Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 96933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
So what if I’d been embarrassed?
It’s better than ending up raped and left for dead on the side of a desolate road, right?
Oh god...I’m too young to die.
I steel myself as the driver’s side window disappears between us. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from years of drama classes, it’s how to project my voice so that it’ll carry over a distance. I’ll yell my damn head off if I have to. There’s no way I’m going down without a fight.
A scream bubbles up in my throat.
“Elle, is that you?”
All of my limbs shake as I blink.
Wait a minute...that voice sounds familiar, but I’m not sure where I recognize it from. It’s deep. Older sounding. More like an adult than a student on campus. I remain silent as my mind flips through memories, trying to place it. I don’t answer or make a move in the car’s direction.
Are you kidding me?
Of course I don’t!
I’ve watched enough episodes of Dateline to know better than that. Well, maybe not. I left that stupid party, didn’t I?
“Elle, it’s Dr. Holloway. From your statistics class.”
“Dr. Holloway?” And just like that, my muscles turn lax, and my knees weaken with relief. It’s all I can do to stay upright.
“Yeah.” There’s a beat of silence. “What are you doing walking around by yourself at this time of night? Don’t you know how dangerous it is?”
Heat blooms in my cheeks. I certainly do now. I’ll more than likely remember this moment for the rest of my life.
“Oh, um...” I stammer, feeling like an idiot. “I was at a party and decided to leave early.”
“Where are your friends?” Before I’m able to respond, he hurtles another question at me. His voice sharpens. “You weren’t at a party alone, were you?”
I shift from one foot to another before reluctantly admitting, “No, I was there with my roommates.”
Even from where I stand, I can see his expression darken as the edges of his lips sink. “I really thought you were smarter than that.”
I wince at his chastising tone. What I’ve learned tonight is that I’m not only terrible at statistics, but my survival instincts are shit.
“Get in the car and I’ll drive you home.”
What?
I couldn’t possibly do that.
I shake my head. “No, that’s all right. It’s not much further.”
His tone turns steely. “Get in the car, Elle. This isn’t up for discussion. I’m not going to let you walk home alone at this time of night. I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if something happened to you.”
I draw my lower lip between my teeth as indecision spirals through me. When I remain motionless, he growls, “Now, Elle.”
Ugh.
This night has become an endless string of humiliations. Ones that I won’t be able to live down. First Carson and now one of my professors.
Left without any alternative, I mumble, “Fine.”
I force myself to walk toward the vehicle idling in the middle of the street. His attention stays fastened to me in the driver side mirror as I sidle around the trunk before pulling open the door and slipping into the passenger seat beside him.
“Thanks.” My gaze flickers in his direction before hastily bouncing to the road beyond the windshield.
“I assume you were at the Sigma Epsilon party tonight.”
It’s not a question.
I glance down at my clothing as a fresh wave of mortification crashes over me.
Why did I allow Madison to talk me into this costume? It barely covers my ass, and the T-shirt is so thin that you can probably see my nipples poking through the cotton.
“Yeah.” I shift awkwardly on the butter-soft leather seat, unable to meet his eyes.
“At the very least, I hope you had fun.” He switches the gear into drive and the car shoots forward, surging down the tree-lined street.
I almost snort but rein it in at the last moment. “Not really.”
More like not at all, but I keep that little tidbit to myself.
He turns slightly until I feel the brief touch of his gaze. His voice softens, losing the sharp edge it had held moments ago. “I’m sorry to hear that.” There’s a pause. “Is there anything you want to talk about?”
My eyes widen as they swing toward him.
As much as I like Dr. Holloway—he might teach one of the subjects I hate, but he seems like a nice enough guy—the man is still one of my instructors. I can’t imagine opening up and sharing what happened with Carson.
I press my lips together and shake my head. I want to forget about tonight, not rehash it in gory detail.
“All right, that’s fine.” We fall into silence before he asks, “Where do you live?”
Grateful for the change in topic, I blurt, “Sutton Hall.”
He nods, not bothering to ask for further directions. His attention stays locked on the ribbon of road stretched out in front of us. Without his inquisitive stare resting upon me, I’m able to study him more closely. He’s younger than I originally assumed. During class, he usually wears khakis and a button-down shirt. Sometimes he adds a blazer to the ensemble along with black, horn-rimmed glasses. His hair is longish with a slight wave to it in the back, near the collar of his shirt.