Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 63966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 320(@200wpm)___ 256(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 320(@200wpm)___ 256(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
Shaking her head, she says, “Nothing. I’m working on my assignment.” She gestures to the easel.
I glance at the canvas and pause for a moment to appreciate how talented Aria is. “Damn, it feels as if the painting is alive.”
“Thanks,” she mutters.
My eyes snap back to her, and tilting my head, I ask, “So you’re not upset because Kennedy is back.”
Aria shrugs, and she begins to paint again, “Why would I be upset?”
I stare at her and not finding any signs that Kennedy being back bothers her, I wonder if I’m not deflecting my worry onto Aria. “So you’re okay?”
“Of course,” Aria whispers. She leans closer to the canvas as she works on a piece that requires fine detailing.
I let out a breath of relief, and when she pulls her hand back from the canvas, I lean over to her and framing her face, I press my mouth to hers. I kiss her with the urgency I felt to find her, with the worry that consumed me when I thought she was pulling back, and by the time I break the kiss, we’re both breathless. Needing to make sure, I ask, “We’re good, right?”
“Yeah. Always.” A smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. “I need to get this done in seven days, so the pressure is on. I’m just stressed.”
I feel like an idiot for making it all about me and press another kiss to her lips. “I’ll go get you something to eat.”
I give her a last kiss before I get up so I can go get her dinner.
ARIA
The moment Forest walks out of the class, my breath rushes from me as if I’ve been holding it the whole time he was here. My hands tremble so badly I have to set down the palette and brush.
I rub the back of my hand over my brow and try to rein in my turbulent emotions.
I don’t know what to think anymore.
Am I overreacting? Maybe… maybe Forest won’t choose Kennedy over me?
Feeling bad for letting my fears and panic get the better of me, I jump up and run to catch up to Forest.
Stupid, Aria. You almost ruined things between the two of you because you’re so damn paranoid.
As I step out of the building and I head toward the stretch of lawn between the lecture halls and the restaurant, my steps come to a faltering halt when I see Forest and Kennedy hugging. Her fingers are tangled in his hair at the back of his neck.
The blow hits so hard it makes me stumble a couple of steps backward.
I watch as Kennedy pulls back, and she smiles lovingly up at Forest. She lets out a burst of laughter, and wetting the pad of her thumb, she wipes something off on Forest’s cheek.
I spin around and dart back into the building. Instead of going back to class, I run to the restroom, and the instant I’m inside, my legs give way, and I drop to my knees.
I cover my mouth with my hands as a silent cry rips through me. Nothing has ever hurt as much as this moment. It robs me of my ability to breathe.
I’m not imagining things.
Forest is probably worried about our friendship, and he doesn’t know how to break things off between us.
The ache is agonizingly deep as I realize I’ll have to be the one to let him go. I can’t keep him if he loves Kennedy and wants to get back together with her.
As his best friend, I can’t do that to him.
Getting up, I splash cold water over my face, while trying to find a way to escape the pain.
There’s only one other person who can calm me down, and needing the strength to let go of Forest while pretending I’m okay with just being friends with him, I rush to the class.
I grab my phone and dial my father’s number.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he answers.
Instantly tears rush to my eyes, and a sob escapes me. “Daddy.” It hurts. It hurts so much.
“Aria!” Dad growls with worry. “What’s wrong, baby-girl?”
“The pressure,” I gasp. I can’t tell Dad everything, but I need him to comfort me. “It’s a lot. I have seven days to paint a piece for the gallery of modern art in San Francisco.” I only had five days with Forest, and now I have to let him go.
“Oh, sweetheart.” He lets out a breath of relief. “You can do it. You’re smart and gifted. Don’t doubt yourself. Whatever you paint will be a masterpiece.”
“Okay,” I breathe. “I wish you were here.” I can’t get through this alone.
“I’ll be there in five minutes.”
“Thanks, Daddy. I’m in room twelve in the art building.”
The call cuts out, and slumping down on the stool, my shoulders sag under the weight of my despair and heartache.
The universe shows me some mercy, and minutes later, Dad comes jogging into the classroom. I dart out of my chair and jump into his arms as tears begin to wrack my body.