Total pages in book: 210
Estimated words: 200837 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1004(@200wpm)___ 803(@250wpm)___ 669(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 200837 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1004(@200wpm)___ 803(@250wpm)___ 669(@300wpm)
“That’s none of your business. My private life is none of your business.”
“It was eleven, wasn’t it?”
She’s about to yell at me, I can see it coming. But she catches herself before any words come flying out. I watch as that same composure she used to dismiss me earlier comes back into play, and again, I am reminded that she is not just some ordinary somebody. She is a very special somebody. “It was…” Her eyes roll up as she thinks. “A hundred and seventy-three.”
“What?” I guffaw at this number.
But the laugh stops abruptly when up-city Clara Birch walks right up to me and places her hand flat against my bare chest. “A hundred and seventy-three.”
“That’s impossible. No man would wait that long for a woman.”
Clara smirks up at me. “He was my childhood best friend, Tyse. We grew up together. We spent every bit of our lives together. We’ve practically been in love since we were born. When we got old enough, we dated. And right before I was chosen for Extraction, we had sex exactly one time.”
“How old were ya?”
“Eighteen.”
“How old are ya now?”
“Twenty-eight.”
“You’ve only had sex once?”
“No. Don’t be stupid. We met up while I was a Spark Maiden. Every couple of months.”
“When was the last time you had sex with him?”
“The day I got here.” That smirk of hers turns into a sympathetic smile as she pats my chest. Then she turns to the bed and crawls up it, flashing those ruffles at me.
“I’ve got no chance at all, have I?”
She chuckles as she slides her legs under the covers and turns onto her side, hugging a pillow. “Not even a tiny one.”
Then she closes her eyes and puts me completely out of her mind.
Clara doesn’t stir when I get in bed next to her. Maybe asleep, maybe just trying to torture me with her indifference. But either way, she won this night.
Because the only thing on my mind as I lie there, looking up at the ceiling, is her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
My dreams are filled with those last few words of his. I’ve got no chance at all, have I? It even comes through in his voice.
And for some reason, these words bother me. Because in the dream we are clearly together. Laughing, and smiling, and sometimes even arguing like couples do, with the familiar sense that this person you’re with can take who you really are and you can be yourself with them without having to fear that they will misread you, or, worse, give up on you.
It’s a good dream, but kinda sad too. And I’m not sure why. My mind is spinning with scenarios when I catch the sound of coins clanging against glass. I open my eyes just in time to see Tyse—shirtless and wearing only a pair of boxer shorts—reaching into the jar where he keeps his tip money. When he turns, his eyes meet mine, but he doesn’t say anything. Just walks over to the door where a man is waiting and he trades the coins for one of those phones he uses to receive messages.
After the door closes, he turns to me, holding up a finger. “I have to take this.” Then he ducks into the kitchen where he proceeds to talk in a low voice.
I look up at the ceiling and realize there’s writing and drawings up there. Something very old, probably. Sloppy, and hurried, and faded, the words say ‘Sparktopia was here’ in large, looping red letters that billow across a white banner that spans an image of a black tower.
Certainly not something Tyse did. At least it doesn’t come off as his handiwork, but what do I know? I met the guy two days ago.
I catch him saying, “Be there in a few,” in a low voice before turning to me. He sets the phone down on the small countertop and meets my gaze. “I’ve got work today. I’ve got to leave and I’ll probably be gone until after dark.”
“Oh.” I’m disappointed and this one word comes out before I have time to rein that disappointment in.
“But I’ve got an idea for ya. A way to spend your time. A job.”
I sit up, pulling the covers around me. “A job?”
“With Rodge. Down on Eight where they have the services. He’ll give ya work, he’s always short-staffed.” Tyse pauses to smile here. “So you can pay me back for the clothes and shit.”
Is he serious about the payback? I can’t tell. I get the feeling that Tyse Saarinen has more coin to his name than he lets on. Sure, he lives in a free tower with spark addicts, doesn’t have a regular job, and is suffering from a biological tech mistake that has clearly derailed his life, but he’s not the least bit desperate. There’s an air of satisfaction about him and people worried about coin don’t act satisfied.