Laughing softly, I shook my head. “No, no. I liked that book. It’s just … not well-known, you know? I didn’t expect you to love it so much.”
“Well-known doesn’t mean better,” Dante grumbled. He raked a hand over his short black hair and scratched at the silver bar piercing the top of his ear. “Still, more people need to read this. I’m so pissed I don’t have the next book, and the library is closed tomorrow.”
My head no longer spun with racing fear but overwhelming glee. I leaned my cheek on my fist. “If you’re eager for book two, you’re really gonna be sour after finishing it. Big cliff hanger, and book three isn’t out, yet.”
His scruffy chin dropped, and his eyes widened. I might as well have told him his mother had died. “You’re shitting me.”
I bit my lip and toyed with the pen on my desk. “Nope. But I follow the author online. I think she said it comes out next month.”
I pursed my lips as my heart began to speed up once more. My author profile online was faceless, so if he looked up SC Draven, he wouldn’t be able to tell she and I were one and the same. I debated on whether or not to reveal my next statement. If I did, he’d find out I was the author, and for some reason, that idea both thrilled and terrified me.
Shoving my unfounded worries down, I announced, “That author, SC Draven, is actually a local author. She’ll be doing a book signing for the third book release at the bookstore by the coffee shop in January.”
Dante’s handsome face lit up. “We should go! Let’s do it, Star! I want to meet a future bigshot author.”
Warmth unfurled inside of me until I worried I might burst. His love for my book and belief in me—even if he didn’t know it was me—was more than I’d ever experienced. Not only that, but I’d never had someone in my life who wanted to do things with me or who shared the same interests. Dante’s offer to attend this event together was new and exciting. It was like I was finally making my very own friend.
And, of all people, that potential friend wasDante.
I agreed to attend the signing with him, though I chose to omit the fact that I’d be there as the very author he was hoping to see. I figured that could be a nice little surprise.
My current work in progress became forgotten as Dante and I fell into a deep discussion about book one in SC Draven’s dragon romance trilogy. All of my worries evaporated and were replaced by bubbly lightness. I gushed like a reader alongside Dante, telling him my favorite parts only to be told his.
Even when I worked at the library during high school, I never had the opportunity to freak out over books with people. The environment wasn’t for that, and my coworkers, though supportive of my writing, didn’t actuallyreadmy writing. They were more into thrillers, classics, or non-fiction.
With no end in sight for our conversation, I moved from my desk to flop back on my bed where it was more comfortable. I continued my rambling about the spicy scene in the dragon’s cave and grabbed Gilbert out of habit to hold and toy with as I talked. Dante’s eyes zeroed in on the fuzzy mass in my arms.
I glanced down at the stuffed animal and clutched him protectively. “It’s a capybara.”
Dante grinned, everything in his smile dazzling and perfect. “I know. I’m noticing a pattern. Are capybaras your favorite animal?”
“What gave it away?”
He chuckled before growing serious. His eyes narrowed like he was studying the creature in my arms. “But …”
I shot daggers through the phone and held Gilbert tighter. “If you say they’re ugly, I’m hanging up on you.”
Dante’s head fell back as he laughed at my defense of the animal, and I hated the sound. I hated it, because it heated my blood. I hated it, because it sped up my heart in a way that it shouldn’t. His smile and laughter was messing with my head and chest, and that made guilt follow close behind. Was I doing something wrong with Dante? Was trying to create this friendship with him a betrayal to Bradley?
The thought made the sparks dancing through my limbs recede in a cold rush. I swallowed hard and averted my gaze while keeping my tone light with false cheer. “I do need to go, though. It’s late.”
When I dared a glance back at Dante, his deep eyes searched me through the screen. I wasn’t sure if he noticed the change in my demeanor. I doubted it. I’d become a master at hiding behind a mask of smiles and concealing whatever was happening inside of me.
“Okay,” he finally responded. “Sleep well, Star.”
“Sleep well, Capybara Hater.”
His deep chuckle was the last thing I heard before I hung up. The sound lingered like a buzzing high in my chest, one that engulfed my veins in sweet heat. I took a deep breath and looked at the photo of Bradley and I on my phone’s screensaver. It had been taken at my twenty-first birthday party last year, and it showed his arm wrapped around my waist, a grin lighting up my face as he kissed my cheek. My heart sat heavy as I recalled that night and how fake my smile was.
Because it had beenmybirthday, but we’d gone out tohisfavorite bar withhisfriends.
Because even though I’d worn my favorite purple minidress that showed off the tattoos I loved and the curves I wastryingto love, Bradley didn’t give me a single compliment or even a pleased once over. Instead, he’d asked me on the car ride over if I could wear more clothes next time to cover “what I’d done to my body.”
I tapped my foot restlessly against my mattress and mindlessly rubbed at the tattoo on my left wrist. The ink there depicted an open book with sparkles and bursts of magic coming out of the tome. What you didn’t see was the scar hiding amid the tattoo.
I’d gotten the tattoo last year after one of my dark episodes. The moment I’d tried but failed to make everything I was feeling go away had been shortly after my birthday and the release of book two in my trilogy. The tattoo served to not only hide the evidence of my pain, but to act as a reminder on my future dark days. Next time I decided to pick up the blade, I’d look down and see the open book—a story left unfinished, a story that wasn’t done. I’d see why I had to keep fighting, even when I didn’t want to. I still had dreams of becoming a full-time author, of becoming someone my parents could be proud of, and I’d have plenty of stories to help me along the journey. Instead of escaping with the knife, I could escape with the magic of reading.
I took a deep breath and hoped that the intake of air would suppress the darkness trying to rise up inside of me.
