Page 9 of In the Net
Alright, I’ve given myself permission to take a break from the whole thing until this evening, so I summon the effort to push the entire topic out of my mind.
Luckily, I have an easy distraction. The latest book from TK Chilton, my favorite new author.
Two weeks ago, he shocked the literary world by releasing a short novel that he hadn’t even murmured a single word about before it hit bookstore shelves. When people found out, there was such a mad rush to get a copy that all brick-and-mortar and online booksellers were backordered. Even though I ordered my copy the moment I found out from a TikTok video on the day of the surprise release, my book only arrived by mail yesterday.
I push up from my chair only to immediately drop to a reclining position on my bed, resting against my mound of pillows. I grab the book from my bedside table and quickly lose myself in it.
Time slips away as I flip through the pages, hanging on every word of the book that just might be my new favorite of Chilton’s.
When a sliver of reality manages to slink into my brain, and it occurs to me to check the time, I realize I’m almost late for class. Muttering a curse, I leap up from my bed, sling my bookbag over my shoulder, tuck my phone into my pocket, and rush out of my room, the book still in my hand and my place saved with my index finger.
Downstairs, I notice my roommate, Scarlett, in the living room on a video call with her boyfriend, Lane Larsen, who’s in preseason training with his professional hockey team up in Montreal.
Even though I’m in a hurry, I can’t resist taking a second to say, “I’m heading to class, so now that you guys have the house to yourselves, you don’t have to worry about being quiet during phone sex.”
“Alright!” I hear Lane exclaim as I rush out the front door with a grin on my face.
Even as I’m crossing the street on my way to class, I can’t resist opening my book and lowering my eyes to it. I was right in the middle of a sentence when I realized I was running late, and it’s not like I can just not finish it.
And, hey, once I finish the sentence, I might as well finish the whole paragraph while I’m walking.
The paragraph ends almost at the bottom of the page. I mean, I might as well read the next paragraph, too, just to be able to turn the page. Who can stop reading right when they’re about to turn the page, after all?
By the time I’ve read through the next page, I don’t bother making excuses for myself anymore. I’m just walking to class with my nose stuffed in my book.
It’s fine, though. I’ve got a great sense of direction and situational awareness. Always have. It’s not like I’m going to?—
Breath whooshes out of my chest when I walk straight into what must be a wall or a column or the trunk of a particularly large tree. Whatever it is, it’s wide and hard and so sturdy it doesn’t budge when I smack into it.
Stumbling backward, I trip over my own two feet. My balance gives out before I’m even able to react enough to lift my eyes up from my book. I’m about to tumble flat on my butt, but then the weirdest thing happens.
The wall or column or tree trunk that I just walked into … reaches out and steadies me?
A strong grip curls firmly onto both my arms, keeping me from falling.
“Shit, Harper, where’d you come from?”
My stomach twists, realization hitting me. It wasn’t a wall, a column, or a tree that I just walked straight into. It was Sebastian.
He pulls his hands away from me, making a show of wiping his palms on the sides of his jeans like he just touched something dirty.
He huffs a grumbly sigh. “You made me drop my book,” he says, scooping down to pick it up at his feet. He scowls as he draws himself back up to his full height. “And you bent the cover.”
My brow pinches. “I didn’t bend anything. You dropped it when you barreled into me because you weren’t paying attention to where you were walking.”
I glance at what he’s now holding in his hand. It’s the same book I have in mine. And we both just crashed into each other because we were walking across campus with our eyes pointed at the pages instead of paying attention to what was in front of us.
Sebastian’s eyes flick to my book. His eyebrow lifts. “You’re reading the new Chilton, too?”
“Yeah,” I nod, wondering why exactly that coincidence has my chest feeling a little funny. Guess I can put it down to how I’m still scrambled from walking straight into Sebastian’s obnoxiously broad and firm torso.
“What page are you on?” he asks.
“One-twenty-seven,” I answer.
He grins, his blue eyes glimmering behind his glasses. “I’mon page one-thirty-four.” There’s a triumphant ring in his declaration.
I look at him with a flat expression. “Wow. Good for you.”
