Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 82255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
This week, I took the time to dig a little deeper and do some research on her parents. As I suspected, Stella doesn’t hail from the typical wealth and privilege. Her father married above his station and crawled his way to the top in an effort to appease his model trophy wife. Now he works himself to death in the city while she spends her days socializing back in Greenwich. Interestingly enough, Stella has always maintained excellent grades, and her transcripts are proof of that. But regardless, Brady LeClaire had to call in a lot of favors to get Stella in the door of Loyola Academy, which explains her drive to do well here. The enormous cloud of pressure hanging over her head would be motivation enough for any young, attention-starved woman.
My investigation served its purpose, but it had not cured my growing appetite for all things Stella LeClaire. So I did something this week that I’ve never done before. I snuck into her dorm like a hormonal teenage boy and swiped her journal, proceeding to read through every page, front to back. All of her innermost thoughts. Her drawings. Her photos. And now I understand the thing that makes Stella tick. She has a knack for taking pictures of people. The little creep even snapped photos of me on the soccer field. When I found them on her camera, my dick became unreasonably hard as I considered her spying on me. The little deviant had zoomed in on my face, snapping away as I remained unaware. She captured something in me that I didn’t expect to see. A rare moment of passion. Passion for something in this uninspiring world.
Without thinking of the consequences, I deleted the photos in anger, and then to make matters worse, I ripped out a page of her journal. The page where she said she hated my guts. It’s still sitting on my kitchen table. Maybe I’ll frame it, or maybe I’ll throw it away. I haven’t decided yet.
Looking at her now, I want to forget the entire project. It’s becoming too complicated, and she’s getting under my skin. In the beginning, I told myself I was doing this to prove something to her, but now, I find that I just want to punish her. That urge only gets worse when I dismiss her, and she refuses to acknowledge me. But she does acknowledge Joshua, who’s waiting for her in the hall. He’s another lacrosse player and obviously someone who hasn’t learned from Ethan’s mistakes. I flay him alive with my eyes, but he doesn’t seem to notice because his are fixated on Stella’s chest.
“Hey, Cherrybomb.” He flashes a dimple at her. “What’s happening?”
“Hey, Josh.” She secures her backpack around her shoulders and shrugs. “Not much. Just another day in the life, you know. I practically live here now.”
“Right.” He laughs. “I was gonna say, you’re always in detention.”
They both glance back at me as I fiddle with my keys, taking my sweet ass time to lock the door. He doesn’t want an audience for whatever he’s about to say next, and I have no plans on going anywhere until I see how this plays out.
“So, uh, I was wondering…” Joshua shifts and stuffs his hands into his pockets. “You have anything planned this weekend? I was thinking you could come to the game tomorrow.”
Stella hesitates, and I think she might actually be considering it. My blood boils as I imagine Joshua sloppily kissing her and groping her under the bleachers this weekend, and before I can grasp onto logical thought, the words are coming out of my mouth.
“Stella, I need to speak with you for a moment.”
She turns around and meets my gaze with a blank expression. We haven’t spoken throughout detention for the entirety of the week, and I know she’s wondering what the hell I could possibly want now. I’m wondering myself when I re-open the door and gesture her inside.
“Hang on a minute,” she tells Josh. “I’ll be right back.”
He nods and rocks back on his heels, watching me shut the door behind us. Stella waits for me just inside the room, arms crossed and on the defense. She doesn’t want to show her vulnerability, but I know what she needs from me. I know it better than she could ever know herself.
Before I can stop myself, I close the distance between us. So much so that my shoe bumps against her red Dr. Marten. Her breath pauses, and she glances up at me with those warm brandy-colored eyes that betray her sensitivity. A certain disadvantage for her, considering there’s a predator in her midst, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.
“Tell him no,” I command.
“What?” Her eyebrows pinch together, but she knows she’s asking a stupid question. She just wants me to spell it out for her.