Total pages in book: 184
Estimated words: 186756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 934(@200wpm)___ 747(@250wpm)___ 623(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 186756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 934(@200wpm)___ 747(@250wpm)___ 623(@300wpm)
I shrug. “Tequila maybe.” I tip my chin at him. “Definitely a smoke.”
Again, he studies me for a beat and I get the feeling that he’s trying to figure me out. Then, holding the cigarette up, “First, I never share my cigarettes. And second, I don’t think you’re old enough to drink.”
“Why don’t you share your cigarettes?”
“Because I only smoke one cigarette a day. They’re a precious commodity.”
“You only smoke one cigarette a day?”
In response, he takes in a long drag.
“Why?”
“It’s a rule.”
“Whose rule?”
“Mine.”
“Do you have a lot of rules?”
“Some.”
“Wow,” I go because who the hell is he? “I can barely remember the rules, much less follow them.”
“I had a feeling.”
“How old are you?” I ask next.
“Older than you.”
“When was the first time you tried alcohol?” I fire off.
“When I was old enough to.”
Even though I suspected such an answer, my eyes still pop wide. “Shut up.”
In response, he takes a drag of his cigarette.
“You’re kidding! You actually waited until twenty-one to try alcohol? That’s crazy. I had my first drink when I was eleven. I got my period and it hurt like a fucking bitch, so I tried my mom’s wine to dull the pain.”
A puff of smoke before he says, “That’s more information than I needed to know, but good for you.”
“What, periods make you uncomfortable?”
“Seeing that I’ve got a sister your age, I would say no, but I’m okay if you think that.”
“You have a sister my age?” I ask excitedly. “What’s her name?”
His response is to let out another string of smoke.
“What’s your name?”
No response.
Well, except for more smoking.
And the more he does that, the more he doesn’t answer me, the more I want to know. And I know that I have to be somewhere, but damn it, I’m intrigued now.
I sigh dramatically. “Well, if you don’t tell me, I have no choice but to call you Mr. Adorbs.”
He hums. “That’s a new one.”
“So why don’t just share what people call you?”
“Cold,” he replies. “People call me cold.”
“Cold, huh.” Tilting my head to the side even though I know there’s no way I’m going to catch even a little bit of what he looks like, I reply, “Then we’re perfect for each other.”
“How’s that?”
“Because I love winter.”
“I’m colder than winter.”
“And because my middle name is Agni.”
“What’s Agni?”
“Fire,” I inform him. “In Sanskrit.”
He releases another puff of smoke as if to emphasize my name. “Fire.”
“Yup. My mom’s from India, born and brought up, and when I was young, they said I was unpredictable. I’d cry one second and laugh the next. I’d throw tantrums in the middle of the laughter. So she named me Agni, unpredictable like the fire. I’m Isadora Agni Holmes and even if you’re colder than winter, I can melt you”—I snap my fingers—“just like that.”
“Isadora Agni Holmes,” he repeats as if he wants to get a taste of my name.
Of me.
Or maybe I want him to want that.
Because apart from finding him more and more intriguing as the seconds pass, I realize with a certain level of shock that I want that too. I want to get a taste of him.
And that’s definitely never happened to me before.
Definitely.
Who is this guy?
“That’s me,” I murmur, still taken aback by my realization.
“A mouthful,” he murmurs back.
“So?” I prod. “What’s your name?”
“Nowhere near of a mouthful as yours.”
I study him then. Or rather his silhouette.
All shrouded in mystery and intrigue.
“So is that how we’re playing it?” I shift on my feet.
“Games are for children”—he shifts on his feet too and I notice him lean against the trunk as if settling himself in for the long haul—“but why not.”
“Okay then.” I nod, accepting the challenge. “We already know you’re not my bodyguard. Which means you must be a guest. And since I just told you my name, you probably also know that this is my party and—”
He jerks his chin at me. “Happy birthday, by the way.”
I lift my chin at him in response. “So how about you tell me your name as a birthday gift?”
“Can’t.”
“But—”
“I already bought you gifts.”
Forgetting my disappointment for a second, I ask excitedly, “Yeah? What’d you bring me?”
I detect a shrug.
“A gift basket from one of those spa places. My sister assures me girls like that.”
I don’t know why, but I find that really adorable.
Him going to his sister to ask about what girls like.
“But now I’m rethinking it,” he finishes.
“What, why?”
“Because from what I hear, girls like tequila and cigarettes these days,” he drawls.
“But then again, you don’t share your cigarettes and I’m not old enough to drink. So a gift basket works. Thanks.” I chuckle, deciding here and now that as soon as I get a chance, I’m going to hunt down his gift first.
“You’re welcome.”
Then it occurs to me what he said. “But wait, you said gifts. Giftsss. You brought me more than one? What’s my other gift?”