Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 118125 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 591(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118125 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 591(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
She’d just make a helpless little gesture and a sound in the back of her throat that said everything she thought of him, and what he was capable of on his own.
With a grimace, he swiped the call to send it to voicemail then dropped the phone back into the bag, trading it for a towel that he dragged across his brow before pressing his face into it, mopping up the dampness from his cheeks. He’d need to steal a shower before class, he thought—then paused, lifting his head, as a sound drifted up from below.
He stepped to the window overlooking the front path of the school—where the boys from the football team jogged in tight circles around the small paved plaza in front of the steps, Damon at their head, pushing all of them until they were drenched with sweat, Damon’s body so tense he was a captured moment of dawn-lit angles. Rian’s heart skipped, his stomach seeming to draw in on itself.
So much for putting Damon Louis out of his mind.
Rian couldn’t help lingering to watch; just as he couldn’t help noticing there was nothing Damon asked of those boys that he wouldn’t and didn’t do himself. Rian guessed these were makeup drills to compensate for missing practice with yesterday’s rain; the rain that had evaporated into thick mist blanketing the school and the trees around in a haunting, ethereal layer of white, concealing what swam beneath the surface.
Rather like Damon himself, Rian thought.
On the surface Damon seemed harsh, impatient, blunt, rude, sarcastic...but Rian thought he was just a gentle man who hid his passions. Shutting people out, because he couldn’t trust people not to hurt him with those passions if they were discovered.
As if you know anything about anyone, Rian Falwell.
As if you have any idea what his inner world looks like.
Already looking to fix another man?
But Damon didn’t need fixing. Not by Rian, and not by anyone else.
Damon was just fine without him.
Good, Rian thought...but couldn’t help the painful feeling of wanting, as he brushed his fingertips to the cool, morning-fogged windowpane, watching as Damon took another loop of the plaza with the boys, all of them jogging in uniform rhythm.
Only to recoil as Damon’s head lifted, turning toward the school.
And if Rian didn’t know better, he’d think Damon was looking up at his window. At him. As if those brown eyes could cross the distance to find Rian high in his perch, capture him, hold him, ask him what he was thinking, wondering if he truly thought Damon could ever want him in more than a moment of frustrated impulse.
I see you, that penetrating stare seemed to say. And I see nothing of substance.
Rian flinched back from the window.
Of course Damon couldn’t see him. He was probably just...checking the sun in the sky, guessing the time, how long they had before first bell. Rian wasn’t even there, for him.
That was how it should be.
Just...forget it happened. That was all he could do. Forget it happened, figure out what was going on with Chris.
And then never talk to Damon again.
Rian managed, at least, to avoid thinking overly much about Damon through showering, changing, tracing a little eyeliner and shadow around his eyes, and settling into class throughout the day. But he was drooping by last period, feeling every lost moment of sleep from the night before, and probably looked just as haggard as poor Chris—who didn’t even bother working on his wisteria, today. He just tucked himself into a seat at one of the worktables, and when Rian stole a peek as he slipped past to check a few pots other boys were firing in the kiln, he caught Chris scrolling dully through color images of wisteria. Looking for color references, Rian thought, and smiled sadly, touching Chris’s shoulder.
“Hey,” he said softly, and Chris jumped, tilting his head back before offering an exhausted smile that almost hurt for its sweetness despite the hollows in his cheeks.
“Hey, teach,” he said. “What’s up?”
“You okay?” Rian asked. “You look wiped. Going hard in practice?”
“Sure,” Chris agreed listlessly, his smile twitching, before he looked away. “Just been staying up late to study. Iseya’s midterm is gonna be awful. Thought I’d get a head start.”
“Ah,” Rian said, and lingered for a few moments, but...what could he say?
He didn’t buy that for a second.
Chris’s averted eyes said he knew it.
The questions, the pleas, hovered on the tip of Rian’s tongue, before he remembered Walden’s warning. One mistake could blow up into something bigger...and then all the boys could end up hurt, because Rian couldn’t be a bit more patient.
It hurt.
It hurt to see Chris suffering and not know what to do about it, his very position of responsibility barring him from intervening just yet.
But he swallowed against the tightness in his throat, and reached over Chris’s shoulder to tap his phone screen and one of the photos. “That one,” he said. “We’ve got glazes in those shades. Wisteria at night. It... I think it’d look nice on your sculpture.”