Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 71967 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71967 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
I put my coat back on, zipping it up. I grab my new book and wait a few minutes before leaving too, hoping I can still beat Gracie home before she realizes I was gone.
The rest of February brings much of the same in the form of mind-blowing sex and blurred lines. I try to get over the fact that he doesn’t want more. I attempt to return to understanding the reality of things. But, I can’t seem to leave my dream world, and it wreaks havoc on my heart.
SPRING PLAY
Gracie made the lead in the school play, which is unheard of for a freshman. This comes as no surprise to me, because I know how amazing she is.
Rehearsals are the entire month of March, and because of this, I’ve been staying after school even later than usual. I guess if I left after school like a normal person, I would have a lot of time before I’d have to come back and get her. Nevertheless, I’m not normal. I stay after daily with my chemistry teacher, and there’s no point in me going home just to have to return an hour or so later. So, once my teacher and I finish devouring each other, I go and sit in the very back of the auditorium, doing homework and reading, watching as my sister sings and dances.
Today is no different, and after we clean up and say goodbye, I leave his office and grab a seat in the theater. Using the faint light that shines in through the tiny glass hole of the door, I start my homework, moving from subject to subject with a sense of ease.
“Are you as good as she is?” His voice is smooth in my ear, jolting me to life. I thought for sure he left when I did.
I smile, biting my lip.
“Definitely not.” I turn around, seeing him in the seat behind me. “What are you doing here?”
“I know you’ve been coming here,” he shrugs.
“Are you as good of a writer as your sister is?” I turn back around, facing the stage, watching as his sister and my English teacher animatedly talks with the school’s music director.
“Definitely not,” he repeats my answer, but I bet he’s making it up; he’s good at everything.
I get back to my homework. He’s quiet, and I can feel his eyes on my back, or maybe he’s watching the rehearsal. Every bone in my body is aware of him until I’m no longer able to concentrate on what’s in front of me.
“You know, you can sit next to me,” I say, looking straight ahead as if I’m talking to no one. “I won’t bite.”
I hear him chuckle as the seat flaps up automatically. His scent is overpowering as he takes the seat next to mine.
“What are you working on?” He closes the space between us and I focus on the small stubble on his face, thinking about how badly I want to nibble on it, even though I just did not too long ago. “Luci,” his breath is intoxicating.
“Chemistry homework,” I sigh, rolling my eyes. “Teacher’s a real dick.”
“What about your chemistry teacher’s dick?” His eyes light up and I jab him in the ribs.
“Hey!” I shout as he attempts to tickle me, his fingers roaming, lingering a little too long to be innocent.
Something falls on stage and we both freeze, realizing that although we’re in the back, and it’s dark, we’re not alone. I settle back in my seat, catching my breath, embarrassed after doing something so silly. He grabs my hand, moving it under the chair before entwining our fingers.
I watch his silhouette out of the corner of my eye and we’re quiet as we watch the performance on stage. I have no idea what’s going on. All I notice is the current that flows from his most simple touch straight to my heart.
“If you could go anywhere in the world, where would you go?” My question’s random, jarring in our silence.
“Italy,” he answers almost immediately. I don’t say anything as I wait for him to elaborate.
“There’s so much history. The old mixed with the new, and the architecture is unreal, like something made up in a book brought to life,” he’s rubbing my hand as he answers. “Every little street leads to a piazza, the cobblestones…”
“It sounds magical,” I whisper, and my eyes closed as I imagine the picture he’s painting, all the colors and the smells that he goes into. “Do you know Italian too?”
“Maybe a little,” he shrugs as the corner of his lips turn up. “What about you,” he asks. “Have you traveled much?”
“Not really,” I shake my head. “A few states, but never outside of the country, aside from Canada once when I was a kid,” I sigh. “I want to though.”
“Okay,” he smiles. “So travel - love, hate, or no opinion?” He asks, starting our little game we sometimes play.