Page 14 of Win You Over
I don’t care what you do. I'm sorry I interrupted your self-care.
I laugh. “Self-care? Fuck off dude. Let's call it what it is. I was watching porn and jacking off.” He bites his lip again, but otherwise doesn't react. “Why are you so late, anyway? You were meant to be here over an hour ago. I got bored waiting for you.”
Holden scribbles down his reply.
My phone died because my charger broke, and then I missed the bus. It’s been a pretty shit day.
Opening my desk drawer, I pull out a charger and hand it to him. “Here, have this one.”
He shakes his head and pushes my hand away.
“Don’t be stubborn, it’s a fucking charger.”
I don’t need your charity.
His writing is messy again, ink smudged over part of the sentence.
I’ll get a new one once I’m paid at the end of the week.
“Jesus, you’re a pain. Take the charger, Booker. Call it an apology for watching me lose my load in front of you.” His eyes move to my bed, his cheeks that pretty shade of pink again. “Seriously, take it. I’m not using it.”
He’s weary of my offer, but takes the charger from my hand. Necessity winning over whatever sense of pride he holds onto so tightly.
Holden runs a hand through his dark brown locks and along the back of his neck. When he meets my gaze again, he opens his mouth and utters a quiet, “Thank you.” It’s the first time I’ve heard him speak - it's soft and so beautiful.
“You are most welcome.” I can’t help the way my lips curve into a grin.
I think Holden Booker is warming to me.
“Have you read this?” I ask, holding up a copy ofDeath on the Nile.
“Yes,” Holden says quietly. While I don’t know exactly why Holden rarely speaks, a few internet searches have given me some ideas. My deep dive tells me that if it’s anxiety stopping him, being comfortable in his environment can help. I preen a little at the thought that these few words he’s spoken today meanImake him feel comfortable.
Settling with my back against my headboard, I flip to one of the many highlighted pages.
“This is my favourite, and I think it’s her best work, next to The Mousetrap. That play is incredible. My parents took me to see it when we went on holiday to London.” I flip a few more pages, smiling as I read a paragraph that I’ve not only highlighted but written notes next to. “But this book? This is my ultimate comfort read.” I show Holden the back cover, which has a coffee stain and is slightly torn. “I’ve had this copy for over ten years.It’s one of the few things my mom brought with her when she left home.”
I look up at Holden and he’s studying me, his head at an angle, his legs crossed, one ankle resting on his knee as he leans back in the desk chair. His laptop is open behind him, our assignment up on the screen, waiting for us to return from our break and finish analysing Walt Whitman’s words.
“I’d love to write like this. To create a story full of mystery so intricate, it keeps readers on the edge of their seats until the last page. Everything about it is ingenious – from the cast of characters to the detailed setting. And you know, she didn’t imagine the setting. She went to Egypt and wrote the book there. All of this,” I point to my shelf of books “she accomplished while reportedly having dyslexia. She never let that slow her down.”
My hand drops to my knee and when I stop talking, I notice how quiet my room is. My eyes lift to meet Holden’s. He’s still watching me, a small grin playing on his lips. Heat floods my cheeks.
“Shit. I’m sorry. I have a tendency to go off on a tangent about things that interest me.”
Holden grunts, reaching behind him for pen and paper. The sound of a marker scraping over paper fills the silence. When he’s done, he holds it up to me and I bark out a laugh.
NERD, he’s written in big bubble letters.
“You don’t know the half of it!” I say, closing my book and placing it on my bed, then roll onto my stomach, feet bent, head turned to face Holden.
“Are you fighting this weekend?”
He nods, then points at me.
“Well, obviously I am. Undefeated, remember?”
His lips purse into thin lines as he reaches for his neon sticky notes again.
