I pull my phone out to take pictures, needing to commit this place to memory.
As I’m filming, I hear some arguing outside, and I think I hear someone say ‘honey,’ but I ignore it for the most part. It’s not my place or problem. I’m just happy to be here.
“I’ve never seen you here before.”
The voice comes out of nowhere. I flinch, twisting too fast, and my phone slips from my fingers.
It hits the wooden floor with a hard thud. I register the sound, the vibration, the fact that I should probably pick it up—then none of that matters anymore.
Because he’s standing right there.
Living, breathing proof that genetics can be wildly unfair…in the best possible way.
Tall, with shoulders that strain against his button-down shirt and a jaw that looks like it’s sculpted from marble, he’s the prettiest boy I think I’ve ever seen.
I blink once. Twice, but nothing changes.
He’s still there, watching me intently. His mouth twitches, just barely, as if he’s debating whether to say something else or let me collect myself.
“I’m sorry,” I say, as he takes a few steps forward and picks up my phone. “I wasn’t snooping. I just wanted to get away from the crowd for a minute, and I got distracted by the books.”
He straightens slowly, my phone resting in his palm as he takes me in.
Whiskey. His eyes are the same color as the liquor my dad drinks when he thinks no one is watching. The same stuff that turns him into a raging lunatic. The only real reason I neversay no to Madison when she asks me to come out with her. It’s because anything is better than what’s waiting for me at home.
But this guy with the whiskey eyes doesn’t know that.
He doesn’t need to. Right now, I can be anyone, and that thought feels good.
Maybe tonight I’m not Tiffany Bright. Maybe tonight I’m just a girl with an uncomplicated relationship with her parents looking to enjoy myself.
“Didn’t think you were,” he says finally.
He holds my phone out, and our fingers brush when I take it. It’s a brief, accidental contact, but I feel a zinging sensation regardless.
“I come here when I need a break from the noise too,” he adds, glancing over his shoulder toward the door. “Figured I was the only one here who knew this room existed.”
That’s when it hits me.
“This is your house. I’m sorry.”
A hint of a smile tugs at his lips. “No. It’s not mine. I know the owner, though, and I doubt he’ll mind his library harboring a pretty girl like you.”
Pretty girl like you.
The words don’t land straight away. They hover in the air between us because I don’t know how to take them.
No one has ever said that to me before. Not like this. Not without laughing afterward.
“Pretty feels like a stretch,” I say. “I’m more…aggressively average.”
He goes still for half a second, the crease in his brow narrowing.
“Aggressively average,” he repeats slowly. “That’s not how I’d put it,” he says finally.
“Are you serious right now?” A voice slices through the air, and I jolt back, only to see a girl standing at the door with her arms folded as she glares at the guy in front of me.
He doesn’t so much as glance at her. His eyes stay glued to me.