Read Tastes Like Winter for Free Online

paint his face back into my mind. I open them
again and squint to see Sam’s eyes. Even from several tables away, I can see
they shine blue like Jake’s. They also both have smooth, tanned skin that looks
as though it picks up the sun effortlessly. I close my eyes again and include
those details in my mental portrait. I add a few strokes for the angles of his
chin and the lines of his cheeks and nose.
    When I blink again and refocus on the cafeteria in front of me, Mary
is in my face, looking annoyed.
    “What is wrong with you? The bell rang. We have to go!”
    I swallow the thickness in my throat and try to shake off the daydream
and collect myself.
    “Ye-yeah, s-sorry. Let’s go,” I stutter and grab my bag from the empty
seat next to me. “Ready?”
    I smile up at Mary as if I wasn’t completely zoned out seconds before.
She narrows her eyes at me before turning and walking ahead, as if expecting me
to follow. I fall in line behind her quietly, staring at my shoes and trying to
cool the heat that has risen to my cheeks.
    ***
    I flip another page and keep reading. My shift ended a little less
than an hour ago, but unwilling to go home, I have been hiding in the back,
reading. My head is pushed against the cold metal of the locker behind me, and
I shut my eyes and rub them fiercely to wipe away the fatigue. I’m halfway
through the divine comedy that is Dante’s Inferno, and while interesting, it is
heavy reading that exhausts my brainpower.
    The door swings open, and Jake, whom I have not been able to stop
thinking about since our first encounter, strolls in. I look up.
    “Hi. Emma, right?”
    “Yeah.” My voice is weak.
    “What are you doing back here?” His eyes dart around the room in confusion.
    “Oh, I—I” I stammer. “I was reading.”
    He tilts his head curiously and gives me a smirk. “In the storage
room?”
    “I like it back here. It’s… peaceful.” I sound like a nitwit. So far,
Jake has the uncanny ability to turn me into a blubbering idiot. I blame my
hormones and his good looks.
    He gives me a weird glance before grabbing a thick folder from the top
of the filing cabinet.
    “Also, I don’t want to go home,” I am compelled to add, not sure if I
am trying to redeem myself or if the depth of his gaze is pulling it out of me.
I chide myself for oversharing .
    He locks onto my eyes and asks directly, “Why not?”
    I don’t think he’s being nosey and prying, but something about the way
he asked makes me want to respond honestly. “Home is a bit tense these days. My
parents, they’re on the verge of a divorce. It’s so cliché, but it turns out my
dad was fooling around with his co-worker.”
    “Secretary?”
    “I don’t think secretary is politically correct anymore. I hear they
like to be called executive assistants these days.” I was reverting to sarcasm
as a defense. “But, yeah, same thing.”
    He is unfazed by my correction. “Sorry to hear that. I can relate. The
curse of the twenty-first century teen—divorce is written in our DNA.”
    I throw him a feeble half smile, and he changes the subject. “What are
you reading?”
    I hold up my copy of Dante, and he chuckles in response. He drops his
bag from his shoulder, unzips it, and pulls out a copy of the same book.
    “It appears that you and I have a lot in common, Emma Forrester.” He
shoves the book along with the folder into place at the bottom of his pack and
pushes through the door. It flaps loudly on its hinges in his wake, the sound
echoing in my head. I continue following his path with my eyes, desperate for X-ray
vision so I could see through the door now blocking my view.
    “That was weird,” I think aloud, trying to shrug it off, but inside I
am reeling. It appears we have a lot in common, Emma Forrester, I mock
internally. How did he know my last name?
    I reprimand my subconscious. I know his last name. It’s not so strange
for him to know mine. Maybe it was the way he said it, as if I’ve piqued