Page 6 of The Truth About Love

I cock an eyebrow “Would you rather I said something more cliché likeTwilightorPride and Prejudice?”

He chuckles. “Put your defences down, Summer-Raine. Your answer wasn’t exactly surprising, but at least you didn’t go for something likeJude the Obscure.That shit had me sitting alone in the dark for a week.”

“And lemme guess, your favourite isThe Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxyor something equally frivolous?”

Auden releases a breathy chuckle. “Hey, what dude doesn’t love a bit of comedy mixed with science fiction? But no, Miss Judgemental, you’ll have to guess again.”

“Just tell me.”

“Great Expectations. I fancy myself a bit of a Pip.”

“Immature and romantically idealistic?”

“Christ, you really are a cynic, aren’t you?” He winks to reassure me that there’s no malice behind his words. “I was thinking more about his kindness and conscience, the way he’s so critical of himself. Always looking to improve, to learn, to grow. I don’t know. I know many of his motives are superficial but I respect his perseverance and determination to make a better life for himself, y’know?”

His words make me pause. I totally get why he’d be so fond of Pip. As nineteenth century book characters go, he’s probably one of the least problematic. But listening to Auden idolise Pip for his ambition to leave his old life behind and build a better one makes me wonder what it is that he’s trying to escape from himself.

Or maybe he’s just ambitious and I’m reading into things too much. He’s the star quarterback after all. He’s probably just referring to his dreams of being drafted into the NFL or Superbowl or whatever it is that football players do.

But I don’t have time to ask, because Miss Rossi fluffs her bouffant and claps her hands together, launching into a forty-minute monologue on why the 1950s was the pinnacle decade of American poetry. Afterwards, she declaresThe Catcher in the Ryeto be the focus of the next few weeks and threatens us with corporal punishment if we don’t keep up with the reading.

I spend the entire time attempting to ignore Auden’s close proximity and the way his knee keeps gently brushing up against mine, but the woodsy scent of his aftershave makes it practically impossible.

“Are all the residents of Islamorada batshit crazy, or are Mr Hanson and Miss Rossi in a league of their own?” I whisper.

Auden smirks at my question. “Bit different from what you’re used to back in Cape Coral?”

“Oh no,” I grin, “plenty of batshit people there too.”

“Including you?” He nudges me gently and my skin breaks out in goosebumps.

Stupid teenage hormones.

“I was the worst.” I flash him a grin. “I bet they celebrated when I moved here.”

“For sure. But their loss is my gain, right?”

I blink. “Are you flirting with me?” The words escape me before I have a chance to filter them and I burn in embarrassment. What is it about him that stops me thinking clearly?

“Maybe.”

Oh.

“Why would you do that?”

He cocks his head to the side, assessing me with eyes so blue I’m half expecting to see the dolphins of Islamorada breaching the waves in his irises.

“I dunno, Summer-Raine. I think you’re kind of cool in a standoffish, angry, renegade sort of way.”

My heart stutters, but he was right when he called me a cynic earlier. “Has someone dared you to talk to me or something?”

“No, of course not.” His eyes soften and it’s as if he’s looking straight into my soul. Like he can see everything that goes on in my head, like he knows of the poison in my veins and the monsters trapped within me. No one has ever looked at me the way he is now, like he canseeme. “The whole world isn’t rotten, but it’s like all you can see is the ugliness,” he whispers, almost as if he doesn’t mean to be speaking aloud.

I’ve never felt so exposed.

“There are still beautiful things, Summer-Raine,” he says gently, reaching out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear in a gesture so intimate I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to breathe again. “You just have to let yourself see them.”

“And how do I do that?” I whisper.

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