Every Breath You Take by Bianca Sloane Read Free Book Online Page A

headed back to the full-length bedroom mirror to fuss with her hair a few more times and for reassurances that her outfit—skinny white jeans, snug black t-shirt, large silver hoop earrings—struck the cute, casual, not-trying-too-hard vibe she was going for and that she didn’t need to add a sixteenth wardrobe change to the pile. She turned to examine her image from all sides, satisfied she’d hit her mark. Jason would be coming any minute with his prized DVD of
Ferris Bueller
’
s Day Off—
his favorite Chicago movie and one she’d never seen. It would also be the first time he’d been to her place and her nerves were purring beneath her skin. She ambled back to the living room and let her eyes sweep across it for the hundredth time, trying to see her home through his eyes.
    It still had more of the sheen of I-just-graduated-from-college-and-bought-everything-at-IKEA-and-Target than she would have liked, but she figured all things in time. Despite being far from luxurious, the miniscule one bedroom was definitely
her
: the red couch she’d gotten on sale at the Crate and Barrel outlet, the glass coffee table she’d bought for five dollars from a former co-worker who was moving to Japan, now stacked with the latest
Vanity Fair
and a handful of the more respectable celebrity gossip magazines. A vanilla-scented candle in a glass jar bearing a big bold black “N” cast a small, dancing shadow across the table. Her maple-and-wrought-iron DIY bookcases held the requisite literary tomes along with silly tchotchkes from her work travels: a tiny replica of the CN Tower in Toronto, a miniature beer mug from Boston, a golf-ball-sized 42nd Street snow globe from New York City among them (and what would he think of her collection of pop CD’s from the 90s and early 2000’s also lining the shelves, bursting with the dulcet tones of Britney Spears, 98 Degrees and Kelly Clarkson?). Scattered around the entire apartment were framed photos of girls’ nights out and other outings with Brandy and Christine. Pictures with Dina Preston, her roommate from Brown, the fast-talking, foul-mouthed rail-thin New Yorker with long black hair that fanned out like fringe on a shawl whenever she whipped her head around, which was often, were prominent on the wall and lone side table. Natalie made a mental note to call Dina that weekend.
    She pulled two wineglasses from the cabinet and quickly washed them before drying them with the last paper towel on the roll. Her phone rang and she squeaked before running to answer it.
    “Hello?”
    “Yes, Miss Scott, Jason is here,” the doorman droned from downstairs.
    “Okay, let him up, thanks,” she said as she went to chew on her nail before remembering her manicure from earlier that day. She paced a little to try and calm herself, jumping at the soft knock at the door. She closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths before opening it.
    He smiled. “Scotty,” he said, going to high-five her.
    “Scotty?” she laughed as their hands met. “When’d you come up with that?”
    He shrugged. “I dunno. I was just thinking about you and I was like, ‘Scotty.’”
    She let him pull her into his sinewy body, warm with summer’s humidity. “You’re the only person I would let get away with that.”
    “You better,” he said, kissing her. He pulled back and handed her the DVD. “I don’t know if I’ve sufficiently prepared you for the power of Ferris. I mean, this is
the
movie about Chicago. Truly. You sure you ready for this?”
    “I think I can handle it,” she said as she dropped the DVD on the kitchen table.
    “Next time, we’re gonna watch
Rocky
, which I don’t think I told you is my all-time, number-one favorite movie, ever. Ever.”
    “
Rocky
?” she wrinkled her nose. “The boxing movie?”
    “Oh, man. A ‘boxing movie,’ she says. It is so much more than a
boxing
movie.”
    She folded her arms across her chest. “That so?”
    “I mean, yeah, there’s boxing in it, but