Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 103754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Turning back, she stands in her pretty dress like she isn’t freezing to death despite the goose bumps covering her skin. I don’t have a coat to give, so I move closer to block the breeze from touching her and ask, “Why did you come out here?”
“I’ve realized I shouldn’t have,” she says as if it pains her to admit, and a shiver runs through her.
“No, please. For real. I’d like to know.”
She remains quiet as if she doesn’t want to rock the peace between us. “Because I liked our conversation.” She swallows, still hesitant to respond. “And I liked the way you looked at me.”
I search her face, her eyes, even staying longer than I should on her lips. A paler pink has replaced the red. I prefer the cherry stain, the dark eyeliner that ringed her eyelids, the cut T-shirt, and the combat boots, wilder hair, and confidence that didn’t shrink under some guy’s assumption and unapologetically smoked most of my cigarette. She’s still so beautiful, but it’s the change of seeing someone entirely new that’s a shock to the system. “How did I look at you, Sosie?”
Raising her chin, she says, “Like I wasn’t one of them.” I’ve never felt more of an asshole than I do now. She didn’t need my judgment. Who am I to put my issues on her anyway? When she glances back at the party, I dumbly look in the same direction as if I needed the confirmation of whom she’s referring to. “I’m not.” The spite in her tone matches the clenching of her fists at her sides.
Raising my hands in surrender, I reply, “I’m just a guy working your folks’ event. That’s all. I’m a nobody.” I cock my head, still staring at her because it’s so easy to do with a face like hers. But then I lower my eyes and shake my head, my hair falling forward again. Don’t do it, Keats. Taking no accountability for the cold reception I’ve given her, I look her over again, already leaning into an urge I know I shouldn’t. I can humor myself, though . . . “So why would someone like you care what I think?”
The question leaves her shifting her feet as she rubs her arms again since we’ve been standing out here without coats or a better sense of self-preservation. I was too focused on leaving, and she rushed out after me. Just to talk to me? Futile efforts on both our parts because I have a feeling we’re exactly where we’re supposed to be. There’s something more between us—a spark or inferno—and only one way to find out where it goes from here. Seems we’re just two fools standing at the end of a cold December, making confessions and concessions as if we owe it to each other.
She takes a deep breath as if it will fight the cold by how she interrupts a shiver, and says, “Because you let me bum your cigarette when you could have just ignored me altogether.”
I chuckle, though I don’t hear the humor in it, so I know she doesn’t. I run my hand over my head, not quite sure what to do with myself, much less her. “I have a feeling you don’t get ignored much.”
“More than you’d think.” She comes forward, holding out a crumpled piece of paper in the palm of her hand. “You can leave tonight, forgetting any of this ever happened.” I take the paper and open it up to see a number written on it. When my eyes meet hers again, she adds, “Or you can text me sometime. Doesn’t have to be anything serious. It can be for a walk, or coffee, a concert if you have a spare ticket and no one to take, or just want to burn through a pack of cigarettes on a fire escape. I’m your girl.”
It was then, the embers burning in her hazel eyes, that I knew I was a goner for this girl. My girl. I tuck the paper in the front pocket of my pants, still staring into her eyes as I drag my tongue over my lower lip. I can’t seem to pin down words to match the thoughts spinning in my head. Maybe it’s simple. I’m drawn to her, even if it isn’t in my best interest.
“Keats?” I suck in a deep breath when I hear Sierra call my name from a distance and spy her silhouette up the long driveway.
“Yes?”
She says, “Come get the racks.”
“Coming.” I can see her eyeing the two of us, but her shoulders ease as she walks away, leaving us in peace. When I look at Sosie, the innocence in her rounder face and an expectation in her eyes causes my chest to clench. She carries a plea in her stance as if she’s on edge unless given the word—the right word. Yes. “You should get back to your party.”