Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 103754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Only seconds separate our glances from connecting, not a minute passing without a smile exchanged or an entire silent conversation spoken through our gazes. He’s so easy to read that I start to think he’s a book that was written just for me.
With him, I feel like that girl I once was, basking in his presence—carefree and determined to make my life my own at the consequence of not giving a damn. But I gave a damn with him. He was once a dreamer with a rebellious streak like I was. That night was fun for him, but it was everything to me. No other man has come close, not close enough to share what Keats and I have. Had.
His pedestal is too high, a standard that nobody else can measure up to or reach. Has that been fair? No. But I’ve tasted something real, so deep, and authentic that less than that just won’t suffice.
But this time, when I’m hit with the intensity of those incredible brown eyes of his, I feel every inch of the woman I’ve become—sexier, stronger in mind, and more beautiful than I’ve ever felt before.
He’s the only person I’m willing to break my own heart to see succeed. I did that once, and watching him now, I know I’d do it again, if needed.
Where does that leave me? Moving forward with my plan or seeing if there’s another chance for us? Either way, they are complications that he doesn’t need, not when his hard work is finally paying off. And what I do know of Keats Matthews is that he hates a fuss being made over him as much as I hate being the center of attention. He still stands with confidence, listening and nodding. When his eyes find mine, he smirks like he might need saving. I laugh in response, ready to step in to throw him a life preserver when Taylor announces, “May I have your attention?”
She steps out of the spotlight, encouraging an older man to take over. He starts with a speech about profits and this year’s successes before introducing Keats as next year’s superstar author.
I clap along with everyone else, but my emotions overshadow the moment. My heart squeezes, and tears fill the corners of my eyes in pride of seeing him get the accolades he deserves. The flood of emotions I have for him stands in stark contrast to the numbness I feel otherwise. How is it possible to feel so much for a man I barely know and so little for myself?
I’ve been an expert at putting on the mask society expects of me, but navigating the pride I have in Keats comes naturally. Taking a deep breath, I’m steadfast in my resolve to leave the shame behind. There’s no more living in that house or working for my father, celebrating birthdays that don’t exist, or allowing the friendship I had with Gregory to get out of hand again. There’s no life at all for me there.
He's done this all on his own. I can do that. I must prove to myself that I can.
Keats says a quick thank you to the others. I spy a hint of color on his cheeks, reminding me of the boyish charm he showed when he accepted his diploma years earlier. I hold his coat to my chest, dropping my head to inhale his scent, and smile that nothing has stopped him from going after what he wants. Not even me, so I can’t regret giving him up. That choice paid off. He wouldn’t be here signing a deal if I had gone against my father and followed my heart.
Another round of applause drags my eyes up from the coat I’d been clinging to. Being near him again is overwhelming, my emotions spinning with pride over his accomplishments. But mostly, I feel like such a girl when my knees weaken just looking at him coming toward me. Without missing a beat, he slides his hand along my neck and then slips the pad of his thumb over my cheek. “Why are you teary-eyed, Sosie?”
I hate that he uses my name when I feel so desperate to be the person he once knew, to hear him call me Spark again. I know it’s too soon for my Poet to do such things, frivolous even, at this stage. The desire still stands, though.
Bending my head down, I tap the back of my hand under one eye, then the other. “It’s silly,” I reply, looking up at him again.
“Seeing tears in your eyes is never silly to me.”
Nudging his shoe with the toe of my heel, I pull my grin to the side of my mouth to restrain it from filling the room from his sweet words. “They’re happy tears. I’m happy for you. Congratulations. Sounds like it’s quite the deal.”