(FREE TO READ) Bad Moon

chapter 34 ; shatter

Mondays ran long, dreadfully long. But if there was ever a perk to a long Monday, it was the fresh fall air and the leaves under heel, and the slow walks back to coffee shop near campus.

Lately, there had been a lot of good things in the bad. Phillip hadn't come back into Tisper's life since his last visit, and from what her grandmother said last they'd spoken, his marriage wasn't bidding so well since the move.

Sure, Jaylin was a distance away now, but he was in steady hands. And there was no better person to leave Julia with than Aunt Petunia; a woman who swore on health-drinks like kale was a religious deity. And to top it off, Tisper had snatched her first real date ever—with a boy named Patrick Wilson. If tall-dark-and-handsome had a face, it was Pat. He was a tight-end in high school, a socialite and an outstanding student. But as hot as he was and as pretty as he looked catching a football, Tisper hadn't taken into consideration the slightest chance that he might be dreadfully, dreadfully boring.

She sighed into the steam of her seasonal latte, the nutmeg sweet on her tongue. Patrick glanced up from his phone, one brow quirked up high.

"Nothing," Tisper said in reply, thumbing the cardboard seam of her cup. They'd barely spoken, save for a "hey, how you doing" before Patrick was stuck to the screen of his phone.

That was what she loved about Jaylin. He didn't give a damn about those things. Reality was his staple, attentiveness was his trade.

She hadn't thought of Jaylin in a romantic way since they were fourteen years old, and little Jaylin Maxwell was throwing punches in the boy's locker room. He couldn't fight worth a damn, but dare anyone condemn her for the cotton bra she wore over nothing at all, or the makeup she powdered on in her locker mirror. He always made sure to get one hit in—to make it hurt just enough before he was pummeled by the bigger boys. How could a princess not fall for her knight in shining armor?

But she outgrew those thoughts, those feelings. Jaylin would always be her hero, but he was no prince of hers. He was something much, much more important.

He was a great guy, Patrick, and sure it was only their first date—but if this was what love was meant to feel like, then every novella and romance novel she'd ever read were grave over exaggerations.

Something caught Patrick's eye and his attention finally left his phone and stuck to the cafe windows. "No way. Look at that Bentley! I've never seen one like that before."

Tisper rolled her eyes over to the sleek, showy metal body of the black luxury car. She didn't know cars. She didn't care about cars. But wherever there was an automobile show, there was Patrick somewhere nearby to rave over them. That was fine and dandy and all, but did those have to be the first words he'd said to her in the past fifteen minutes? Like I'm supposed to know what a Bentley is.

It was a black car, that's it. Nothing special. Maybe a little prettier than most, but a car is a car is a car—her own being the only exception. She loved her little red convertible more than most people love their children.

But it wasn't just a car. It was Quentin's car—and she'd only known by the petals of a weeping redbud that rimmed the windshield and danced off in a passing breeze. The same twisted weeping redbuds that lined the Sigvard's gravel driveway.

He was standing outside, leaning against the passenger door, holding a phone to his ear but not saying a word. He was nearly unrecognizable behind his Ray-Bans, hair unmade and brushed back by clammy hands, and a lazy button-up dress shirt, half un-tucked from his dark jeans. Unpoised, Quentin Bronx was a whole different person. And like he'd read the thought right from her mind, he turned his head and she could feel his eyes behind those glass veils.