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)
“You know I love you, right?” she mumbles, eyes closed and obviously at least half asleep.
I go completely still at the words. Will she even remember saying it tomorrow?
I press my lips to the soft curls at her temple. “I love you, too, baby.”
There’s no response but a soft snore and even breathing.
I huddle under the duvet and anchor her to me, somehow afraid this can’t be real and won’t last, that I’ll wake up and it will have been a dream. That I would have imagined this sliver of time where I loved a girl who loved me back and everything was perfect.
I’m not sure how long I sleep, but I wake to the slender fingers of dawn poking through the slitted blinds of my bedroom window. The space beside me is empty and cold again, and in the next room, I already hear the rustle of papers.
TEN
Verity
March
Running late again.
I cut through the arboretum on my way to the financial aid office, and wish I had time to stop, savor the smell of honeysuckle flowering in the first days of spring. No chance. Professor Rollins asked me to stay after class and spent half an hour poking holes in the first pages of my script.
“Damn your issues,” I mutter. “Making me late.”
Now I’m practically running across campus to get to the office before it closes for the weekend. Aunt Roz and Aunt Grace deposited money to cover the rest of my tuition, and it’s burning a hole in my account. The office has been very understanding about the balance of my bill, but I think I’ve reached the end of their grace.
I feel better than I’ve felt in months. Maybe years. As I dash across the yard, the air carries me, licks at my heels. Every breath I draw is fresh and crisp. The longer I walk, the more energized I become, like I have some rechargeable battery tucked beneath my skin.
What a life!
Just another few minutes before I arrive at the financial aid office. It’s technically on campus, but I have to cut through the college town that has sprouted up around Finley to reach it. I pass a coffee shop and then a bookstore and then a boutique.
A flash of deep pink catches my eye, and I retrace my steps to the boutique window. The dress is much more daring than anything I’ve ever worn, with provocative cleavage that dips almost to the belly button. The silky material hugs the mannequin’s shapeless form. How would it look wrapped around my fuller hips and thighs and ass? Monk wouldn’t even bother taking it off when he fucks me.
“Well,” I breathe, already heading for the boutique entrance. “Looks like you’re coming home with me.”
“Hello.” The lady behind the counter greets me with stilted politeness. “How can I help you?”
My smile blazes at her. My shoulders snap back. My spine straightens, and confidence pours off me and washes over her. I see it—the way she looks directly into my eyes, awaiting my next words.
“I’d like to try on a dress.” It doesn’t even sound like my voice. It’s deeper and richer and rolls out like a melody.
“Of course.” She walks out from behind the counter. “Which one?”
“That one.” I point to the bright spot of pink posed in the display window.
Her smile flickers like a faulty light bulb before popping back on and staying firmly in place.
“That’s one of our most popular designs this season,” she says. “Pretty pricey.”
“No wonder I loved it immediately. I’d like to try it on.”
Her dubious gaze roams from my beat-up Converse to my jeans with the hole in the knee and my I’m an Artist and I’m Sensitive About My Shit Erykah Badu T-shirt.
“Alright,” the attendant finally replies. “Let me get you set up in one of our dressing rooms.”
As soon as the pink silk slithers over my curves, I know there’s no way I’m walking out of this place without it. The neckline dips nearly to my waist. Its halter top snaps behind my neck and molds my breasts. I leave my bra off, loving the way my nipples pique against the cool fabric. I look over my shoulder at my reflection in the mirror. The entire expanse of my back and the tippy top of my crack are exposed, leaving the deep copper skin of my shoulders gleaming under the fluorescent lights. The dress is short, barely covering my ass, which looks like a perfect peach, if I do say so myself.
I let out a low whistle when I read the price tag dangling from the bright fabric, daring me to indulge in something so exorbitant.
“Eh, you only live once.” I stuff the T-shirt, jeans, and Converse into my backpack and don’t bother taking off the dress. “Monk will lose his mind.”
Barefoot, I glide out into the showroom and give the employee an imperious glance.