Total pages in book: 185
Estimated words: 191421 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 957(@200wpm)___ 766(@250wpm)___ 638(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 191421 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 957(@200wpm)___ 766(@250wpm)___ 638(@300wpm)
That’s Callie.
She’s sitting to my right, followed by Bronwyn Littleton or simply Wyn, Poe’s other friend. Then comes Poe herself and Tempest.
Who says, “Don’t let my brother hear you say that. He’s going to blow his lid.”
Tempest doesn’t go to St. Mary’s but she’s good friends with Callie — has been for years — and now her sister-in-law. Because she’s Reed’s, Callie’s husband, little sister.
Callie glances at Reed, who somehow senses that she’s looking at him and meets her gaze with his own. And God, his eyes are all heated and intense. And I have to turn away because I don’t want to intrude in their private moment.
Callie bites her lip at the way Reed’s staring at her before turning back to us. “Okay, sorry. You guys are right. That name belongs to him.” She sighs happily. “And only him.”
“Which means we need a new name,” says Wyn.
Poe turns to her. “How about Thorn? Because you know, he’s a thorn in her side and all that.”
Wyn bumps her with her shoulder. “Shut up. There can only be one Thorn and you know it.”
“Well technically, there are five Thornes,” Callie teases. “Including me and my four older brothers.”
Wyn shoots her a flat look. “There may be five Thornes but still there’s only one original thorn. My Thorn. And no one else can use that name.”
“Ooh,” Poe goes, grinning. “Possessive.”
Wyn narrows her eyes at Poe. “Yes, I am.”
And why wouldn’t she be?
When we’re talking about Conrad Thorne, the love of her life.
In my experience, Wyn is pretty chill and easy-going. But when it comes to Conrad, Callie’s oldest brother and her boyfriend, she can be pretty intense.
Which I totally understand and love.
Poe sticks her tongue out at Wyn. Then, “But we do need to call him something.”
“Yup, so we can bitch about him right in front of him,” Jupiter adds.
“Bandit,” I blurt out.
And feel my heart slam against my ribs.
Slam and batter and bruise.
I feel my mouth tingling, my cheeks heating up.
Probably because it’s been two years since I said that name out loud.
Two years since I wrote it as well.
After that night, I knew nothing I did would ever turn the one bad thing in my life into anything remotely good. So I switched back to calling my diary Holly.
I promised myself that I would never ever say that name out loud.
Saying it now feels like a bad omen.
“Bandit,” Jupiter repeats.
“That’s actually a good one,” Callie says.
“Very artistic,” Wyn, who’s an artist herself, adds.
“Yup,” Tempest agrees as well. “I would’ve thought criminal or something. But Bandit is much better.”
Poe smiles. “Totally goes with his dark and mysterious persona. Plus how he’s robbing us and Echo here of a very important fact.”
“What’s that?” I frown.
“That your ex is staring at you. Which was how we got started in the first place.”
Holy shit.
Holy fucking shit.
Yes.
Poe is right.
That’s exactly how we got here. Jupiter had pointed out that Lucas was staring at me. Which I misunderstood, but it’s sinking in.
This fact.
That Lucas, my ex-boyfriend, the boy I lost because of my mistakes, the boy I still love, is staring at me.
Oh God.
Oh God, oh God, oh God.
What does that mean?
Clutching my glass of orange juice even tighter, I ask in a halting voice, “Is that… Is that like a good staring or you know, bad staring?”
“Good,” Jupiter answers. “Definitely good.”
“Kind of like he can’t take his eyes off you staring,” Callie informs me with a smile.
“Told ya.” Poe grins.
Before giving me advice.
They all give me advice actually. On what to do next.
How to play it cool and how to show him that he doesn’t affect me. That I’m not still pining over him.
Which is all great.
And I do listen to them.
Not because I want to show him how okay I am after the breakup — I’m not and it’s fine if he sees that — but because I don’t want to freak him out. I don’t want him to think that I came here for him or that I’m stalking him.
I want this to look natural and non-threatening.
Me running into him here to talk. To apologize and to start building bridges.
So the fact that he’s looking at me in a good way helps my confidence a bit.
I try to peek at him through my eyelashes or the corner of my eyes, trying to catch his eyes, make some contact. It takes a while but during one of these surveys, my eyes clash with his.
And my heart soars in my chest.
With happiness. With glee.
Because in his gaze, I find the old Lucas. The one who looked at me with adoration and love.
With warmth.
The last time I looked into his eyes, they appeared hurt. Angry and betrayed.
So I excuse myself to go to the bathroom then, hoping that he’ll get the signal. That he’ll follow me.
God, please let him follow me.