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)
A self-deprecating smile zips across his lips. He glances between us, then slowly looks up at me, and says, “My book went to auction.” He leans down and whispers in my ear, “The winning bid was a seven-figure deal.”
I lean to the side to catch his eyes. “Are you serious?”
“I am.” This is the first time I’ve seen him shine with his own pride. Naturally, it’s not even a brag, but something that sounded like he just needed to share with someone. How lucky am I to be that person for him? The luckiest.
I throw an arm around him, shamelessly holding myself against him. “You deserve this and so much more.”
There’s a space where time clicks by before his arms come around me and his head dips to the top of mine to rest his cheek for the briefest of seconds. It reminds me of how much damage has been done, and sharing a few minutes doesn’t resolve any of it between us. Conversations need to be had. Confessions need to be aired. But maybe it doesn’t have to be tonight.
When we part, his smile speaks of freedom, as if our days and minutes aren’t numbered, and when he laughs, it sounds like we got away with a crime. Maybe we did this time. Perhaps the third time’s a charm.
CHAPTER 18
KEATS
Sosie tilts her head back to take in the full scope of the building. Peeking over at me, she grins as if she’s caught me in a lie I never told. Raising her eyebrow, she grins. “You’ve done well for yourself, Poet.”
The name strikes chords in my heart that haven’t been played in years. They might be out of tune, but the familiarity ignites blurry memories. I shrug, trying to act like I’m unaffected. I am. I missed hearing it, but I yearned to hear her voice even more—the tone that dances between the girl who had the world in the palm of her hand and the woman who’s fought battles to be where she is. “I’ve done okay,” I reply casually as if spending time with her is nothing more than lunch on a Thursday.
It’s so much fucking more. To me, anyhow. And I’ve done more than okay, but since I blabbed about the book deal, it feels strange to be vocal about money when it’s always been a silent enemy between us. Our worlds used to be divided by miles, Central Park, and society. I was just a kid from a part of a borough where it wasn’t safe to walk at night.
I’ve been beaten to the point I couldn’t see out of either of my eyes, had more concussions than doctor’s visits, and raised myself on pasta and slices of white bread. I walked to school with the stench of alcohol under my feet and played basketball with randoms who showed up at the courts and were rich enough to own a ball. In this part of the city, I’m a borough and a train ride away from my past. It’s also a long way from the mansion where Sosie grew up. But what it isn’t is anyone else’s. This apartment is the payoff for the work I’ve put in, the late nights, the early mornings, making the right decisions in the stock market, and keeping pasta stocked in my cabinet when I start getting too full of myself. Nothing like plain pasta to remind you of a time when salt and pepper and butter were too expensive.
Something Sosie and I have in common is that we don’t need fancy food. Pizza will do.
Holding up the box, I spin it on my fingers. “The pizza is getting cold.”
As much as people love to brag about having a doorman, I didn’t need one to feel important. I enter the code and pull the door open for her, watching her slip under my arm into the warm lobby. “How long have you lived here?”
I can’t stop noting how comfortable I feel with her as we walk to the elevator. We’ve picked up like there wasn’t a sea of change and past pain between us. It still needs to be addressed, but is it wrong to just want to eat some pizza first? “Around four years. I rented near here after graduation. When I got recruited, I took advantage of the bonus to get out of that shitty studio where I was living.”
Stepping onto the elevator, she moves to the back corner, resting her hands on the rails and watching as I punch the button for the twentieth floor. When I lean against the opposite wall, she says, “I remember that apartment.”
“What do you remember about it?” I remember our night together and her the next day. I remember seeing her ghost around the place like her spirit couldn’t let go. It was all in my head, a byproduct of burning through late nights working to wrap up my final project and classes filling my days. I got no rest, and the ghost of her loved to taunt me. I couldn’t fucking wait to move out of that place.