His lips trail down my neck, sending shivers all over. "I love looking at you," he breathes, brushing the hair off my shoulders. "Will you let me?"
My wild heart seeks his. "Yes."
For a long moment, I just feel his eyes. Then, his hands. They skim d...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
————————————— "well, me and my ghosts, we had a hell of a time." —————————————
C A M I L A
Some kids grow up scared of the dark. Valid. But I grew up scared of steps on the stairs. Now I carry sweatpants and trauma in my gym bag to the campus library. I like it here, though. For instance, carved into the table under my elbow:
'Don't fall in love—fall off a bridge. It'll hurt a lot fucking less.'
With a snicker, I sneak another sip of my energy drink through its straw before hiding it between my thighs.
Maddie sighs. "Is that another Kick Energy?"
"Good ole 2% milk," I lie, scribbling another swirl between the lines on my paper.
"You're going to blow up your heart, Camila. It's too much caffeine, babes." Maddie's a petite blonde girl with blue eyes, and she smells like sugar and pre-med ambition. She collects her pink notebooks and clutches them to her chest, rocking on her heels. "I have a date!"
I yawn, stretching my arms above my head, offering her two thumbs up. "Use protection."
"You're so weird. Don't get caught." She nods toward the graveyard of Kick cans in the gym bag by my feet.
I wave her off. "If you're not back by midnight, should I call the cops or grab a baseball bat and start canvassing frat parties?"
As Maddie walks backwards, she wiggles her eyebrows. "Surprise me."
I run a hand down my face, then a shadow falls across my scribbled mess of notes.
A guy. Sandy brown hair, wide lips, high cheeks, freckled nose and cheeks. And he smells like $500 cologne. Do those exist? Probably.
I'm immediately aware of every chaotic element of my appearance, from the frizzy curls under my hood to the way my clothes smell. I didn't have time to shower after my workout today. Okay, fine—I didn't want to.
"Hey." This guy's voice is smooth and confident, with just a hint of curiosity. His eyes are greenish-brown, deep set, and pretty, framed by lashes like dark gold.
I name him Freckles until further notice since he doesn't appear to be leaving. Freckles points to my chest and says, "Your sweater caught my eye. I wanted to know where you got it."
I pluck it outward and inspect it. Billy Idol's face stares back at me upside down. "Kits Thrifts downtown."
"Ah, cool place. What happened to your nose?" he asks. "Your septum's deviated."
My fingers reach up to touch it. Crooked to the right. He's right—I can't breathe out of my right nostril.
"Sorry," he grins slightly. "I'm pre-med. That caught my eye too."
