Read Just Remember to Breathe (Thompson Sisters) for Free Online

“And just think, you get to see a real writer in action.” When she said the word ‘real’ she held her hands up and made little quotes. I laughed.
    “Okay, you’re probably right. Let’s see if he produces anything this year. At least we can make sure the research is all lined up.”
    She grinned. “We should make a little wager on it.”
    I raised my eyebrows. “Feeling a little competitive?”
    “I say he produces absolutely nothing. Twenty dollars.”
    “Fair enough. What’s the threshold. Fifty pages? A hundred? Two?”
    “He has to finish at least a first draft.”
    “Deal.” I reached across to shake her hand. She took it, and though the action felt natural, it felt too natural. Taking her hand. I let go quickly, feeling as if I’d been burned. Touching her… it was just too intense.
    We were both silent again. Awkward. As. Hell.
    “I should get going,” I said, at the exact same time she said, “Well, I’ve got somewhere to…”
    We looked at each other and both of us burst out laughing.
    “Okay,” I said. “Yeah, this is awkward. Are we really going to be able to do this?”
    She shrugged, and gave a smile I knew was fake as a three-dollar bill. “Of course, Dylan. It can’t be that hard.”
    I started to gather my bags, then took three dollars out of my wallet. “For the coffee,” I said.
    “Keep it. You buy next time.”
    I paused, then put the money back in my wallet. Next time? Was this going to be a regular occurrence? Probably not a good idea. Not a good idea at all.

CHAPTER THREE

    Strawberries (Alex)

    When he finally got himself standing, he leaned close and said, “I think we need one more rule.”
    “Yeah?”
    He took a deep breath through his nose, and said, “Yeah. Um, yeah… you need to get different shampoo.”
    What. The. Hell?
    “What are you talking about?” I asked, suddenly very uncomfortable.
    “You still smell like strawberries, and it’s breaking my heart,” he said, his voice a low growl. With that, he turned, slung his bag over his impossibly broad shoulder, and began to walk away.
    He was twenty feet away before I could even think again. Without thought, without regard for consequences, I shouted as loud as I could, “You can’t do that! That’s breaking the first rule! Do you hear me, Dylan?”
    I was attracting stares. He waved over his shoulder and kept walking.
    Bastard.
    I gathered my bag and turned to go in the other direction, back to the dorm. Oh God, I was a mess. I was a mess because of his impossibly blue eyes, because of how his arms and chest had become… so developed. He smelled the same as always, and being around him was impossible. Sometimes when he was close to me I couldn’t even breathe. How in hell was I supposed to stay detached and professional when he set off every single nerve in my body?
    Why did he have to say that?
    I still remembered. I remembered him asking me on the plane a million years ago, during our questions and answers game, “ Why do you smell like strawberries?”
    Damn it.
    It’s not like we even really knew each other. I was a different person in Israel. Free. At home, and here in college, I was … well, I was kind of a bitch. I focused, one hundred percent, on my studies, on success. I was driven. I didn’t have room for the crazy sensations and emotions I’d experienced during our trip.
    As I walked, I remembered. His smell. His touch.
    Three days after we arrived in Israel, we’d gone to our first set of host families, in Ramat Gan, a suburb of Tel Aviv. Somehow, because of a stupid mixup, I ended up being the only female student assigned to a male host. Ariel was nothing but a giant ball of hormones and glands, a hyper-masculine dickhead who was absolutely certain he was going to sleep with me some time during my ten-day stay in his home. By the end of the second day I was exhausted from fending off his advances, and went to our advisor. She got me placed with a different family, thank God. That