AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Damn right I do.”
“Good. Then he asked me to let you know that he’ll be waiting for you in his room. You can go and see him whenever you like. He said he’d wait up for you, so if it gets late—”
“Which is his room?”
Lani looks confused for a moment. And then, “Oh, right. You haven’t been there before?”
“No.”
She laughs a weird little laugh that makes my headache intensify to annoying levels. “It’s up one floor. On the east side of the building. He’s in two-fifty-eight.”
“Thanks.” I grab the comfortable sweatshirt that’s hanging on the back of my door, and I step out into the hallway.
“You’re going right now?” Lani squeaks.
“Might as well get this over with.”
“Okay. Well, I’m going to be finishing up a couple of assignments for a while. If you get done and you want to talk…” She trails off, a soft, kind light in her eyes, and the heat burning at the back of my neck ebbs a little. I’m treating her like shit right now. I hate this ugly, angry side of me. It’s turning me into a dick, causing me to lash out at the one person who’s done nothing but be there for me since I arrived at Toussaint. I fight to bring down the wall I’ve erected between us, nodding stiffly.
“Okay. Thanks, Lani. I might just do that.”
Theo opens his door to me when I knock, immediately stepping back, letting me inside. He retreats into his room, heading over to sit down at his desk, swiveling in his office chair so that he’s facing me. He gestures to his bed, indicating that I should sit myself there.
For some reason, I expected his room to be much grander than mine. Bigger. The space is about the same size, though—big enough for his bed, his desk, a chest of drawers and a nightstand. It feels a lot smaller in here because of his cello, which takes up a huge chunk of his real estate next to the window.
It smells of him so strongly in here—winter cold, and snow, and mint. The air is so thick with the dizzying smell of him that my head spins for a second, my body reacting in the strangest of ways. My heart aches in a way I don’t know what to do with.
His walls are bare, except for a corkboard above his desk, which is covered with photos—Theo with a couple who I presume are his parents; Theo with Sebastian and Callum; Theo with Lani, and Ashley, and Beth. There are a number of empty spots, though. Spaces, rectangular in shape, where it looks like some photos have been taken down.
A hand closes around my windpipe when I realize which photos those spaces likely held: images of Theo and Rachel together, laughing, kissing, pulling goofy faces. Did he take them down after she died? Or has he taken them down tonight, for my benefit, because he doesn’t want me to see them together? Bile rises, hot, up the back of my throat, and I have to look away from the board.
“You want anything?” Theo asks softly.
I turn my attention to him and my pulse quickens. His hair is so dark it’s black as jet, wet, as if he’s just gotten out of the shower. It’s brushed back, out of his face, making this one of the rare occasions when I can see his entire face without obstruction. Even the three-freckle triangle just above his cheekbone. His eyes are serious, the brown like liquid chocolate, the golden flecks threading his irises even brighter than usual. His cheeks are flushed, which makes a change from earlier this afternoon, when he was so ashen it looked like he was going to pass out. I try not to be distracted by the fact that the white long-sleeved tee he’s wearing isn’t five sizes too big for once, and the material pulls taut across his chest and his arms, emphasizing how muscled his frame is beneath it.
Feet bare, dark grey sweatpants low on his hips, he’s the most devastatingly attractive person I’ve ever laid eyes on. Even now, amidst all of this confusion and obfuscation, my stomach still fills with butterflies at the sight of him.
Curse him, and curse my own stupidity.
“Sorrell?”
“Hmm?”
“Do you want anything?” he repeats, his voice low.
I smirk, feeling just a little mad, just a little reckless. “Not unless you have any tequila.”
He laughs silently, but the sight of his smile, so easy, lighting up his face a little, tears a hole in my chest and rips my damn heart out. “Funny you should say that.” He reaches down and opens the bottom drawer in his desk, taking out a bottle of Don Julio and two shot glasses. “I don’t have any lime. Or salt,” he admits.
“That’s okay.” I doubt alcohol will make the thumping pressure at my temples any better, but I’m willing to chance it; I get the feeling I’m going to need a drink once we get into this.
Theo pours two shots and offers me one, keeping one for himself. He holds his out as I sit down on the edge of his perfectly made bed, and I clink the glass he’s given me with his.
“Cheers,” he whispers.
“Cheers.”
The amber liquid sears a pathway down my esophagus, and I swallow down the urge to gag, shaking my head to ward off the burn.
