I force myself to sit up and head over to the bathroom, closing the door behind me. I shower quickly and as the colored water swirls down the drain, I decide I’m going to dye my hair again tomorrow. It’s time for a new color. This one’s becoming stale.
I step out and wrap the fluffy gray towel around my body before wiping the condensation from the mirror.
My reflection stares back at me. The same person I’ve seen every day for my entire life—minus the ever-changing hair color. I tilt my head to the side, and my reflection follows suit.
Hate.
That’s what I used to feel when I looked at myself.
Now?
Now, I feel numb, and I don’t know which is worse—hating yourself or not caring anymore.
With a sigh, I open the door and step outside. The cooler air feels like heaven against my skin.
I look up and see Jace sitting in his bed. His chest is bare, the sheets pooled at his waist. His glasses are perched on his nose and he’s reading.
The first thing he said when I moved in was, “Tell anyone I read and you’re out of here. I have to keep my cool factor.”
I didn’t tell him, but the fact that he reads makes him infinitely cooler in my eyes.
After all, what’s hotter than a guy that reads?
Not that I think Jace is hot.
“Night,” he says, without looking up from his book.
“Goodnight,” I mumble back, ducking my head so damp magenta-colored strands of hair hide my face as I scurry across the hall to my room.
I swear I can feel his eyes on me, but when I look back before I close my door, his eyes are once more on his book, and I can’t be sure if he was really looking or if I simply wanted him to look.
Jace
“You’ve been in there for like two hours. You’re not dead, are you?” I rap my knuckles on the door to the bathroom.
“No,” she says back, “but it does look like I murdered a Smurf in here.”
“I have to go to work,” I tell her.
“Do you need the bathroom?”
“Nah, I’m good. Just wanted to let you know I’m heading out. Stop by the bar later. I want to see your hair.”
Her laughter trickles through the door. “You should let me dye your hair.”
I make a face of disgust but she can’t see it, of course. “No, thanks, I’m good. I like my boring blond hair just fine.”
“Your loss.”
I start to walk away and then step back. “What is your natural hair color?”
She laughs again. “Wouldn’t you love to know?”
I would. I so would.
Novalee Clarke might be the only girl in the world that I actually want to know. She’s mysterious and alluring, and I love learning about what makes her tick. She’s fascinating. It’s probably sick just how much I’m enraptured by her, but I can’t help but be drawn to her. She’s like a shot of tequila and I’m an alcoholic—I just want one sip, but I know it won’t quench the thirst.
I’ve always only been interested in sex when it comes to girls. I wouldn’t say I’m a jerk about it, I’m always up front about that with whoever I’m hooking up with that I don’t do relationships, so the fact that Nova is my friend says a lot.