Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 97382 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97382 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Me: I mean, if I’m the one tying you to a bed, you’ll be screaming, but not from me taking out your knees. Tho, I will be between them.
AmbrosiaMercer: Well, look at that. The block button is looking really good.
Me: Man, you’re ruthless.
AmbrosiaMercer: And you’re gross.
Me: Or I was trying to be flirty.
AmbrosiaMercer: Fell flat, my guy.
Me: Shit.
Me: Let’s move on, and you tell me why no one ever sees you anywhere.
She types a few times, deleting and retyping before, finally, her words fill my screen.
AmbrosiaMercer: I’m a homebody, and the last time I went out, I got the call my dad passed away.
A hollow sensation burns in my chest as I read her words, feeling the pain in each of them.
Me: That fucking sucks.
AmbrosiaMercer: Yeah, kind of ruined my college experience. Now, I just work and hang out at the house.
Me: I’d love to come hang with you.
AmbrosiaMercer: I wonder what happens if I hit the block button?
I can’t help but snort as I shake my head. Fuck, she keeps me on my toes. I want to be around her just to see her grin as she cuts me down or puts me in my place. I wasn’t kidding at The Penalty Perk. I plan to show her I’m not who she thinks I am. I mean, maybe I am, or was… Wow, that thought has me reeling. This weird clenching grips my stomach as I realize maybe it’s time to be more.
A better guy.
With a better reputation.
With a clear-cut idea of what I want.
Of who I am.
Shit. Is her theory right?
Ignoring that final thought, I write her.
Me: You should ignore that button because I think you might enjoy me.
AmbrosiaMercer: Maybe, but I’ve talked to guys like you and your friend. I know the score. You get what you want, and then I’m left to clean up the mess left behind.
Me: Hmm, interesting theory. Have you heard the one that says, if they want to, they will?
AmbrosiaMercer: I have.
Me: Cool. Get ready to live it firsthand.
AmbrosiaMercer: Fuck.
CHAPTER
TWELVE
Ambrosia
You ever get that feeling that people are staring at you?
I have checked my face, my nose, my ass, and even made sure I don’t have a camel toe with how tight my leggings are, and everything is normal. In place. No camel toe or even a booger, so why can’t I shake the feeling that everyone is looking at me? I have been at Bellevue for six years now, and not once have I felt like this. Even when I used to walk with the Graces to classes, I never felt eyes on me like I do today.
It’s making me itchy, like my clothes are too tight or an elusive bug is crawling down my spine. Something isn’t right.
And sitting before my department head isn’t helping my nerves at all.
Peter Koshkin was hired my freshman year because of his insane broadcasting skills. He went from broadcasting in Russian to doing it in English in the United States, like the language barrier wasn’t a challenge at all. His voice has a bit of an accent, but it only adds to the appeal. He has broadcast all over the world, doing the Olympics, the Worlds, and more for hockey. He was the announcer for the Nashville Assassins for ten years before he retired for a quiet life.
So together, he and I started at this college and have grown together.
He was the first person I admitted my learning disability to. I have cried all over him. He has nitpicked me until there was nothing left of my soul, and while it sucked, I know I am better because of it. He is a huge, grumpy jackass whom I love so much. When I lost my dad, he stepped into the role, and I couldn’t be more thankful for him. He is so supportive of me and is the reason I am still in the program. He makes sure that every single one of my professors follows my IEP, individualized education program, to guarantee my success.
I wouldn’t be who I am as a broadcaster—hell, even as a person—without him.
Professor Koshkin’s dark bushy brows pull in as he nods, tapping his fingers to his desk as he listens to my latest thesis. I tuck my legs under my chair and wring my fingers as I remind myself that I hit all the key points of the syllabus and even more about my theory on why all schools should include a broadcasting program. I know my work is sound, and I have nothing to be nervous about, but I am.
My whole day has been weird as shit, and I just feel like something is coming. I don’t know what it is, and I hope it’s my period or maybe I’ll win the lottery I don’t play. Tía plays, maybe she’ll win…