Page 46 of Love Deep
“He’s my nemesis, so I should know where he went to college?”
“You should know what he eats for breakfast and what his favorite tie is.”
“We don’t wear ties. No one in the industry wears ties.”
“Okay then, not his favorite tie, but you need to know everything else about him. Have you never readThe Art of War?”
He turns to me, a questioning expression on his face. “The Art of War? Why on everything that is Star Falls does teaching assistant-slash-very talented artist Juniper French need to have readThe Art of War?”
I place my hand on his leg. “Oh, Fisher, do you only read books youneedto read? I don’t think I’ve ever heard anything so heartbreaking. I read sometimes just because I want to, or because someone told me it would make me laugh. And sometimes, I read because the cover is the perfect shade of azure blue, or because when I pull it off the library shelf, it seems to fit perfectly between my thumb and index finger. There are many reasons to read a book, Fisher. Need is only one of them.”
He holds my gaze, a small smile on his lips. “You are quite something, Juniper French.”
I want him. Really want him. In my bed. In my arms. Over me, looking down, as he fucks me. I want to wake up tomorrow morning and eat croissants and orange juice on the deck with him while Riley insists we play only Vivian Cross songs from the kitchen and then inhales two croissants.
I want him. But I can’t have him. Not like that anyway.
“So, tell me what I’ve been missing fromThe Art of War.”
“If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles. If you know yourself but not the enemy, for every victory gained you will also suffer a defeat. If you know neither the enemy nor yourself, you will succumb in every battle.”
“Thank you, Sun Tzu,” he says.
“Honestly, the good thing about Star Falls is also the bad thing about Star Falls. Everyone knows everyone. Some more than others. You only have to meet Donna, who works at Galaxy Grill, once, and you’ll know who she is instantly through and through. It’s the same with her sister-in-law, Marge, who owns Snail Trail, the outdoor-wear store. And then there’s Mrs. Gale, my next-door neighbor. Riley and I have lived here since Riley was born, and I know Mrs. Gale doesn’t like cats, but does like daffodils. And she keeps to herself. Generally, you spend enough time with someone over enough years, and they’re going to show you who they are.”
“Planning to go into battle with Mrs. Gale?”
“Not on my list for this year. Who knows what next year might bring? My point is, you’ve been in Gerry Banks’ orbit for a while now, and you know he’s your enemy. And you think he’s your intentional enemy. But you don’t know where he went to college?”
“You think maybe he hates me because of the college he went to?”
“Now, if you keep teasing me, I’m going to throw your ass off this porch. And that would be a shame because I’d like a few more of those perfect kisses you’re giving out.” I give him a sterndon’t fuck with melook that only people who’ve actually wrestled with a two-year-old and a leaky diaper can know. “You need to know him. Figure out what makes him tick. Don’t fixate on him fixating onyou. Fixate onhim.”
He pulls in a breath, and I can’t help but glance at his stomach as it moves under his shirt. I’ve seen those abs. I know how dangerous they are. I focus back on his face, and he smiles. He caught me checking him out.
“We need another date—soon,” he says.
I nod. “Don’t try and change the subject.” I pull out my phone. “What did you say his name was? Gerry Banks? And he’s at Re Records, you say?”
I start an internet search. His LinkedIn profile pops up first. His photograph is perfectly curated. It’s clearly a professional photograph, but he looks relaxed and friendly. His bio is very pared down, with only job titles and time spent in each role. I scroll down toEducation.
“Where did you go to college?”
“Penn State. Why?” he asks. “Did he go there?”
I shake my head. “He doesn’t have a college listed, but his school… hang on. Let me check something.” I copy and paste the name of his high school and do a search. “Yeah, he went to school in Pennsylvania.”
Fisher chuckles. “You think he’s been stalking me since kindergarten?”
“No, but it’s worth filing away in your brain. Where did yougrow up?”
“Pennsylvania.”
“So, you both grew up in the same state. That’s worth knowing.”
“Is it?” he asks.
He clearly thinks I’m losing my mind.
