Total pages in book: 151
Estimated words: 145746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
When we were dating.
Were. As in no longer.
As in… she’s free. Maybe?
“Are you seeing anyone?” I demand, my tone tight because if I’ve missed my window and she’s already dating somebody else, I’ll be pissed the fuck off.
Her brows arch over the dark, watchful eyes that study me with nearly the same intensity she had given Flame.
“No,” she replies, her gaze locked with mine. “Single. You?”
I laugh. “I barely have time to floss, much less maintain a relationship.”
“I see.” She nods, smoothing the already smooth line of her legs in the leather pencil skirt.
Hell. That’s not what you say to a girl you want to ask out.
“What I meant was…” I falter and shake my head. “Fuck it. You wanna get something to eat?”
I hold my breath. In the time since that night, I’ve thought of her often. I’m not on campus much this semester, so the chances of running into her were slim. Seeing her tonight feels like fate. It feels like a gift—one I’m grabbing with both hands.
Her face lights with a smile that is as open as she was to me that night. So open, so beautiful and unrestrained even when she belonged to someone else. Her gaze drifts back to the sculpture, copper glazed in flame, one more time before replying.
“I could eat.”
“Cool, cool.” I keep my tone casual, at odds with the bass drum thumping in my chest. “I gotta be at the studio in two hours, so we’ll have to be quick.”
“What about Top Dog? It’s not far and they’re always fast.”
“Great. Now we just gotta sneak past Dr. G to get outta here.”
We’re on our way out, but her steps slow at the Flame sculpture again. I stand beside her, contemplating it. Even with my limited knowledge, I can appreciate that it’s a really cool piece, but Verity watches it like it’s alive.
“Do you know the artist?” I ask, still trying to determine what’s so riveting about it.
“Chap Brody? Not personally, no. It just reminds me of something.” She shakes her head like she’s coming out of a daze. “We better go if you don’t have much time.”
FIVE
Verity
When I told Monk I could eat, he probably expected that I would actually consume food, but my stomach is too fluttery. I’m afraid he’ll notice my hands trembling if I try to pick up the club sandwich I barely remember ordering. Maybe if I’d been prepared to see him tonight, my body wouldn’t be responding this way to being around him again. I’d given up hope that we would just run into each other. He told us he didn’t have many classes on campus and was doing a lot of studio work for credit, so I should have known seeing him around the yard was a long shot. The one social media account I found for him was private. I probably wouldn’t have mustered the nerve to reach out anyway. Still, I’d been unable to stop myself from checking crowds for his tall figure.
Our one-night stand should have been straightforward. Instead it became this whisper in my ear, this haunting of touches and sensations. This dream I found myself revisiting night after night. An extraordinary thing that hovered over my mundane existence.
“You not hungry?” Monk asks, seated across from me, eating another chili fry.
Our booth near the back of the off-campus dive is small and set against the wall, tightening the space between us to nearly nonexistent. Even though the place is packed with other diners, it feels like there’s nowhere to look but at him.
“Maybe I ordered the wrong thing,” I say, eyeing his food. “You making them fries look good.”
“You’ve never had Top Dog’s famous chili fries?” Judging by his expression, I’ve missed a rite of passage. “I’ve been getting these since freshman year. This place has been here a long time, even back when my parents were on campus. Here, have one.”
He proffers the chili-drenched fry across the table. I lean forward and open my mouth to catch the chili before it drops, placing my hand under it so it won’t soil my clothes.
“Hmmm.” I groan at the taste of grease-drenched cheese, potato, and chili exploding on my tongue. “Holy shit, that’s good.”
“Told you.” He slides the tray of fries to the center of the table. “Help yourself. I won’t eat them all since I wanna live to see twenty-two.”
“You’re twenty-one?”
“Yeah, and you?”
“Same. Twenty-one.” I grimace and reach for another French fry. “I wish this were my last year of school, but hey, I’ll walk a year late. No big.”
I haven’t shared what happened at USC with anyone, not even Petra. I’m dogged enough by the past. I’m not inviting it into my present, not when I’m starting to find my feet again.
“And you’re a film major, you said?” Monk asks, taking a sip of his water.