Total pages in book: 142
Estimated words: 135522 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135522 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
“He’s got a nice face,” I point out.
“When he isn’t talking,” Cole finishes for me, and I chuckle. He goes to put his arm around me, a totally natural instinct I might even have not fought off, then thinks the better of it and thrusts his hands into his pockets instead. “Honestly, I would’ve just told those people at the bar the truth, if it weren’t for—”
“We can’t,” I remind him.
“That guy’s gonna go to sleep tonight convinced he’s wrong when he actually hit the nail straight on the boyfriend-head.”
His word choice stuns me. I bite my lip in thought, not daring to ask. After a few more paces, I crack: “Is … Is that what we are?”
He glances at me. “What?”
“Boyfriends …?”
“Oh.” He peers down at the ground as we walk. “Are we?”
“I’m not sure. It feels soon.”
“Of course. It’s very soon. I didn’t mean to, uh …”
“No, it’s okay,” I assure him. “You said nothing wrong.”
“In my head, this passionate chemistry between us … it’s been going on far longer than just a few days.”
“Passionate chemistry …” I echo mockingly, amused.
“What? It feels pretty dang passionate to me.”
“I have nothing to compare this to. I don’t know if it’s fast or slow or anything at all.” I shrug. “Guess it’s just our speed.”
He smiles appreciatively at me, coming to a stop. “Our speed.”
I gaze back at him, full of thoughts.
Boyfriends … Is that what we are already? Does it happen that soon? Is there a time that’s right and a time that’s wrong? Should we hold a meeting and discuss it?
It’s at the three-way intersection where Main Street ends at the front of Spruce Cinema 5 where we have come to a stop. The building still appears dark and without power, which is surprising, unless the general manager decided the electricity issue was a lost cause and closed down. The parking lot is dark, too, with just a pair of vehicles occupying it, one of which is Cole’s.
“Don’t worry,” he says quietly. “I’m right by you.”
I give him a look. “I’m not a baby who needs his hand held in the dark. I just get a little anxious is all.” I straighten my back as if to show how big and unafraid I am. “It’s a normal human reaction. A survival instinct. Our ancestors probably depended on it every night of their lives when the world turned unexplainably dark and creatures came out of the woods to hunt them in their camps.”
“You’ve given this a lot of thought,” notes Cole with a smile. “I didn’t mean to make fun. You know I’ve got … my own thing.”
He can’t even say the word. He doesn’t need to. I face him and nod understandingly.
He shuffles his feet and keeps his smile on. “You’re probably super sad we didn’t get to see how the movie ends. I bet it’s been eating at you all night and you’ve not said anything.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Just a hunch. So far, none of my hunches have been wrong about you.” He smiles dreamily, then turns to me. “Do you think they fall in love? The hard-headed paladin and the cute sorcerer dude? Do you think they end up together, despite it all?”
I wonder if Cole’s asking something else. If his real question is about us. “I … I hope so.”
“Me, too.”
Suddenly I feel like he’s the paladin who secretly loves me, holding a sword to my throat, demanding me to let him set our secret free. I’m the cunning sorcerer with a puzzling past who can never fathom life in the spotlight, forever bound to the shadows.
He’s using his power to stare into my eyes, searching for the truth, determined to find it.
The tension between us is nearing a mathematical limit.
Our pressure variable is in danger of integer overflow.
A kiss is imminent—a kiss to answer the passionate tension that has swelled between us since our own movie began.
The second I lean in, recklessly choosing to put my lips on his, he cuts our power supply with three tiny words: “I told Malcolm.”
I freeze. It takes a second for his statement to land.
He winces. “I’m sorry, Noah. It’s been on my mind all night. I told him this morning at the McPhersons’. We were opening up to each other about the event, stressing over this and that, and it … suddenly felt right to just … confide in someone about us.” He sighs and looks away. “But it was wrong of me. I broke my promise to you. I feel shitty about it. I’m … I’m so sorry, Noah.”
I let it marinate in my thoughts for a moment, connecting and disconnecting from several conclusions, much like a CPU working out a troubling situation with RAM and an overwhelming request from a demanding piece of resource-hogging software.