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

it’s about . . . going the distance and persevering and having heart and believing in yourself—”
    “All that?”
    “
And
a love story. Rocky and Adrian. Two people who never thought they’d find love finding it with each other . . . making it through
because
of that love for each other. I’m telling you, Scotty, you might cry.”
    “Guess I know what we’re doing next Friday night.”
    “For sure,” he winked.
    “So, the Chinese should be here in a few minutes.”
    He nodded as he started to wander around the tiny living room while she poured them glasses of white wine. “Cool. So, this is Scotty Central, huh?”
    “This is it,” she said, handing him a glass of wine. “I can give you the ten-dollar tour.”
    They both laughed as he took the wineglass from her. She gave a cursory swipe of her hand across the living room and the balcony before showing him the bathroom and bedroom. He nodded his approval as he took in the surroundings.
    “This is nice. It’s you.”
    “You’re not going to freak out being so high up, are you?”
    “You’ll just have to save me if I do.”
    “Let me go put on my cape,” she said.
    “You know, I have always had a thing for Wonder Woman.”
    “She doesn’t have a cape,” Natalie giggled.
    “All right, I’ll let you lasso me up then,” he said as he sat down on the couch. “How long you been here?”
    She joined him and took a sip of her wine. “A little over two years. I was in Wrigleyville before, but I always wanted to live in a high-rise. Makes me feel safer.”
    “Oh yeah? Why’s that?”
    “Well, you never hear about people who live in high-rises being slaughtered in a home invasion.”
    “Hard to argue with that one,” he said.
    • • •
    “All right . . . you never told me what your favorite movie is.”
    Natalie swirled the little sip of wine in her glass for a moment. “Well, I like a lot of foreign films. I—I got into them in college . . . like . . . oh, there’s this French one called
Red Lights
that I really like.
Diabolique
is another, and . . . or maybe it’s just that I like French films. . .”
    “Yeah, man, what you got against American movies?” he said, winking.
    “Well, I . . . let’s just say growing up, I saw plenty of ‘ American’ movies, but they weren’t movies
I
really wanted to see.”
    “Huh?”
    “My aunt always made my cousins take me to the movies with them whenever they went, so all the ones
I
saw were ones
the
y saw, and they were always just . . . bad.”
    “Give me an example,” he said.
    “God. I mean, they loved any kind of monster or slasher movie. And action movies.
Lots
of action movies. Brandy and Christine always roll their eyes whenever they mention some, like, chick flick or comedy from back in the day and I have no idea what they’re talking about.” She gulped the last of her wine. “We have lots of movie nights.”
    They’d finished watching the movie, and as Jason had predicted, she fell under Ferris’ spell. The perfume of moo shu pork, beef with broccoli, and eggrolls wafted around them, and a few grains of sticky, white rice had dribbled onto the coffee table. Now, they were talking, the TV humming
Simpsons
reruns in the background.
    He took a deep breath as he picked up the rice and dropped the grains into the empty eggroll container before quickly wiping down the coffee table with a stray napkin, staring at her with a strange little smile. “You know, besides telling me you’re from a little town in Arkansas and that you’re basically an orphan, you haven’t really told me much about your past.”
    She snorted. “Because it’s depressing. Like really depressing.”
    Jason cradled his chin in one palm. “Tell me about it.”
    She gripped her glass for a moment, wondering how much to say, how much to keep to herself. Her eternal struggle.
    “Well,” she sighed, deciding to reveal most, not all, of her tragic origins. “After my parents were killed and my grandparents