Page 11 of The Torment of Two

Again with this Cedarwood.

Mr. Pederson’s eyes widen. “Wow, Mr. Sheridan. You’ve got quite the gift for this.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Arrogant much?

“Thanks for sharing,” Mr. Pederson says as he returns the phone. “Now get to know your partner, please.”

Finally, Two pockets his electronic distraction and turns his critical stare my way. “Why do girls wear fake eyelashes?”

I blink at him in confusion. “What?”

He points a long arm my way, his bony finger inches from my eyeball. “Fake.”

Though he’s talking about my eyelashes, I can’t help but flinch at the word. Some of my harshest critics in the social media world accuse me of being fake. I’m not fake. I just don’t share all the imperfect parts of me.

“Why are you so dismissive and rude?” I snap back, cheeks growing hot.

His brows knit together. “It was just a question. Why are you so sensitive?”

The gall of this guy.

It takes a lot to get me riled up, but Two has managed to boil my blood since the second he nearly took me out with his car. And I’m supposed to deal with this all semester? Yeah, right.

“Tell me about yourself,” I grit out. “What’s Cedarwood?”

His pale eyes glimmer with excitement and he flashes a shockingly handsome smile my way complete with dimples and all. “Cedarwood Mansion. I’m working on a miniature restored replica. It’s all hypothetical and based off historical photographs since those bastards won’t fix her up to her original beauty.”

Okaaaaay.

Not at all what I was expecting.

It makes sense now why he’s apparently besties with our professor.

Two is still grinning at me, and it’s a bit disarming. Maybe this terrible day is because of my mood, not his. He’s an oddball but an attractive one.

“Can we start over?” I ask with a tentative smile as I thrust my hand at him. “I’m Gemma Park. Nice to meet you.”

The dimples fade and his full lips tug into a frown. “Are you fucking for real?”

Oh great. What did my family do now?

“Excuse me?” I ask, the heat once again burning at my cheeks.

“Is your mom named Jamie?”

I stiffen and gape at him in confusion. Usually, it’s my dad or one of my brothers or Spencer who earns the shocked gasps or pissed-off snarls. Never Mom.

“Yeah. Do you know her?”

He sneers at me, “Nah, Golden, and I hope I never have to.”

What the actual hell?

Two

It’s her.

---