispers that will spread through the school before we reach the rink. Her mouth is warm. Her hand comes up to my chest, fingers curling in my jacket.
When I pull back, her lips are slightly parted. Her eyes look dazed, and her cheeks are flushed. I want to kiss her again.
“Let’s go,” I say, my voice rough.
“You’re really playing this up,” Madeline whispers, staying tucked into my side. I’m not playing at shit. That’s not a conversation for today, though. She’s not ready for it.
I match my pace to hers while she finishes the sandwich, and we walk across campus toward the rink.
“What happens when the coach doesn’t show up for practice?”
“You play dumb.”
“I can try.” She elbows my side. “Got any tips?” I let out a chuckle.
We reach the rink too soon. Madeline finishes the last bite of her sandwich, crumpling the paper bag in her fist. I take it and toss it into one of the trash cans. She looks up at me, and I want to keep walking. Past the rink, past the school, past everything that isn’t this until it’s just her and me.
But some of the Ice Crew girls come in through the side entrance, their voices loud across the wet morning grass. Lana’s laugh stands out, sharp and fucking annoying. She goes quiet when she sees us. I ignore them all, stopping at the door since we have to split up into our locker rooms to get changed.
I reach out, cup the back of Madeline’s neck, and pull her in. This kiss is shorter, but I make it count. I feel her pulse against my thumb. I love how her hand always grabs ahold of me when I kiss her, needing something to grip. When I pull back, her eyes are unfocused. Good. I have an effect on her.
“See you after,” I say.
She nods, still catching her breath, which I take as a fucking victory. It’s hard to catch my girl off guard and manage to daze her. I watch her walk toward the girls’ locker room until she’s inside. Then I turn and head to my own to change.