Total pages in book: 148
Estimated words: 137572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 688(@200wpm)___ 550(@250wpm)___ 459(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 688(@200wpm)___ 550(@250wpm)___ 459(@300wpm)
“Had better things to do.” I depart my desk.
“Is it true you and Vann are doing a play together?” Even as he continues to ask me questions, I’m heading for the door. He just picks up his voice, calling out after me in that mocking tone of his. “Hey, buddy, why you runnin’ off so fast? Aren’t we best buddies? I told you he’s no good for you! You’ll regret not listenin’ to me!”
The truth is, I couldn’t care less what Hoyt or anyone thinks. The only person I’m worried about is Vann and whether I really did freak him out with my … well, you know.
Surprisingly, I get to chemistry first. Sitting at that back table, I just bounce my leg in place as I stare anxiously at the door, all of my fingers clamped on the edge of my notebook, counting down the seconds before I’d see him again.
Then the door swishes open right at the bell, and Vann comes in. Today, he’s got on a formfitting heather-gray t-shirt with black skinny jeans and a studded leather belt. With just a single notepad clutched, no backpack, he comes straight down the aisle—as the curious, longing eyes of dreaming girls follow him—and drops into the seat next to me without a word.
I glance at him. My heart is racing. I can’t get a breath. “H-Hi.”
“Hey.” He flips his notepad to a blank page, then gets to work drawing something new.
The teacher isn’t here yet. Maybe he’s chatting with a teacher across the walkway again. As the murmuring of restless students starts to build, filling the room, I turn to Vann and watch him as he works. He’s drawing another muscular, winged demon guy, this one appearing more playful than his last one. He’s shirtless, and his chest and abs are rippling with muscles, his two pert nipples and pectoral muscles shockingly realistic and detailed. A nose ring hangs between his flared nostrils like a bull’s, and he’s got a giant, oversized sword slung over his shoulder.
“I like the sword,” I tell him, staring at it.
Vann, who very clearly knows I’m paying attention, just gives a nothing, lazy shrug in response to my one word.
I tell myself not to be bothered by his coldness. He’s still trying to figure out his place in this town, right? Maybe he’s one of those guys who is just a block of ice at any time of day. You can get used to that. I clear my throat, then give a nod at it. “You like drawing demons?”
“It’s just a guy I’m working on.” He starts shading in the bicep muscles on the demon-man’s arm, squinting in concentration.
I gaze at the side of Vann’s face again. I wish I could capture his beauty somehow in a painting. I’d never do that innocent-yet-devilish flush of his cheeks justice. There’s just no color in any of the world’s palettes for that. “A guy …?”
“Yeah. A guy.”
I give his drawing another look. “What kind of guy?”
“A demon dude. Or some kind of night creature. I don’t know. He’ll have a flaming chain whip too, which I’ll add here,” he says, jabbing a finger at the man’s hip. “Guess he fights bad guys.” Vann squints and bites his lip as he focuses. The way he concentrates is inexplicably sexy. Nothing in the world can come between him and perfecting those muscled biceps on his demon dude. He dabs his tongue out to wet his lips, squints harder, then starts gnawing on the corner of his pensive frown as he shades away.
Oh, man. He really shouldn’t have dabbed his tongue on his lips like that. Now I’m thinking of other things.
Like lips. “Bad guys,” I echo thoughtfully, cutting off my highly distracting thoughts. “Are the bad guys, to him, the good guys …?”
Confused, but not interrupting his work, Vann scrunches up his face. “Huh?”
“He looks like a bad guy himself, your demon dude.”
“I dunno. Who’s to say what the hell a bad guy looks like?” He snorts. “The real bad guys always look like good guys, don’t they? Haven’t you ever heard of a wolf in sheep’s whatever?”
“Yeah.”
“Well sometimes, good guys look like bad guys. Sometimes a demon wants to … take down other demons. Worse demons. Hmm, no,” he grunts suddenly, flipping his pencil to erase a line he just made on the demon dude’s wing. He’s a perfectionist, I note, feeling my heart swell with surprise as I watch him work. He starts adding feathers to the end of the wing with such meticulousness, it’s a wonder he’s drawn so much so quickly. He literally just began this drawing not two minutes ago, and it already looks half-finished.
“This is really good,” I tell him, my eyes on his work.
He doesn’t respond to that as he continues shading in some of the feathers. It seems like no amount of beauty in his demon dude will satisfy him, frowning permanently as he draws and perfects.