Covet by Tracey Garvis Graves Read Free Book Online Page A

independence and wanted to prove to my parents—and myself—that I could live on my own. It wasn’t until after I moved in and spent the first few nights alone that I realized how much I missed those girls and their constant companionship. The company I worked for was also very small, and even though I enjoyed preparing visual presentations for a handful of clients, it was quite solitary compared to the large groups I’d worked with on school projects.
    So when Kendra called I said yes immediately, jumping at the chance to surround myself with people and noise and get out of the studio apartment that had once seemed so perfect and quaint and now just seemed lonely and claustrophobic. “Great. I’ll pick you up in an hour,” she said.
    We met the rest of the group outside the theater, and I noticed him right away. He stood off to the side a bit, this perfect boy with blue eyes and blond hair, wearing khaki pants and a white polo shirt, as if he eschewed everything about the slovenly, multipierced, and tattooed student body he’d recently left behind. He looked like he didn’t belong and he also looked as if he couldn’t care less about things like that. I’d eventually find out that he had been way too busy holding down two part-time jobs and earning straight As to worry about what others thought of him. I realized I’d been staring and looked away quickly, but not before noticing that he seemed to be looking at me, too.
    When we were standing in line to buy tickets, Kendra told me—when I inquired, casually, as if I really didn’t care—that he was the former roommate of someone in the group. There were seven of us and we bought popcorn and found seats in the theater, and somehow he ended up sitting right next to me.
    He introduced himself. “Hi, I’m Chris.”
    “Claire,” I said, reaching out to shake his hand. “It’s nice to meet you.” Clean-shaven and clear-eyed, he lacked the run-down, bloodshot, hard-partying look my previous boyfriend had worn like a badge of honor. I had dated Logan for almost a year but we parted ways when it became clear that I had neither the stamina nor the desire to keep up with him. I had no interest in abusing my body the way so many of my peers did; I had enough to worry about without taking additional risks. I overheard Logan tell a friend one time, “Claire’s hot, but she has issues.” He was probably referring to the time my blood sugar dropped too low. I got shaky and started sweating and luckily I had glucose tablets within reach because he was no help whatsoever. Logan would have freaked out if he’d seen me during a severe low, because it isn’t pretty. I say random things. I sweat profusely, and I cry. I can become belligerent pretty easily. Though Logan never came right out and said it, I always felt as if my diabetes—and my need to follow a strict schedule—put a damper on his spontaneous ways. My disease was manageable, but it required vigilant monitoring and making sure that insulin was readily available. Logan thought nothing of road-tripping two hundred miles to see a concert with only an hour’s notice and he felt more at home in a smoky bar, tossing back shots of Jäger, than he ever did in a darkened movie theater. The stress of trying to fit into his world and the ups and downs of my blood sugar became something I started to hide around him, and I had enough sense to know that it wasn’t a good sign. I ended the relationship a short time later and was more than a little heartbroken when he didn’t seem to care.
    After the movie everyone went out for pizza and beer and Chris lingered near me, making conversation and asking if I needed anything. He drove me home that night. “Can I have your number?” he asked.
    “Sure,” I said, digging a business card out of my purse and scribbling my home number on the back in case he didn’t want to call me at work. I thought he might try to kiss me, but he pocketed the card and made sure I was safely