Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 71044 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 355(@200wpm)___ 284(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71044 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 355(@200wpm)___ 284(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
After I shot Vann a text simply stating, “Met someone. Left the party. Be back later!” I wondered if it might be rude to have taken off with someone else, considering I’m a guest here. But isn’t this the whole point of my visit? To explore what the island has to offer?
To find … inspiration?
What am I doing?
Like most buildings that are constantly blasted by the harsh, salty air off the ocean, his apartment complex isn’t all that flashy on the outside. Its wood paneling is paint-chipped and weathered, the color scheme screaming 1980s. The exterior staircase leading up to Adrian’s condo has rust on the railing, though it’s clear some effort has been made to cover it, but even that paint is chipping. Somehow, all of the aging only seems to give the building charm, as if it’s meant to look this way, like the wear and tear is evidence of how much it’s been enjoyed and loved.
After another flight of stairs and a short walk down a skinny hall, he lets me into his place.
Okay, wow, not what I was expecting.
For one, Adrian is obviously a total neat freak. The place isn’t enormous exactly, but it is so minimally and thoughtfully decorated that it seems bigger than it ought to, especially considering its narrow shape. We pass a small kitchen that opens to the living room, off which there’s a balcony overlooking the north pier and a short hallway to the side, tucking away his bedroom and bathroom.
I stop by the couch, where a large painting of a sunset hangs over it. Of course it makes me think of my professor and my ‘pretty little sunset’—which is miles more striking than this printed knockoff. But more significantly, it makes me think of my brother Angel and that sunset we shared together at the start of last summer, when we were sure we had the whole rest of our amazing lives awaiting us.
Maybe I had no business trying to capture that sunset in the first place.
“Want anything to drink?”
I peel my eyes off of the painting. Adrian stands in front of a cabinet in the kitchen, eyebrows lifted, waiting patiently for an answer.
“No.” I clear my throat and take a step back from the painting, only to kick my heel into the coffee table in front of the couch. “No thanks, I’m okay.”
“You sure? I’ve got tequila, whiskey, wine …”
On second thought … “Wine.”
“Red, white, or pink?”
“Whatever you’re having.”
He nods as he pulls down two glasses and gets to work. I start drumming fingers on my arm, feeling fidgety.
“So what is your type?” Adrian decides to ask me.
I flinch. “What?”
“Your type. You said it isn’t me. Now it’s my mission to find out.”
“Why?”
He chuckles. “What? Can’t I ask? Maybe I know a guy who knows a guy who’s exactly your type.” He finishes pouring the drinks, then comes around the counter to join me by the couch, handing me a glass. I take it and gaze at it. “Hope it’s okay. Spare bottle of rosé I snagged from work because my neurotic boss refused to serve it.”
“I wouldn’t know the difference. I almost never drink, except when Alice and her frisky band of lesbians push me to join them. Alice is one of my roommates,” I throw in for clarification. “Besides, I just turned twenty-one this past May, so drinking legally is a bit of a new thing for me.”
“Really? I’m twenty-five.”
I nod, then glance down at my glass. “So you said you snagged this bottle from work? You’re a bartender?”
He shakes his head. “A server down at Thalassa. It’s an overpriced seafood restaurant on the Quicksilver Strand, the boardwalk. Real fancy place. Dress code requires you got a stick up your butt.”
“Oh, good. I’ve always got one up mine. Requirement to be a real artist,” I add with a wink.
He cracks a smile, which makes his eyes explode like pretty blue gems.
I like that he responds to my humor. For some reason, I’d expected a guy like him to find me too dorky or odd. The fact that he seems to be enjoying himself around me makes me feel a bit bad for judging him so fast.
He clinks his glass against mine. “So here’s to sticks up our butts, then.”
He takes a sip.
I take a sip.
Phew, this wine is tasty.
His phone rattles on the kitchen counter where he left it. He strolls over, takes a glance at the screen, rolls his eyes, then looks at me. “You never answered my question.”
“Was that a bad text or something?”
“Just my mom bugging me about nothing important.”
“What question didn’t I answer?”
“Your type.” He takes another sip, then crosses his arms. “I really do know, like, a ton of people on the island. Regular tourists and locals.”
“Didn’t I say I’m not looking for anything?”