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)
“Actually, a double major. Film and African American studies.”
He pauses, a fry hovering at his mouth. “Damn, wow. Why?”
“I want to tell our stories.” The smile drops from my face and I toy with the silverware rolled into its paper blanket. “I want to know Black history for myself because they’ll rewrite and erase it if we let them. What we take for granted, they’ll take away. Our legends get lost. I want to write my own fresh ideas, yes, but I also want to revive and find roots in the old ones—the ones who deserved a shout in this world, but barely got a whisper.”
With Monk’s focus no longer split between me and the fries, his undivided attention, his eyes fixed on my mouth like that’s the only way he’ll hear them, is heady.
“That’s remarkable,” he says after a few seconds.
“I want to truly know who we’ve been and, through my writing, help shape how we imagine our future. You were right when you said USC was best for film, but Finley, an HBCU, will be best for that, and I’m fine with that trade. If we don’t know our history, thoroughly, they’ll distort it into some mystical past that erases our pain and our resilience and our achievement so they don’t have to deal with it. So they don’t have to deal with us. I want to be a truth teller, for my stories to reflect what happened and what’s possible.”
My pulse is racing, not just because I’m so viscerally attracted to Monk, but because the passion that drives me for storytelling has been stirred by our conversation. The moments tick by in silence. He’s not eating and grinning or pretending there isn’t some wave passing between us. Some recognition. It’s as solid and real as the table dividing us.
“Tell me about Petra,” he says, and the change of subject is so unexpected, so abrupt, I gape at him for several seconds. “You said the two of you broke up after…” He lifts his eyes to meet mine. “Did that night have anything to do with the breakup?”
“No.” I laugh at the expression on his face. “You almost look disappointed.”
“Maybe I am,” he admits, his lips quirking a little. “That was the hottest night of my life and the only place I got my dick wet was in your mouth.”
Mid-sip, I almost spew my water and glance around the crowded restaurant.
“Shit.” I wipe my lips with the back of my hand and let out a short laugh. “Should we ask management for a megaphone? Maybe someone around the block didn’t hear you putting our business in the street.”
“Sorry. I didn’t…” He chuckles, but has the decency to look slightly abashed. “What I should have said is that I’ve thought of that night a lot.”
Our gazes tangle across the table, and the air grows viscous with tension and attraction. I’m not sure if it’s embarrassment setting my cheeks ablaze or if it’s the restraint required not to crawl across this table and straddle Monk’s lap. This must be how lobsters feel being boiled alive. We’ve been at a simmer since the moment we saw each other at the exhibit, burning so slowly that I’m just now noticing I’m doused in flame. I want this so much. Want him again. Desire closes in on me so intensely, the walls must be sweating, narrowing the world down to the circumference of this booth.
“I’ve thought about that night, too,” I understate, struggling to keep my voice even. “It’s crossed my mind.”
“But that had nothing to do with the breakup?”
“I don’t know if that’s exactly true. We’re still friends, but she’s dating someone else now. Randi was at the party, but not sure if you met—”
“She had purple hair, if I’m thinking of the right girl.”
“How the hell do you remember that? Because, yeah, she had purple hair then. It’s already green.”
“I picked up on a vibe between her and Petra that was maybe more than…” He pauses, squints as if searching for the right word. “Platonic.”
“Bingo!” I don’t have to fake the light tone because I’m not bitter. “Petra wanted something different, more of a polyamorous relationship with both me and Randi. And I just wasn’t feeling that. I think we realized our relationship had run its course. We still care for each other, though, and hang out sometimes.”
“Cool.” He nods as if my response made things clear. “Besides being newly single, how’s the semester going?”
I relax some at the shift. I don’t mind discussing my relationship with Petra, but I’d rather talk about us, about tonight.
“It’s okay,” I sigh. “I have a huge project I’m not making much progress on. Writing an original screenplay.”
“Isn’t that kind of what you do?” His face settles into mild interest and amusement. “Write screenplays? Why is that hard?”