Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 132933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 665(@200wpm)___ 532(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 665(@200wpm)___ 532(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
“Of course not,” Eliot says with a dramatic scoff. “What kind of low-level mad genius do you think I am?”
“I just figured you’d wait to see how the Pure Intentions triple date plan goes before attempting a friendship repair scheme.”
“I can multi-task.” Eliot pockets his phone. “I call this scheme Brotherly Love.” He nudges my shoulder with his arm. “Get it. Since they’re our little brothers in Philly.”
Philadelphia is often called the City of Brotherly Love. This city, the one I grew up in all my life, shouldn’t remind me so affectionately of Donnelly—but how can it not? He loves Philly more than any person I’ve ever known.
It’s hard to restrain a smile. “It’s pretty good. I just don’t have much faith that a run-in on campus will change anything.”
“That’s not a good enough reason not to try,” Eliot says casually, but his words are like poison. They stay with me long after I’ve ingested them. My head whirls, bitterness swimming through my stomach.
Maybe I give up too quickly on things. On people. On myself. I’m just so tired of plummeting and having to pick myself back up again.
I don’t have long to really consider my inadequacies. Joe’s Café looms ahead of us.
“Well,” Eliot stops ten feet short from the doors. “I don’t have to ask if Xander’s here.”
Students block the ten-foot glass walls of the café. All scrunched together with their phones aimed at what we can’t see. Campus security and Kitsuwon Securities’ temps obstruct the entrance, physically barring anyone else from passing.
I spin to my bodyguard. “We need to get in there.”
Frog nods, but it’s Eliot’s bodyguard, Vance Wreath, who answers, “We’re clear to go.” They take the lead and push through the crowds first.
Eliot and I trail right behind, unable to hear Vance speaking to security at the door, but the entrance slowly opens for us.
“Wait, why are they allowed in?!” I hear someone complain.
The answer is drowned with the bang of the door. Shut behind us. Modern comfy chairs and rectangular tables line the spacious café, brightened with sunrays spilling through the humongous windows. An artist’s paradise of natural light.
Standing directly in a sunbeam is Paul Donnelly. Ripped jeans and that familiar AC/DC tee, Donnelly leans coolly against a pillar that separates the dining tables from the food bar, but he’s watching Xander’s interaction intently.
It’s easy to spot my brother. He’s gathered with students at a long table, his club sandwich mostly uneaten but also unwrapped. Xander bobs his head to whatever the honor’s society students say and sips on a can of Fizz, trying to rotate away from the other students outside filming through the windows. More bodies are crowding around the glass.
From inside the café, their eagerness to see Xander feels more intense. I can actually see their faces and the sheer number of phones.
At least security is here.
Donnelly suddenly touches his ear and then glances over at me.
Our eyes meet. Making effortless contact.
“Do you want to approach?” Eliot asks.
At first, I think he’s talking about approaching Donnelly, but I realize his attention is fixed on my brother. Before I can reply, his cell rings. “This is Ben.” Eliot answers the call, a finger to his ear. “What? You sound like you’re in a wind tunnel, brother.” He strolls over to a potted plant further away, his bodyguard following while Frog stays with me.
A hand bangs the window from outside, and Xander draws his hood over his head, hiding. He seems more nervous. I should at least say hi. Leaving the entrance, I step in the middle of the café and head for Xander’s table.
“I was wondering when I’d run into you.”
I stop cold.
That voice sends a shockwave of distress through my body like my spacecraft has been swiped by a rogue meteor.
The meteor has a name.
Jeffra.
Slowly, I spin to make sure she’s real and not some nightmarish figment that my brain conjured.
Yep, she’s real. Golden brown hair is piled into a stylish top bun, sun-kissed freckles splash across her face, and she wears the same sardonic smile that haunts my dreams. Bullies. I’ve had lots of them growing up, but none were as relentless as Jeffra.
Shock unsteadies me. “You go here?” I manage to ask.
She snorts. “For two years.” She dissects me up and down. “I heard you finally showed your face on campus, so it was only a matter of time until…this.” She waves a hand at me. “You have something in your hair by the way.”
I touch the silk ribbon. One of many that’s tied into my hair.
“They’re ribbons.”
“They’re ugly,” Jeffra says into a smile. “Just trying to help you out there, Luna. Not that you ever took my advice.”
My stomach coils. “I don’t want your advice.”
“Obviously.” She laughs like I’m dumb, then fixes her fashionable fanny pack, the same kind Frog wears, only Jeffra’s is denim. “You’re a lost cause, really. I mean, I’ve always known you’re a freak, but tentacle porn?” She laughs. “God, you’re disgusting.” Her voice carries. People are staring at me. I feel their eyes. I feel their judgment.