Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 103104 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103104 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
“Nope, but I can guess who.” He looks down the quiet hall, studying the closed doors. He even walks to the end of the corridor, opens the stairwell door, and checks it out. I notice he’s carrying a duffle bag. Weird.
“Who would you guess? Also, what’s up with the duffle? You planning on sleeping over?”
“May I come in? I can explain.” He leans against the edge of my doorway, and he’s wearing a cocky grin. It’s so different from how he is in class that I feel disarmed.
I cross my arms. “Why the heck is King Shark standing at my door asking to come in?”
He smirks. “Trust me, Tulip, you’re going to need me.” He holds up the duffle bag. “I have supplies.”
I arch a brow. “Color me intrigued.” I do a sweeping motion. “Please, come in.”
He waltzes inside, running his eyes over my small room, taking in the twin bed against the wall and the small dresser that come standard with the rooms in the dorm.
“You need to decorate,” he says, looking around.
I scoff. “Yeah, my neighbor Camilla has these cute twinkle lights up around her bed. I haven’t had time.” Or the money to burn. “Trust me, this is plush compared to my room at the home.”
He turns to face me. “A girl like you deserves pretty things.”
I frown, shoving that comment away, something I’ve learned to do well with him. “What’s in the duffle? A cute lamp? Some posters?”
He gives the room one last look. “No time to waste with small talk. These need to be filled stat, and I suggest changing out of that white shirt and putting on pants.”
What?
He opens the duffle and pulls out a bag of multi-colored balloons.
“Are we going to have a party? I’ll call Wyatt and Piper.” I’m joking. I’m not in the party mood.
He darts a look at me. “Prank night at Arlington. Wyatt didn’t tell you?”
I shrug. He’s spotty in the dorm, plus he’s on a different floor.
“It’s an annual thing, and I heard this afternoon that it might be tonight. Seems it’s a secret until it happens then all hell breaks loose.” He pauses. “Hijinks are about to ensue, and if someone knocked on your door, that might have been code for Get ready. Unless you want to hide under your bed and hope for the best…”
I rear back. “I was born ready, and I have heard of prank night. Even the staff gets involved, right? Or at least they let it slide as long as we clean up? Guess it slipped my mind since I’ve never lived in the dorms until now.” I eye him. “Thank you for paying for my room. I don’t think I ever said that the day in the auditorium.” Because things got a little hot and heavy. “I’m going to pay you back someday.”
He pauses in his handoff of a wad of balloons. “You don’t have to. Here, you take these and start filling them.”
“Bossy Shark,” I murmur as he drops half the balloons in my outstretched hands then rushes into my tiny bathroom.
I follow, and he’s in the small shower with the cold water on, his hands filling up a pink balloon.
“Take the sink. Don’t fill them too much—we don’t want them to burst.” He grins widely, and I blink, gaping at the football player in my shower.
“You’re like, really into this, aren’t you?”
“Less talking, more filling, Tulip. I came to help you and we’re gonna kick ass together, you feel me?” He flicks water in my direction. “Get to work.”
I like this side of him. “You participate every year?”
“Nope. This is for you.”
This is for you.
I let that settle and file in his dossier to savor when he’s gone.
A few minutes later, we’ve collected a pile of about fifty balloons, and he’s placing them back in his duffle with careful hands. I’ve got damp splotches on my camisole and his shirt is soaked and sticking to him, catching spray from the faucet.
“How many do we need?” I ask.
“All of them. This isn’t a night you want to be shorthanded.” His eyes drift over me, starting at my legs, lingering on my chest before coming up to my face. “Babe, as much as I like seeing you in booty shorts, you need to change. I’m talking sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt. Tennis shoes might be a good idea so you don’t slip.”
I gape again. “How bad is this going to get?”
Another wide grin.
I shake my head. “You are crazy. Fine, fine, let me change.” I march over to my dresser, pull out a pair of leggings, and pull them on over my shorts. When I turn around, he’s watching me, eyes low and heavy. “This work?”
He clears his throat. “Anything works on you.”
There’s a clatter out in the hall as if something metal has hit the floor.