Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 93224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 466(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 466(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
So I close my eyes and try to let the night fade out.
I’m almost asleep, almost free, when my phone buzzes against the lamp base. The sound is so sudden that I jerk upright, nearly knocking the light off the table.
The text is from an unknown number:
Meet me tomorrow at the Riverside Café, 2 PM. -T
My breath catches, and I read it again, just to make sure it’s real. It’s him. Of course it’s him. How did he get my number? Well, Thomas Moreland is a powerful man, and I’m sure he has his ways.
For a second, I don’t move. I just stare at the text, letting the idea of it bloom inside me like a rash. My entire body responds, a little surge of heat and panic racing to my fingertips. I want to trace the letter T on my own skin, to see if the sensation matches the memory.
I set the phone down, palms sweating, and for a full minute I just lie there, floating. The dorm room feels like a shoebox now, a space too small for the feeling in my chest. The lamp glows on, painting the walls gold and red, and I try to picture tomorrow, try to imagine the words I’ll say to him.
Nothing comes. Only the pulse, the want, the promise of what’s next.
I close my eyes, and the last thing I see is the blue of his eyes, and the letter T, vibrating on my phone like a code I’m just beginning to understand.
The door clicks open at exactly 1:17 a.m., and Simone drifts into the room on a cloud of sex, perfume, and residual starlight. She’s not even pretending to sneak, not tonight. Her blouse is misbuttoned, a dark streak of mascara flares out from one eye, and there’s a perfect, plum-colored hickey stamped at her collarbone like a VIP pass. Her hair is a glossy blonde tangle, equal parts staticky and luxurious, and she grins when she sees me awake.
I’m sprawled on my comforter, lamp still on, phone face-down next to me. My heart is still thumping from the text, my brain hot and busy. I watch her slink to the mirror, unfasten an earring, and smile at her own reflection like she’s won a private lottery.
She catches me watching and laughs. “What?” she says, voice tinged with laughter and fatigue.
“Rough night?” I ask, trying to sound dry but probably coming off as jealous. “You look like the before photo in a ‘Glow Up’ meme.”
She beams, unbothered. “I’ll have you know this is exactly the look I was going for.” She glances down at her blouse, shrugs, and leaves it. “It was worth it. You should try it sometime, Andie.”
“I’m working on it,” I say, and regret it immediately. I don’t want to open this door, but now that I have, Simone is never going to let it go.
She sits down at her desk, spins the chair to face me, and props her bare feet on the side rail. “Who’s the boy?” she asks, sing-song. “Or is it that hockey jock who’s been texting?”
“God, no,” I say, and surprise myself by meaning it. “Jake? He’s not even in the running.” I try to keep my face blank, but Simone is better at reading people than Google.
She leans in, eyes bright. “Then who is it? I can keep a secret, you know. It’s basically my superpower.”
“Do you want the truth, or the ‘truth’?” I ask, staring at the ceiling.
“Surprise me.”
I look at her, and for a second, I almost tell her the real thing. That I let a man I barely know do things to me in public, that I can’t stop thinking about it, that the idea of seeing him again is the only thing that makes my skin feel tight and electric. But I can’t. Not yet. Instead, I give her the story that’s one layer above the truth.
“There’s this thing with Kayleigh, Mary Kate, and Stella. A bet.” I can’t believe I’m saying this, but it feels easier than anything else. “First one to lose her v-card wins the pool. Thousand bucks, plus eternal glory.”
Simone snorts, not even pretending to be shocked. “You guys are literal children.”
“I know,” I say, face flushing. “It’s stupid. But… also not? We just wanted to make it less of a big deal. Like we’re surprised to be virgins as upperclassmen, and it kind of hangs over you, you know?”
She tilts her head, studying me. “Kind of. Sort of. You shouldn’t feel pressure to lose your virginity, Andie. It’ll happen when it happens. But, have you?”
“Lost my virginity?” I shake my head, then realize what she means. “No. Not technically.”
She raises one eyebrow. “Not technically?”
I look away. “I mean, other stuff has happened. But the official record is intact.”
She grins, pouncing on the opening. “And what ‘other stuff’ is that, Andie? What base are you at? Second? Third?”