Read Me (Forget the Past, #2)

by Lauren Connolly

So the taste wasn’t for me, but the creation process was mesmerizing. The skilled man poured amber liquid into a glass that was both elegant and sturdy, then tucked the drink under a glass dome where he piped a copious amount of smoke, enough to infuse the drink with its flavor. I sat at the bar, hypnotized. Cole is that drink, standing in front of me, all gorgeous and tempting like tendrils of smoke that promise you can drink them down.

So I answer with the truth. “How I had to wear braces for all four years of high school.” Cole blinks at me. “You’re thinking about braces?” I nod. “What are you thinking about?” My voice is all excitement, ready to get a small peek into his brain. I bet it’s a fascinating brain.

But could we be friendly at least? Maybe enough to use each other’s names? Screw it. I’m introducing him to myself because I want to say those goddamn Ls. “Cole Allemand!” Why did I shout? Oh yeah. Because I have no chill.

“You know my name?” Cole asks, seeming more surprised by the content of my outburst rather than the volume of it. A deep breath helps me regain some sense of normalcy. “It’s on your library card.” “But you know it.” “I do. And now I’ve used it. And I plan on saying hi to you in the future and using your name. And you should say hi to me. And say my name.” Oh no. I think I just purred that last part.

“You said you were going to use it.” “Use what?” “My name.” Oh. “Cole Allemand!” I shout again, embarrassment fading, erased by my laughter and his willingness to look past my overeager introduction. “I’ll see you around, Cole Allemand.”

Luckily, I have a quick recovery time in awkward situations. “Cole Allemand! Happy Sunday night!” And by quick recovery time, I mean, I continue to exist in the awkward because it is my natural habitat.

Cole leans toward me, smile inching wider. “What?” “It’s a horrible thing to say, and I make an effort not to say horrible things.” “Please, Summer.” The sound of my name in his smoky drawl has my eyes fluttering. “Please what?” “Say something horrible to me.” “I can’t,” I whisper. “Yes, you can. You can be bad if you want to.”

Summer is shorter than me, but I wouldn’t necessarily call her slim. She’s compact. Like a gardening shovel. Sturdy and ready to work. Easy to maneuver. And I want to maneuver her underneath me.

“Only give me real smiles. If you’re sad, frown at me. If you’re mad, scowl.” Frown? Scowl? Those would give only a hint at the deep pit of sadness that exists in my heart. “What if I want to break down? Sob and cry and become an utter mess of a person. Maybe not even be a person anymore. What if I want to be a puddle? A sopping wet puddle of misery?”

“I’ll find another librarian,” he says. “Tell them you need to take a break, and we can go back to your office. Then you can become a puddle.”

“Do you want a hug?” A Cole Allemand hug? Does such a thing even exist? “Are you offering a hug? You don’t seem like a hugger.” “I’m not.” “Well, I don’t want a hug full of lies.” I cross my arms, knowing that I’m being obstinate. But that’s what this day does to me. Cole’s mouth twitches. “I’m not a hugger. But I’d like to hug you.”

“Black works for me today,” I repeat. “But when I’m happy again—and I will be—I won’t be able to stop myself.” “From doing what?” he murmurs, his stare seeming to catch on my mouth. “From trying to paint you in colors.”

How does warmth smell? Like Cole, I guess, because that’s the only way I can think to describe it.

I decide to spurn society’s rigid dictates. My returning to Cole’s bed is tantamount to a protest. I’m standing up for my right to spoon a friend. Or, rather, I’m lying down for my rights.

It’s hard to read Cole. Which only makes me want to more. He’s a banned book I’m not supposed to take off the shelf. But every flip of the page feels too good against my fingers to put him back.

Good thing Cole is holding me up. I’m a baked soufflé, on the verge of collapse.

“All the toilet paper disappeared!” “What?” “And there was fine drama, and the Wi-Fi was possessed by demons!”

I need her to need me.

two words play on repeat. A silent, desperate plea. Love me.