Livvy by Lori L. Otto Read Free Book Online Page B

today?”
    “No,” I admit. I hadn’t noticed.
    “Well, he was.”
    “Okay, guys, I wasn’t nervous about this at all, and now I’m going to back out–”
    “No, you aren’t,” they say together. “I skipped a lab to help you get ready,” Katrina adds. “You’re going.”
    “Yeah, don’t skip class for me again. It’s not worth it,” I tell her.
    “You’d do it for me, if I thought he was special enough,” Rachelle adds. “Plus, I can make up the lab next week.” She smiles when her eyes meet mine. Just as I look at the clock above the door, someone knocks. He’s right on time. “We won’t wait up,” my roommate whispers to me as I answer the door. “Hi, Emmanuel,” she says as she braids a pink strand of her hair.
    “Hey, Rachel,” he says.
    “It’s Rachelle,” I correct him. He apologizes to her quickly, and she accepts it graciously. “I’ll see you guys later.”
    “You look nice,” he says to me, eyeing my black dress and touching one of the spaghetti straps on our way out of my hall.
    “You do, too.” He’s wearing black slacks and a long-sleeved grey shirt that he keeps untucked. The cuffs are rolled up haphazardly, showing a little of his tattoo. “When’d you get that?” I ask him, touching it lightly.
    “Last spring,” he says.
    “Does it mean anything?”
    “No. It’s just something I doodled one day.” I take a closer look.
    “It’s cool,” I say, noticing the spacial alignment of the curves and lines. “It’s distinctive.”
    “Thanks. It’s one of a kind. Just like me.”
    “Yeah, about that,” I start, “I almost didn’t recognize you on our first day of class. You’re, like, a completely different person than the guy I met last fall.”
    “I’m the same guy,” he says. “I just feel more comfortable expressing who I am now.” He opens the door for me before jogging to his side of the older model sports car. When he gets in, he continues. “I gather you’re feeling the same, with the hair change?”
    “We all just wanted to add a little color,” I tell him. “It’s no big deal.”
    “I meant with the cut. You definitely have a harder edge to you now,” he says as we start driving down the road to the restaurant.
    “Really?” I ask him with a slight laugh.
    “Or are you just trying to be less recognizable?”
    “A little of that, yeah.”
    “I’d say your hair has less to do with that than your posture does.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Last year, you seemed to have much more confidence. You stood taller, held your chin up higher. When I first saw you in class, I was sure it was you by your eyes and your smile, but the way you slouched in your chair made me doubt myself.”
    I consider his observation, and try to be subtle as I adjust my posture in his car.
    “It wasn’t until Professor Murphy started talking about the knack this school has for recognizing the top, young, creative minds of our generation that I accepted it was you. You know you have talent. That’s something you can’t hide. You straightened up as if she was speaking only of you.”
    “I’m not that arrogant,” I tell him.
    “You should be. I checked out your studio space. You’re that good.”
    “Thank you.” As he pulls into the parking lot of the restaurant, I fix my hair in the vanity mirror before getting out. He opens the door again for me, offering me his hand to help me out of the car. “So, do you like my hair like this?”
    “It’s sexy,” he says. “The way it exposes your neck and your shoulders is incredibly sensual. I didn’t think you should be hiding them last year when I photographed you. Remember? I moved your sleeve.”
    “I remember,” I tell him with a blush as we go inside. I stand in front of him just inside the door, waiting for the hostess. I feel his thumb on the hollow beneath my ear.
    “That part’s begging for attention,” he whispers. The blush from before spreads across my body in a flash of heat. That was