Read My Mind

by Natasha Preston

  Inhaling deeply, I jab my finger into the button of the coffee machine, and it begins grinding beans. She doesn’t need a babysitter. She’s a grown woman. She turned twenty-one last month. I saw from the window as her friends brought presents.

  Jason is right; I need a girlfriend.

  He knows exactly how I feel about Mila. He saw her for the first time when we ran into her, Wren, and Indie in a bar. Now I get much less shit about wanting her… or pining for her like a ‘fucking pussy’, as he likes to put it.

  The machine pours the perfect mug of coffee, and I take it to the living room.

  When my parents moved out, I redecorated. Now there are bookcases everywhere, as well as large lamps made from old telescopes. There’s a TV screen that is probably too big for the room, and soft, brown leather sofas that belong in a man cave where older men sit around smoking cigars.

  I sit on the sofa and put the coffee on the coffee table. The legs of it are parts from an old printing press.

  Books have been my escape for a very long time now. When I was ten, I found my nan on the floor of her kitchen during a sleepover. She was dead, had been for a while, and that was confirmed by the paramedics when they arrived. I didn’t speak for weeks after that. My uncle brought me a book. An old, battered copy of Lord of the Flies.

  I started talking when I finished it. After that, I read everything I could get my hands on. Words are my therapy. I read even harder when history repeated itself.

  There’s a knock at my door as I’m about to turn the TV on for some mindless entertainment. That usually restarts my brain, but I have a feeling nothing will do that today. I’ve had too much Mila time.

  I open the front door, and Jason throws something at me. I catch it just in time and look down at a black tub of protein powder. “What are you trying to tell me, Jace?”

  He walks past, inviting himself in, as always. “I have a spare hour and thought I’d drop in. You finished that manuscript yet?”

  We walk into my living room. “Not yet. Why do I need protein powder?”

  I exercise most days, at the gym and home. I have a lot of pent up energy more than anything else, but I’m not heavily into fitness and growing muscles.

  Jason is a personal trainer at the local gym. It’s actually where we met. He lifts weights and looks like he should be on the front of fitness magazines. He’s the sporty type, and I’m the book type. We don’t have a lot in common, but he’s a good friend.

  “You have great shape and definition now, but if you want the girl, we’re going to make her salivate when—”

  “Let me stop you right there. It’s almost killed me to get to this point. Mila’s boyfriend doesn’t work out.” That much is clear from seeing him this morning. He’s not overweight, but there was absolutely no definition under his T-shirt.

  Jason sighs and takes a swig from something green in his bottle.

  Dark skin covers thick muscles. His biceps bulge.

  I place the protein on the table, picturing it still sealed in six months’ time, collecting dust. I pick up my coffee.

  “What’s going on?”

  “I was going to ask you the same thing. How do you live across the road from her and get anything done?”

  I sit down and kick my feet up on the table. “Today, I’m not getting anything done.”

  “You should give her a job—work experience or something like that. Get to know her and wait until she falls for you. She’s studying English, right? No doubt the nerdy type is for her. You’ll be well in, bro.”

  “Thank you for that.”

  He drops down on the sofa. “Know what I do when I like a woman?”

  “Have sex with her on a treadmill?”

  He deadpans. “You should try it.”

  Mila on a treadmill. Mila anywhere.

  I take a swig of my boiling hot coffee.

  “Or don’t, but you’re missing out, mate. When are you next in for a workout?” he asks.

  I’ve been going less since I got some equipment at home. Last summer, Mila was out washing her car in a tiny pair of shorts and a hot pink bikini top. Four minutes later, I placed an emergency order with a home gym store.

  “Probably at the weekend,” I tell him. “I’ll be working late all week at this rate.”

  “After the gym, we should go out and get you laid. You don’t have to live like a monk.”

  “I don’t live like a monk.”

  Perhaps a part-time monk. I think I’ve had sex four times in the last year. All with women I’ve met on a night out, no names exchanged. Just a quickie at their place.

  “You know what happens to an unused dick?”

  “I have a feeling I’m about to find out.”

  “It dies, bro.”

  Throwing my head back, I bark out a laugh. “You graduated from where?”

  “All right, I may have exaggerated. My point is, you need to get back on the horse. Ask her out or move on.”

  “She has a boyfriend.” Who she is not happy with.

  “So? Look, I’m not saying you try it on while she’s attached, but at least tell her that you like her and let her figure out what she wants to do from there.”

  I shake my head. “We don’t know each other at all.”

  “We spent a night with her and her hot as fuck friends. You could feel the sexual tension between you both. Even I had a hard-on.”

  “That’s great.”

  I’m purposefully omitting the story of this morning. He can get somewhat obsessed with Mila and me. It’s because he has no idea what it’s like to refrain from having sex with someone you like.

  “If you’re not going to go there, maybe I could…” He stops dead, chuckling at the death glare I’m giving him. “I thought not, Reid. Seriously, you can’t have a word with the boss and get her some work experience? Unis are fucking hot on that. You could have her in your office, and then have her in your office.” He wiggles his black eyebrows, as if I didn’t get what he meant the first time.

  “When do you need to be back at work?”

  “Let’s go out and have some lunch. I’ll treat you since you’re still cut up over the girl you barely speak to.”

  “I’m not answering my door to you again.”

  “Come on, don’t be a baby.” Jason is on his feet and waiting.

  “Fine.” I put my coffee down, and I stand. “Let’s go and eat.”

  Getting out of the house is probably a good idea.

  Jason waits outside while I lock up. I’m just about to turn when he says something that makes my stomach sink.

  “Mila, hey.”

  “Hi, erm, Reid’s friend.”

  Grinning as I turn around, I jab him in the arm with my elbow.

  “Ouch, girl. It hurts when you forget a man’s name,” Jason says.

  Mila is crossing the road without fucking looking. It’s a quiet street, and you would hear a car, but you still look.

  “Remind me,” she says.

  “Jason. You were drunk and ranting about Abba the last and only time I saw you.”

  “You have a better memory for names than I do. That night was, like, six months ago.”

  Seven.

  “You heading to the bus station?” I ask, trying to ignore the way my body is thrown into a furnace around her.

  “Every two hours, the bastards come. Can you believe that? I know we’re a small town but come on. Now I’m going to have to go shopping before my lecture, where I’ll spend too much money and end up eating noodles for the rest of the month.”

  Jason frowns.

  “You live with your parents.”

  “Well, I can’t afford to move out with all the shopping I have to do.”

  “You’ve taken the bus once.”

  “Okay, whose side are you on, Reid?”

  Laughing, I raise my palms. “Fine. Damn bus companies to Hell.”

  Jason watches us with as much interest as his beloved England football matches. He’s going to talk a lot a
s soon as she’s gone, but I can’t help myself.

  “That’s the kind of support I was looking for. What are you two doing? Don’t you have jobs to do?” She looks at Jason. “Or steroids to take.”

  I cover my mouth, chuckling while his jaw falls open.

  “Steroids.” He coughs like she’s sworn at him. “This body is a temple. I work out for at least two hours a day.”

  She turns up her nose. “You should get a girlfriend.”

  “I was just saying the same to Reid.”

  I’ve never thought much about committing murder before now. Mila’s amber eyes slide to me, but she doesn’t say anything.

  “Well, this has been great but I need to catch a bus… and probably herpes.”

  “We’ll drive you,” Jason says.

  I clench my hands beside my thighs.

  “Where are you two going?”

  “To get lunch. We can grab something in town.”

  “Don’t you have to be back at the gym in forty-five minutes?” I ask. What the hell is he doing?

  “Ah, shit. Okay, I’ll head back there now, and you take Mila.”

  That’s what he’s doing.

  She shakes her head. “It’s okay, Reid. I’m fine getting the bus.”

  “No, come on. We wouldn’t want you getting herpes now, would we?”

  “Are you sure?”

  The only thing I’m sure of right now is that I hate Jason. “Yeah, it’s fine. I need to grab a new notebook, anyway.”

  Jason rolls his eyes. “See you later, ladies.”

  “Enjoy watching egotistical men sweat and grunt,” she replies.

  He laughs as he gets into his car and leaves.

  “He’s a joy.”

  “I don’t like him, really.” I open the passenger door and chuck my chin, suggesting she gets in.

  “What a gentleman.”

  I close the door and walk around the front with lead in my chest. I’m twenty-four years old. I should have better control over myself when it comes to Mila. That’s the only part of me that hasn’t moved on from my teen years: my need for her.

  I get in and start the engine.

  “Are you going to be a boy racer again?”

  I raise an eyebrow. “Again? Have I been one before?”

  “This morning. You drive fast.”

  “I just don’t dawdle, and I slowed when you complained. I’ll get you to uni safely.”

  “Good. I’m not ready to die.”

  “Neither am I. How will you get home?”

  She laughs. “You’re very concerned with my movements.”

  “Just trying not to be an arsehole.”

  “Does that usually take much effort?”

  I take my foot off the accelerator a touch since I’m being judged by the woman who bought a bright yellow Beetle.

  “Oh, yeah. The editor gig is just a smokescreen. I’m really a drugs and arms dealer with a woman waiting for me in every postcode.”

  We join the motorway, and I feel her eyes on me.

  “I should have guessed. No one is that perfect.”

  My heart slams against my chest. “Mila, I’m not perfect.”

  I can’t even ask out the girl I’m in love with because I’m too scared of something happening to her.

  Five

  Mila

  Reid doesn’t think he’s perfect. The man lives in a beautiful house, gets to read for a living, is hotter than hot, and offers to drive me to the garage and to class.

  Dude is crazy.

  “You barely swear, you don’t get angry, you are so together, and…” he’s not happy.

  He said himself that he’s not, and I know how that feels.

  We fall into a silence that I just want to fill with a million bullshit words. But for the first time in my life, I don’t feel like I need to. Even with Wren and Indie, I would say something.

  Reid and I are one and the same.

  Maybe my life looks perfect from the outside, too. People certainly assume that I’m doing just fine. A thousand problems can be hidden with a single smile.

  I sit back in his car, and a comfortable silence falls over us. It takes a minute for me to appreciate how relaxed I feel in his car that smells like him. I don’t need to worry about a single thing.

  I’m not even going to analyse why I feel this way.

  “Do you write?” he asks, finally breaking the quiet. “Aside for your assignments, I mean.”

  “I do. No one has seen those ones. They’re all for me.”

  “Would you show me?”

  “Fuck… no!”

  Reid’s laughter fills the car. It’s as rough as his voice, and sexy as hell.

  “Why not? I’m an editor.”

  “At the minute, I’m learning how to write. Nothing I’m currently working on is good enough to be published, but it is therapeutic.”

  A smile touches his lips. “I understand that.”

  “You write?”

  He glances my way for a heartbeat. “No, I read. Same effect. What genre?”

  “Romantic thriller. I love romance and danger. They make the best mix. Your characters can be having hot, passionate sex one minute”—His chest caves—“and being threatened or attacked the next. Are you okay?”

  “Fine,” he says with perfect calm. “I’d like to read one. We’re always looking for talented new authors.”

  “You don’t know if I’m talented.”

  “I’ve read plenty of shit manuscripts, too, so don’t worry.”

  My lips part. “You’re such a twat.”

  “I couldn’t resist. Think about it, okay?”

  I think not.

  We pull into a parking space at uni. “Can I come with you to the stationery shop?” I ask, biting my lip. Is that a bit weird? He’s only given me a lift; no reason he needs to be my personal shopper as well.

  “Sure.”

  We get out, and I take him through the short cut from uni into town. There are so many eighteen-year-olds here. I’m only twenty-one but I feel like a granny. I should have got myself together and come here earlier. But the plan was to move away, so I kept putting it off because I’m a baby and can’t leave my family. Now I attend a uni thirty minutes away.

  Dad is always telling me to plan rather than flying by the seat of my pants. Well, I like my seat and my pants. Solid plans are scary because they can lead to disappointment.

  I swing my arms, taking in the sunshine and the smell of roses. The whole town is lined with flowers as they try to win some bloom competition against other towns in the county. They won last year, and the organisers did a live Facebook video… where they cried.

  The only award I’ll cry over is Spencer Lowe—my best friend’s fiancé who also happens to be a Hollywood actor—winning an Oscar. And that will only be because I’ll be at a table at the awards and finally get to kiss Chris Hemsworth. Probably only for a second before he pushes me away and calls security, but goals.

  “Ah,” I sigh, breathing in the smell of stationery. Shelves of notepads and pens line the walls. Is there anything better? Well, a bookstore, but this is a close second.

  “If you sniff anything, I’m leaving,” he warns, giving me a stern eye.

  I wonder if he gives that look in bed.

  Oh, no, do not go there.

  The only person I need to know in the bedroom is Liam.

  Placing my hand on my heart, I reply, “I promise not to make myself look like a coke addict.”

  “Shh.” He’s chuckling as the lady behind the counter looks up.

  Reid heads to the notebook section, and I follow him. I should probably give him some space to shop since he didn’t have to agree to bring me, but I’m too excited about having someone to share my love of stationery with.

  Wren and Indie would be into this for five minutes. They would scan the shelves, grab what they needed, and then go. Liam would wait outside for me.

  I take my time and have to narrow down what I want from the initial th
ought of everything.

  Reid picks up a simple, tan leather notebook. I don’t really know him, but I do know that that’s totally him.

  I run my fingers over a few of the notebooks. Some are smooth, others textured. As always, I take my time. Can I see myself planning a novel in these? Can I see myself thinking about writing great stories in them instead of adding them to an ever growing pile to collect dust?

  When I look up, Reid is smirking at me. It normally looks arrogant, but on him, yeah, it works.

  “What?” I ask.

  “You always shop like that?”

  “How am I supposed to choose if I don’t touch them?”

  “What do you use a notebook for, exactly?”

  “Masturbation. What do you use them for?”

  He dips his chin to his chest, laughing while shaking his head. “All right, I’ll be over by the pens.”

  “Wait, no. I need help deciding.” I grab his hand, and his dark eyes flash to me.

  I let go with my heart in my throat and step back. Whoops. Talk about overstepping boundaries. The guy is being nice, he has been all day, and I grab him and force him to stay with me.

  Reid recovers and stands taller. “What’s it between?”

  “Erm, I don’t know.”

  Oh, Lord, what is wrong with me?

  This is weird. Things have turned weird. I can talk to anyone, and if it gets strange, I talk some more. Where have the words gone now? He probably thinks I’m a complete idiot.

  “Never mind. Go and look at pens. I’ll be fine browsing here.”

  He’s not moving… or blinking, actually.

  Did I break him?

  “Reid?”

  “That one,” he says, pointing to a rather dull, amber-coloured notepad.

  “Isn’t it a bit boring?”

  He shakes his head and picks it up, staring at me as if I should understand. My heart stutters. “This one.”

  Then he turns and walks away.

  Well, at least we can’t accuse me of being the only weird one. I guess I’m getting that notebook… and only one? Who buys one at a time? It’s like books. You go into a bookstore for a minimum of three, and then you come out with at least double that.

  I follow Reid to the pen section. “I thought you would have some sort of fancy Mont Blanc pen.”