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“My professor wants to exhibit my painting and sign me up for contests.” I sip from the glass of water. “I’m not so sure about any of this.”
“Why do you seem down?” Sydney asks. “This is your chance to attract people of the industry.”
“I know. It doesn’t mean I’m less stressed.” Or scared.
“Listen, Missy.” Owen’s voice takes the rare serious tone. “You’re brilliant. Work hard for it and you’ll do just fine.”
“For the first time in ever, I agree with the wanker.” Sydney points a finger at me. “What’s the worst case scenario? Lose? Sign up for another contest. Besides, you have us. We’re here to support you.”
God, I love these idiots.
“I’m here to eat!” Owen pats his stomach when our food arrives.
The scent of recently-cooked pasta seduces me as I pick up my fork. “I could kiss the cook.”
“Oh come on, Mae.” Owen slams his napkin on the wooden table, fake hurt in his eyes. “Have pity and kiss me instead!”
Sydney puts her glass of wine down and points her fork at Owen. “No one wants to kiss a pervert like you.”
“Sweetheart.” Owen’s devil smirk is on. “Lots of people want to kiss me in many places that your imagination can’t fathom. For instance—”
“That’s it, Owen. We get it. Shut up.” I cut him off with a napkin to his mouth.
He grabs the cloth and throws it near Sydney’s plate.
No war this time. Just a glare.
As we dig into our meals, my mind wanders to my latest disturbance. I itch to share the encounters of my stalker, but I also want to keep him a secret. Besides, what was there to share? I didn’t even know what to think of it myself. I’m scared, but to my horror, that’s not all what there is to it.
A current of something unfamiliar passed through me when I met him the first time. Similar to the dark recesses of my soul. A shudder crawls up my spine every time I think about him or sense his eyes following me.
I’m either being too paranoid or slowly going nuts. It was only once. The real meeting was only one time. The others were mere glances. Why was I so aware of him?
Why do I like being aware of him?
“Leave me alone, Owen!” My attention switches back to my friends’ bickering.
Owen holds a curl from Sydney’s hair in his palm. “Why silver, though?”
She stuffs some salad in her mouth. “Both of you wankers are good looking.” She points her fork at me. “She’s a doll. Enough said” She reverts her attention to Owen and rolls her eyes. “And the tosser over here doesn’t deserve it, but he’s an actual Greek god.”
Owen smirks.
Sydney flips her hair back. “I need to stand out too, or people would take me for the group’s bloody maid.”
I chuckle, patting her hand. “You’re perfect to me.”
In a blink, Sydney is on her knees in front of my seat. “Marry me, Mae.”
My chuckle turns to a deep laugh. “Not that perfect, Syd.”
She staggers back to her seat with an exaggerated sigh. “I’m going to die alone.”
“You certainly won’t have better chances with the white hair.” Owen’s brows knit together before his mouth moves into a grin. “Seriously. Did you steal some witch’s wig?”
Oh dear, here we go again.
I laugh my butt off at Owen and Sydney’s battlefield, before I try to initiate peace talks. It’s a lost cause with these two.
