"Already 'romancing' I see."
I blush and shrug.
"We've got a lot to plot out. Age, race, characters, the suspense part, the romance, location…" he trails off and I nod.
"It's going to be a big project."
He nods. "We'll have to hook up outside of school to work on this, probably two or three times a week."
OhMyGod. I had planned on doing a lot of the work on my own and letting him come in and give his thoughts and changes. I hadn't planned on him participating. At all.
He must notice the surprise on my face because he tilts his head and asked, "What?"
"Uh, well. I guess I didn't figure you'd want to put that much effort into it and that's fine. I don't mind doing my share of the work."
His brows furrow and he frowns. "Why would you think that?"
"I don't know," I shrug. "I guess I didn't think you'd have time with all the stuff you've got going on." You know, I think, basketball and Macyn. Only if what Lisa said is true, there is no more Macyn.
"Nah, I make time. I'm not one to slack off on the work. Remember Biology?"
I smile. "Yeah, I remember."
He grins and my breath catches. Oh God, that grin. For an entire semester. One-on-one. I'm never gonna survive.
"You were so repulsed I thought for sure you were gonna puke right there in the lab."
"I came pretty close—especially with those worms." I shudder.
He laughs. "Yeah, you looked pretty green with those."
I sigh.
"What?" he asks.
"Green is so not my color."
He laughs again. "Oh, I don't know. You were pretty cute."
Cute? Did Kyle Cooper just call me cute? I instantly blush.
"You have your cell on you?"
"What?" I'm still hung up on the cute comment.
"Do you have your cell phone with you?"
"Oh, yeah." I pull my iPhone out of my back pocket and hold it up.
"I knew it would be pink," he says just before he reaches for it. I won't apologize for being a girlie-girl who loves pink. I won't apologize for the daisy stickers on it either. I'm girlie. People can deal. Every day I wear something that has pink in it. I don't know why, but I just love the color. Lisa hates it and wouldn't be caught dead in pink.
Kyle reaches for my phone. I quickly pull it back and hold it against my chest, narrowing my eyes.
"What do you want with it?"
"I'm not going to go through it or anything. I was just going to put my number in so you can text or call whenever you want to hook up."
My mouth goes dry. Coop's phone number. In my phone. Holy shit.
I keep my eyes narrowed and slowly hand him the phone and he works it like a pro then I hear a beep. He pulls his nearly identical iPhone out of his back pocket only his is black where mine is pink. He slides his long fingers across the screen.
"There." He turns his phone toward me. "Now I've got your number too." He wiggles his eyebrows.
"Well, don't go all stalker on me like Jason DeMarco did last year when we had to work on that Psych project."
I look at him and note he's frowning instead of laughing at my, apparently, poor attempt at a joke.
"What the hell? He stalked you?"
I shrug. "I may be exaggerating a bit."
"She's not." This from Lisa, the traitor across the aisle.
"Thank you very much," I say sarcastically, sending her a glare.
"You're welcome," she replies, sweet as can be.
"What happened?" he asks.
I shrug and shake my head. "It doesn't matter. It's done and over with."
"Hmm," is his only reply. I really don't want to talk to Coop about douchebag DeMarco and his nonstop texts and phone calls. The nude pictures and—dear God—the videos. The party where he trapped me, forced his tongue down my throat then proceeded to touch me wherever he wanted to while I fought, scratched, and clawed at him. I shudder and shut the memory down, closing my eyes briefly. This isn't something I want to talk about to him—or anyone—ever.
"Anyway…" I say hoping to change the subject. The bell rings and I breathe a sigh of relief.
He leans forward, his nose nearly touching mine and I barely cover my gasp—barely. My heart speeds up and I can't look away from his eyes staring directly into mine.
"This isn't over. You'll tell me what he did."
"You think so, huh?" I reply smartly.
He nods. "I do."
"We'll see," is all I say as I grab my books and stand.
"I'll give you a call tonight after basketball practice and we can figure out a schedule."
I nod. "Sounds good but I'll need—" I was about to say my phone when he leans forward, his chest brushing mine, his lips a hair's breadth away from mine. My eyes widen as I lick my lips. His gaze locks onto the movement as he reaches around me and boldly tucks my phone into my back pocket, my breasts brushing against his chest as he does. My breath catches and I know he hears it. He pauses and looks at me, his eyes now almost black as his gaze sears into mine.
After what feels like an eternity but is really only a matter of seconds, he pulls back straightening to his full height and touches his index finger to the tip of my nose. While the gesture is light and flirty, he doesn't crack a smile.
"I'll call you."
I nod. As he walks away, I pull my books up to my chest, wrapping my arms around them. My eyes still wide. My mouth hanging open. He's rendered me speechless.
"Wow," Lisa breathes standing next to me.
I can only stand there and nod. What the hell just happened?
Lisa elbows me and wiggles her eyebrows. "And," she says saucily, "he's single."
"He's not interested in me like that."
"Don't be stupid, Wilks," Aaron says as he turns and starts walking toward the door. "His eyes dilated and darkened. He's more than interested."
"Because you shared that information, again, I won't cuff you upside the head for the insult."
He grunts and gives a half-assed wave as he walks out the door.
Lisa smirks. "See? Girl, you're neither dumb nor blind."
No, I'm not but… he's Kyle Cooper and I'm just… me. He is way out of my league.
She nudges my shoulder with hers. "Let's go. We're gonna be late."
"For what?"
"Tryouts."
Kill me now.
Purchase Whispered Truths
God, it feels good to be home after a delayed flight. The familiar smell of cinnamon from the air freshener hits me, and I begin to feel warm and cozy all over. I drop my keys in the bowl on the side table by the door and pry my feet out of my shoes. Don’t get me wrong. I love my job. I can’t imagine doing anything else. Besides, what’s not to love? I get to travel around the country, sometimes even the world, taste wines, visit vineyards, and occasionally interview a famous or rising chef. However, I love getting back home even more—there’s just something about knowing you’re going to be sleeping in your own bed. I drop my bag on the floor and head right for the kitchen, desperately needing water. Then, I’ll take a nice hot bath and wash the plane and airport filth off. God, a long, hot bath sounds perfect.
I grab a bottle of water from the fridge, and while I’m drinking like I’ve just left the Sahara, I instinctively pick on the house phone to see if I have any pressing messages. Of course I do; that’s not surprising. What’s surprising is who a few of them are from—one from Val and then a couple from Tracy, my closest and best girlfriends who both knew I was on assignment. Why didn’t they just call my cell? It’s then I remember I turned my phone off after boarding the plane and never turned it back on. I’m sure when I do, there will be a gazillion messages and texts from them.
First, a message from Val— “Hey, Jules, it’s me. Why aren’t you answering your cell? Anyway, I just wanted to make sure you go
t home safe and to remind you about tonight because I’m sure you forgot. We’ll pick you up around seven.”
Pick me up? What am I forgetting?
Next is a message from Tracy— “Oh my God, you better be home soon. You’re so not skipping out on us just because your flight got delayed. We’ll be picking you up in… about two hours… God help me, Jules, you better be home soon, and you better be ready to go.”
Second message from Tracy— “I’m literally jumping out of my skin. First, if you aren’t there by the time we get there, and second, I’m going to see my man in the flesh. I swear, Jules, you won’t regret going to this concert—Redemption is the hottest band around. You better be ready, or I’ll drag you out by your pretty little ponytail. Love ya and see ya soon!”
I can’t help but laugh at Tracy’s enthusiasm and dramatic ramblings. Then my laughter dies. It hits me like a Mack truck—I had reluctantly agreed to go to that damn concert. And it’s tonight. I rummage through my suitcase of a purse in search of my cell. When I turn it back on, there are a few text messages from Val warning Tracy is out of her mind about tonight, and then a shit-ton from Tracy warning me I better be ready to go by the time they get there.
I note the time on the phone; they’ll be here soon. “Damn it, I just want to stay home.”
I desperately tried to get out of going. I even tried to use the veto power we three agreed upon way back when, but no matter what, I’m going anyway. I’ve been extremely busy at work, which encroaches on my social life, and tonight’s concert is not my idea of a good time. Going to the symphony—good time. Piano bar—good time. Sipping wine with friends—good time. Banging my head to ear-pounding, mind-numbing music like they have planned—not a good time. Stupid veto.
Tracy’s a persuasive, persistent little shit—that’s probably why I’m going. I have a habit of not being able to say no to her over-the-top tactics—ever. Although I have been successful a few times, but just by the skin of my teeth. It’s never a winning situation for me when she pulls that shit. “Please, Jules it will be so much fun, and you never have fun. You work way too much. Besides, I just know you’ll have a great time. The band is phenomenal and not to mention hotter than hot. Also, you need to see a concert at least once from the Skybox. Val was fortunate enough to get us these amazing tickets. Please, pretty please, with a cherry on top.” And that’s when she gave me “the look.” The look of a lost puppy dog, eyes as big as saucers with a glint of moisture rising up in them, plus a full, pouty lip that protruded farther than a lip possibly could, knowing I wouldn’t be able to say no.
So, here I am going to a concert and listening to a band I haven’t a clue about. Popular music isn’t my thing. My musical tastes are usually the classics, and no, not The Beatles or something like that. I mean Beethoven, Debussy, Mozart or Yo Yo Ma. Oh, and the crooning of Michael Buble or Harry Connick Jr. My girls don’t get it at all; they wish I would listen to anything but, saying I am too young to be listening to grandma music. I always defend myself by letting them know that what they listen to will probably cause them brain damage. Besides, music’s been my go-to thing when I need to escape and relax, especially when I was with Blake.
Blake. The music… it’s something I never told them because if I had, they both would throw out and delete every song and burn every CD. While I have opened up a lot about my time with Blake, I’ve never given them all the details. Val knows more than Tracy since she was there toward the end. I hate reliving and rehashing that time in my life; it feels like it happened a long time ago, although other times it feels like it was yesterday, and I survived. I’m still surviving. It’s hard to do more than survive when you’re constantly second-guessing yourself and looking over your shoulder. I should be beyond this at this point. I should have put all that behind me and moved completely on. He lingers in the shadows, stuck in a cobweb in the back of my mind. I tamper it down as much as I can, but at times its tendrils float free and creep and slither into the forefront of my mind. Tracy and Val think tonight is my chance to finally live after all this time. Maybe they’re right. I think they’re right. I hope they’re right.
I just got back from the Food and Wine Classic in Aspen, and I just want to stay home. But since the two of them have gone to several Wine Gourmet Magazine—who I work for as a journalist—events with me, which I must say they thoroughly enjoyed due to the free food and wine, I’m going. I’ll be paying for it tomorrow for sure. Stupid non-veto clause. Two against one, they said. They vetoed my veto. Ah, but I will get them back when they least expect it.
I throw the bottle into the recycle bin, and as I pass the refrigerator, I notice in bright neon pink the word Redemption written in Tracy’s handwriting on today’s date. That’s when I notice the date—June 24th. My heart instinctively clenches in my chest, my body vibrating as the reality of that date sets in. I’ve been so busy I’ve forgotten the date—occupational hazard. It’s been exactly a year and half—today. Eighteen months that I found the strength and walked out, eighteen months that I said enough was enough. Eighteen months I broke free; at least physically free. Before things can turn dark, I take a deep calming breath and remember my mantra, “I am strong, powerful, and above all else, beautiful and worthy. He can no longer hurt me.” Painstakingly slow, my heart untwists within my chest, and my body calms down. It dawns on me why my two friends were so adamant about me going to this concert tonight, and I love them for it. They didn’t forget like I had. I shake away the dark tendrils that are beginning to seep into my mind and go to the hall and grab my bag. Time to get ready. They’ll be here soon.
I am standing in my ginormous closet, my second favorite room in my house, Harry is crooning in the background as I try to figure out what to wear. Then it dawns on me—why do I give a flying fig? It’s not like I’m going to the opera or the symphony, so I grab my pair of dark skinny jeans, a deep plum tank top with sequins covering the entire front that’s tight across my chest—the girls look good; he would never approve—and my charcoal grey cardigan. My black ballet flats and clutch complete my outfit. I assume it’s good enough for the concert. I decide to readjust my simple high ponytail, allowing some tendrils to frame my face, sweep my blush brush across the apples of my cheeks a couple of times, apply a few strokes of mascara and “Voila,” I am ready to go.
The two of them are picking me up in a limo. The PR firm Val works for signed on this band as a new client and wants to send us to the concert in style since they are a small firm. Landing this band was something Val had been working on for a while, going against other larger firms. Their manager fell in love with Val—who doesn’t—and signed right away even before the band met her. , the limo gives me a reprieve from being the designated driver. Usually I’m doing the driving. But that’s the least of my worries. I just hope I will be leaving with all of my brain cells and ear drums intact.
Tracy had left the band’s latest CD when she first brought up going to the concert. I think what the hell, as a good reporter/writer, I always familiarize myself with my subjects, so listening will just be research. And since I’m ready and waiting for them to pick me up, I grab the nondescript CD, with just this capital greyish, silver R splashed like it’s dripping paint on the front of the case against a black background, and pop it into the stereo. My ears are immediately assaulted with the screeching and wailing of a guitar, while what I guess is the lead vocalist screeches a blood-curdling scream, nearly causing my eardrums to rupture.
I can’t hit stop fast enough, eject the CD, and pop in back into the case. I place it on a high shelf, trying to put it as far away from me as possible, when it decides it doesn’t like its new home and falls to the carpet. I go to pick it up when I notice a picture on the back of it, and I am instantly drawn to it by a pair of the most piercing, steel blue eyes I have ever seen. They seem to have the ability to call to me, to draw me in even though it’s just a picture. They make me want to get lost in them and forget about the world
. Forget about what today is and everything else that plagues me. My eyes scan the face the eyes belong to, and the smile that graces what can only be described as a beyond attractive man seems to be at war with the intense gaze his eyes are giving off. His eyes say he wants to devour and possess you, while his smile says his ready to play and make you laugh until your sides hurt. Devil and angel. I notice he’s standing dead center of the photo with two guys flanking him. I can’t help but wonder if he’s the lead singer whose screeching just assaulted me ears. And I can’t help but wonder if he looks that attractive in person or if it’s just a trick of photography and Photoshop? I put the CD away, afraid if I continue to look into his eyes I will somehow be sucked in, which is ridiculous. I notice my hands trembling, as is the rest of my body, and a sheen of sweat covers my skin. What in the hell have I gotten myself into?
“Knock, knock, anybody home?” a familiar voice calls out to me from down the hall.
“In the living room,” I call back.
“Hey, Jules. Oh, shit, Tracy is going to go ballistic when she sees what you’re wearing,” Val informs me as she eyes me up and down.
“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing? I think I look damn good. Besides, it’s just a concert. “Really, what’s the fucking problem?
“You seriously think our little fangirl is going to allow you to leave your place and be seen in public with her, at a rock concert of her favorite band, dressed like you’re going to hang out at the mall for a day of power shopping? Julia Megan Bennett, have you totally pickled your brain with all that wine you tasted recently? Or are you a glutton for punishment? If I were you I would hightail it to your closet and find something else to wear before she…” And before she can finish her sentence, scolding me, Tracy walks in.
“Oh, no, no, no, no, this just won’t do. Thank God I brought my garment bag,” Tracy objects, flailing her arms at me.
“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” I question for the second time in less than five minutes. I think I look great considering I just got off a plane a few hours ago, and besides, I’m comfortable. I need comfortable. Being in a new situation, a very unfamiliar situation, I need to feel as comfortable as possible. This outfit helps guarantee that. I don’t want to have a full-blown panic attack in the middle of the concert, and with my luck… I haven’t had one in a while, but…
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