“I’m serious.” She smiles.
“You have my word, Miss Dimerez,” I say, the smirk on my face feeling permanently placed. She examines me once more, the glitter of her eyes humming in the air around me. I wonder if she feels it, too—this static. This almost electric sound vibrating between us.
“You better be worth my time, Mr. Cooper.” She holds out a hand, steady and unyielding, and I take it into mine.
“Jake,” I correct. “And I will be.”
She smiles wider, anddamn,does it feel good.
“Alana.”
For the first time in months, the air feels like it holds possibility. The weight that’s held me down, forcing the air frommy lungs, is lighter. After months of living without wanting anything at all, I have something I’m actually looking forward to. There’s a tiny crack in the armor I swore I’d never take off. It’s…revitalizing.
And it terrifies the absolute hell out of me the second she’s gone.
Track 4
“Just One of Those Things” NatKing Cole, 1957
ALANA
THERE’S A LOT a girl will wait for—the barista getting her latte just right, the traffic light turning green after it’s been on red for three solid minutes. She’ll wait in line at Target behind the woman with twenty coupons and a cart full of groceries just to bring home that perfect ottoman. She’ll even wait for her favorite song to come back on when her playlist is set to shuffle.
But one thing she should never wait for is a man who is late to the library on day one of their so-called truce partnership.
I have a part-time job at Café Baguette. A full-time class schedule with additional credits added on just to make my scholarship stretch that much further. Add on a one-bedroom apartment I’ve forcefully neglected over the entire course of my academic career but have total responsibility for, and most ofmy days are already allotted for. So, the last thing I have extra time for is sitting around waiting for Jake Cooper.
I hit the screen on my phone for what feels like the millionth time—3:28 p.m. He’s nearly a half hour late to what washismeeting time, without even a text. It’s incredibly rude. Quite possibly ruder than our initial encounter at this point. I let out a frustrated sigh, turning towards the beaming rays of sunlight filtering through the ancient library’s arched window.Why on earth am I waiting for him?
Maybe it’s because I could actually use his help since this is the hardest business class I’ve had to date, and the last one I need as a performing arts major, who’s onlyminoringin business. The previous classes weren’t half bad, but this Stanley guy lays the work onthick. He clearly doesn’t care who you are or what your major is.
And I’m pretty sure he hates Jake—which is weird. I wonder why Stanley gives him such a hard time. He’s clearly going through something; lost something or someone and seemingly himself. It’s not like you can’t tell. I mean, he wears his detached persona like a badge of honor, all repressed and reclused. Maybe it’s more like a warning sign telling the whole world to back off.
I should have heeded to said warning, but instead, I thrusted myself toward it, as usual. I would never be sitting here if I had just kept my mouth shut and let Jake get reamed out by Stanley for the four-thousandth time, all sad and frustrated and alone.
My heart quivers in my chest, and I’m reminded just how much I could never leave someone alone in their hurt like that, like he is.
I tap my phone to see another three minutes have passed.
“That’s it, I’m calling it,” I huff.
“Calling what?” A low, almost commanding voice asks from behind me.
I turn to see Jake’s tall, broad frame rounding the corner of the large wooden table I’m seated behind. He settles in across from me. I don’t miss the two coffees in his large hand, or the endearing downward grin on his lips, but he won’t get off that easily.
“You’re late,” I accuse, my expression vibrantly annoyed.
“Am not,” he responds with a furrowed brow.
“Yes, you are. You said three o’clock and it’s well past that.”
“Um, actually, I said three thirty, and it is in fact…” He pulls his phone out of his pocket and lights the screen. His eyes are back on mine in a second. “Three thirty-two.”
His eyes glisten with his victory, the afternoon sun pouring in through Battle Hall’s antique windows making them shimmer in the light . They’re much greener today. The brown is almost orange around his pupils, the flecks of bronze like tiny stars in his eyes shining brighter. Staring at them like this immediately makes my stomach sink with a nervousness I have no business feeling. Like being at the peak of a roller coaster right before the drop, except roller coasters you choose to get on. I, in this case, have no idea why this is happening.
“Also,” he starts, pushing a tall Styrofoam cup toward me. “I got you a coffee. So, you can’t be mad.”
My belly flutters, and I tongue my cheek to keep from smiling. “Bribery is a federal crime, Cooper.”
