One Past Midnight by Jessica Shirvington Read Free Book Online Page B

I did.
    â€œYou in college?” he asked finally.
    â€œGraduating high school,” I answered, avoiding eye contact. I didn’t want to encourage small talk with this guy.
    â€œGraduation, huh? Big plans for the future?”
    I rolled my eyes. Like he cared. “I suppose. I’m looking forward to finishing school and some new possibilities.”
    â€œOh?” He raised his eyebrows. “And what are those?”
    I shrugged, confused by his interest. “I’m not exactly sure yet, but I like the idea of a future I can take one day at a time and, I don’t know, live each day to the fullest, I guess.”
    He nodded, his gaze moving down to my cast. “So what’d you do?”
    I cringed, shaking my head at myself. “Tripped on the subway steps.”
    â€œIt happens.”
    â€œNot to me it doesn’t,” I said without thinking.
    He gave me an odd look.
    â€œI mean, I just . . . I’ve never broken anything before.”
    He was still staring at me curiously, but thank God we hit the dry cleaner’s and he stopped asking questions. He didn’t speak again until we were back out of the shop, when he insisted on carrying the white coats wrapped in plastic.
    â€œThanks,” I said, trying to stop my gaze from travel-ing below his rolled-up shirt sleeves, where his forearms flexed as he gripped the hangers. He wasn’t super built or anything—if anything he was lean—but everything was just . . . annoyingly nice to look at.
    I cleared my throat. “So you work at the hospital then? You a doctor or something?”
    He didn’t look like the doctor type—dark jeans, black shirt, and overgrown dark hair curling at the ends—but you never knew.
    â€œOr something,” he said wryly, shooting me a look as if he knew exactly where I’d pegged him. “Your mom owns the drugstore?”
    We went into Starbucks—thankfully no line—and I ordered Mom and Denise their usual caramel lattes. “Nope. She just manages it.”
    â€œSurprised I’ve never seen you before. I used to go there every week.”
    I remembered what Denise had said about the Monday prescriptions. “I’m at school on Mondays. For one more week anyway.”
    Ethan nodded. After I’d paid for the coffees I turned and caught him staring at me with the same odd look on his face before he quickly glanced away.
    â€œHere, I’ll carry one,” he offered.
    I loaded one on top of the other and lifted them easily in my good hand. “I’ve got it,” I said, heading for the door.
    As we neared the drugstore I tried not to pick up the pace. I knew that if he was going to say something it would be now. But we made it all the way inside without so much as a: “I read your notebook. That’s some messed-up stuff in there.” And once the coffees had been handed out and dry cleaning hung on the rack, Ethan collected his pile of drugs, loaded them in his bag, and left with barely a nod in my direction.
    I busied myself restocking shelves and made a point of
not
thinking about Ethan—every single time his curvy lips and muscly forearms crept their way into my mind.
    Mom let me go just before two, which was perfect timing to make my appointment. I headed straight for the hairdressers, forbidden excitement bubbling up inside almost as much as the fear that I was about to make a very big mistake. And pay for it . . . in another world.
    â€œWhat do you want to do?” the hairdresser asked, chewing on gum and holding out my long dreary hair.
    I swallowed, watching in the mirror as her fingers combed through my hair. “Can you just make it look good? You can cut off as much as you want, and color it too. Darker.”
    She looked at me like I was an unwrapped Christmas present. “I can do anything?”
    I hesitated. “As long as you didn’t know me and hate me in a past life, yeah. I . . . I’ve