Undercurrent Excerpt, part 2!
Undercurrent hits shelves in less than two weeks! The next two pages of the first chapter are below. I hope you enjoy!
I took his picture and put the camera back in my purse. "So, I realize the Carnegie Science Building sets your college worlds apart from others, but there's still one other thing I'd like to see before making any decisions."
"The gym? Theater? Art museum?"
"The dorms."
My pulse quickened as he looked down. Thinking I'd made him uncomfortable, I prepared to offer an alternative—like someplace off campus, where there were fewer people, fewer distractions. But then he started down the steps and turned right, back the way we came.
"Just wait till you see the concrete walls and linoleum floors," he said. "You might never go home again."
We didn't talk as we walked through the quad. Every now and then he greeted friends or classmates, but I stayed quiet. My head spun with thoughts of Justine, last summer, this fall, and I didn't know which thought would come out if I tried to speak. The spinning continued all the way across campus, into a tall brick building, and up four flights of stairs.
Fortunately, the silence wasn't awkward. It never was.
"I should warn you," he said when we stopped in front of a closed door. "The décor leaves something to be desired. That's what happens when you throw two bio majors together in one small space. Or any space, for that matter."
"Is your roommate . . . ?"
"Out. At a four-hour seminar that won't end for another three and a half hours."
My heart lifted, and my stomach turned. The mixed feelings must've been clear on my face because he stepped toward me, instantly concerned.
"Well," I said, relieved when my voice was calm, even, "if that's the case, we should probably get on with the tour."
This seemed to reassure him. He smiled as he took his keys from the pocket of the jeans and unlocked the door. Once inside, he leaned against the closed door with his arms folded behind his back and surveyed the room. "Interesting," he said.
"What is?" I asked.
"The décor."
I looked around. It was a typical dorm room with two beds, desks, dressers, and bookshelves. One side was messier than the other, and I assumed that side belonged to his roommate, who probably wasn't expecting company. The only accessories were a blue area rug, the college banner . . . and a framed photo of a girl in a red rowboat.
"I knew something was missing," he continued gently, "and I'd had a pretty good idea of what that something was. But now I know for sure."
My eyes found his and stayed there. He didn't move as I came closer. He was waiting to make sure that whatever happened next happened because I wanted it to. It had been two months and that hadn't changed. In two years—in two decades—it still wouldn't.
I stood as close as I could without our bodies touching. I smelled the soap on his skin and saw his chest rise and immediately fall. His jaw clenched, and his broad shoulders squared as he leaned harder against the door, locking his arms in place.
"Vanessa . . ."
"It's okay," I whispered, tilting forward. "I'm okay."
My lips had barely grazed his cheek when his hands were on my hips. He pulled me to him, closing the remaining distance between us. His hands moved from my waist to my neck and then lingered there, cradling my face like it was made of glass. His eyes held mine once more, just long enough for me to feel their warmth, before lowering his mouth to mine.
The spinning stopped. My head cleared. There was just this, us, him.
Simon. My Simon.
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