Page 27 of The Truth About Love

Me:Just home. Not feeling it tonight.

The speech bubble appears and then vanishes.

Appears.

Vanishes.

Appears.

Vanishes.

Me:Something you wanna say, pretty girl?

Summer-Raine:My parents are out. Wanna sit with me for a bit?

I don’t even need to think about it.

After messaging Lana on social media with an apology to let her down gently, though I never had any intention on going anywhere with her, I sprint to the blue-slatted house on the opposite side of the street.

The front door opens before I even raise a fist to knock.

“I didn’t tell you I was coming.” I smirk, leaning an arm against the doorframe.

Summer-Raine looks adorable in an oversized sweater, pyjama shorts and odd socks that come up to her knees. She’s kept her hair loose for once and it tumbles over her shoulders and down her back. I reach out and rub a golden lock between my fingers.

“You didn’t need to.”

“That confident, huh?” I cock a brow.

She grins. “Maybe you’re just predictable.”

“Maybe.” I tuck the hair I’m holding behind her ear and wink. “So, are you going to invite me in or are we staying out here all night?”

She rolls her eyes with a chuckle, heading inside the house without a word and expecting me to follow. I do. Predictably.

I’m led up a lightwood staircase to the first floor and down a hallway to a room at the very end.

It’s obvious the second I step through the door that I’m standing inside Summer-Raine’s bedroom. If the incredible smell of bergamot and peaches isn’t indication enough, the postcards with literary quotes lining the otherwise blank walls are a clear giveaway.

Among the wisdoms of Tolstoy and Brontë, one card in particular catches my eye.

“‘All sins tend to be addictive, and the terminal point of addiction is damnation.’” Summer-Raine’s voice tinkles through the fresh evening air. “Should’ve known the W H Auden card would be the one to get your attention.”

I turn to her with a grin. “My narcissism is showing again.”

She opens the door to her balcony and steps out into the night, leaning over the balustrade to stare out at the sea beyond. “Do you have any addictions, Auden?”

“Just the one,” I reply, moving to stand beside her.

You.

“Would you ever give it up?” she asks, her gaze fixed firmly on the inky waves.

“I don’t plan to.”

“Even if it means you’ll be damned in the end?”

I stay silent for a second. The sound of our soft breathing and the occasional scream from the party across the street is all that exists between us while I wonder what her addiction is.

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