Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 132933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 665(@200wpm)___ 532(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 665(@200wpm)___ 532(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
Eliot is still texting, his shoulder propped to the bedpost, and I think it might be about something other than chicken shawarma. He has an impish twinkle in his eyes that usually doesn’t accompany a lunch order.
“‘Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs.’” Eliot quotes Shakespeare. At least, I’m about eighty percent sure it’s William Shakespeare. He could quote lengthy passages from A Midsummer’s Night Dream at the age of eight, but lately, he’s been on a mega Shakespeare-binge after landing the lead role in Hamlet this fall. He works at the Sun & Thorn Playhouse as a theatre actor.
“Translation?” I ask.
He lifts his eyes off his phone. “I’m cupid. I’m a mastermind, Luna. You know how Tom has that crush?”
I raise my brows. “You mean the person he likes but he won’t tell us who because he’s worried you’ll come up with some scheme—?”
“How is it scheming if it’s in the name of love?” Eliot touches his chest dramatically.
Eliot and me. We’re a lot alike on the romantic front. One-night stands. First dates only. Only I do it because I know I wouldn’t be a good girlfriend. Eliot chooses it because he thinks people are boring the more you get to know them. Like he can read the whole book in one sitting and then it’s over.
Done.
Tom is the opposite of us. He usually tries to find more than just a quick fling, but most of his crushes go…unreciprocated.
Can I relate to him on that front? Unreciprocated love…
I want to say that I’ve never been in love, but I’ve never admitted that out loud to anyone. I’ve never admitted that I have been in love either.
Sometimes, I picture myself with my fingers pressed to glass. Unable to touch the kind of love that exists within the things I so clearly watch and see. The romantic bits in my sci-fi fics and the star-crossed love on Battlestar Galactica and Roswell. I’m a voyeur to love. To soul mates.
I used to think mine might not exist.
Now, I’m more worried mine is out there and no matter what I do, I’m always unable to reach him. He’s always going to be stuck on the other side of the glass.
An image of Paul Donnelly swims slowly into my brain. I see him and hear him. “As long as you’re letting me stay,” he said before coming towards me with the beginning of a grin.
Two years ago, I let him stay in my room and give me the most epic head. He left on good terms.
We became friends.
The kinda friends who text a little here and there. The kinda friends who gravitate towards each other when we’re at a bar with others.
Not the kind of friends who do things alone together. Not outside of the galaxy tattoo he ended up inking on my leg.
It’s better this way. I think of my dad, and I know it is.
“Luna?” Eliot calls loudly and seizes my gaze.
I speak before he asks what I was thinking. “What’s your non-scheme-y plan in the name of love?”
“We can title this plan: Pure Intentions.” He motions outward like the title is on a marquee. “Firstly, Tom’s secret crush is probably someone who’s completely unattainable.”
I can’t disagree with Eliot. Tom crushed on Farrow Keene, who is now very much—and very proudly—a Hale. And when we were younger, Tom would crush on the cute lifeguard (way older than him) or even the Cobalts’ chef (again, very unlikely to happen). So it’s highly possible his new secret crush is again not a viable option for him.
“Tom isn’t living in the clouds,” I say while tugging at the itchy neck of my Spider-Man suit. “He knows these crushes go nowhere because he never actually pursues them.”
“Exactly. He’s turning into Audrey 2.0—and while my little sister is adorable, she is to never be replicated in this context. We aren’t fifteen. We aren’t teenagers any longer. Tom taking a page out of Audrey Virginia Cobalt’s textbook is verging on a romantic tragedy of tragic levels.” He motions between us. “You and I—we need to divert his attention to a crush that will end up somewhere.”
I start to connect the dots, just as Eliot blurts out, “I’m going to set him up with Cody Lancaster.”
Lancaster. That name is kinda close to Lannister—the villains in Game of Thrones. Xander would say this setup is already doomed.
“Cody Lancaster,” I say the name hoping it will trigger a memory. I don’t know if I’ve met this Cody person.
“He’s the pianist at the Sun & Thorn.” Eliot opens and closes a Zippo lighter absentmindedly. “He told me outright he thinks Tom is hot, and Cody had a short modeling stint for Aloriam’s cologne. Only the hottest for my dear brother.”
“Aloriam,” I repeat with crinkled brows. “Isn’t that the luxury fragrance brand that Ben hates for not being cruelty-free?”