January Dreams by Carrigan Richards (read people like a book .txt) 📗

to it. I can’t believe I asked that. What is wrong with me? I wonder if I should I tell Casper what I saw when Vincent and I kissed. What would he make of that? Are the two even connected?

“Why did you tell me to stay away from Vincent?” I ask, wondering if he knows about Vincent’s prior drug issue.

“I don’t know. I don’t even know him, but he gives me a bad vibe.”

“Are we talking about the same Vincent?”

“Yeah. I can’t explain it.”

“Bad vibe like mine with Amber McLachlan?”

“It’s…different. He just doesn’t sit well with me.”

I wonder if he means how intense Vincent is sometimes.

“What are you thinking?” he asks.

“My thoughts are all over the place. Definitely weirded out and yet, you aren’t at all what I thought.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“I don’t know.” I tell him honestly. “What are you thinking?”

“You don’t want me to answer that.”

My heart loses its regular beat. “Might as well tell me.” What is wrong with me? Why should I care what he’s thinking?

Casper takes a deep breath and plays with the fringe from one of the pillows. “I can’t stop thinking about kissing you. It’s so intense in the dream.”

I’m not sure what to make from my body’s positive reaction to that. I’m so glad for the ice to help cool me down. Now if I could only control my heartbeat.

“Sorry. I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I’m not going to make any moves. I’m not that guy.”

I shrug. “I asked. If it helps, they’re intense for me, too.” And now I am going to kick myself. I pull out my phone and check the time. “I’ve gotta go.”

“Yeah.”

The drive back to my house is quiet, but not awkward. I guess we are both thinking the same thing but not talking about it. For some reason, I feel a little pang of sadness as he pulls into my driveway.

“Thanks for tonight,” I say.

“You’ll need a ride in the morning, right?”

“I can ask Cherry.” But as soon as I say it, I know it’s too late to call Cherry. She always likes to go to sleep early. “Actually, what time can you pick me up?”

“How early do you need me?”

“As early as possible.”

He raises his eyebrows.

I feel the heat beneath my cheeks, and I clear my throat. “I mean seven.”

“Sure.”

“Goodnight,” I tell him and close the door. I quietly walk in my house and into my room to retrieve my pajamas. I pass by my parent’s door and hear Savannah scratching to be let out. I open the door slightly so she can, and she follows me into the bathroom. I groan at the ghastly sight of my face. It looks bad now but when it starts to heal and turn into that disgusting greenish yellow, that’s going to be bad. Good thing I don’t have any school pictures to take.

After the hot shower, I curl up in bed and check my phone for any messages. I still haven’t gotten any from Vincent, and that stupid ache in my chest returns, but my heart sputters at the one from Casper.

Sweet dreams.

I don’t reply. I put my phone on the nightstand and lay down. I need to stop spending so much time thinking about boys. They’re distracting me and if I’m not careful, I’m going to spiral out of control trying to balance everything.

Chapter Sixteen

My stomach won’t settle down. Casper is giving me a ride to school. My hands shake as I put makeup on my face and part my hair, so it covers the bruise. It’s actually not a bad look for me. Maybe I can wear it like this from now on. Of course, people will probably think I am even more emo now that half my face is covered by my hair. Not sure why they think I’m emo anyway.

I woke with tears in my eyes after another weepy dream about Casper and me. How much more dramatic can my dreams get? It’s like a romance novel for crying aloud. I’m not on drugs, but one look into my dreams, one would assume I am deep into them.

My phone beeps, letting me know I got a text. It’s Casper. I quietly creep down the hall and leave. It’s still dark and really freaking cold. I pass in front of Casper’s headlights and climb into the warm car.

“Morning. I got us some coffee, since it’s before the chickens wake up,” Casper jokes. He’s wearing his Bama cap and a long-sleeved blue shirt that fits snugly around his long, lean arms and muscular chest and torso. Not that I pay that much attention. He wears jeans as usual.

“Morning. Um thanks.” I’m not a coffee drinker but I take it and hold it in my hands, warming them. It’s a nice gesture, though.

He backs out of my driveway. “I didn’t drug it, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

I steal a glance. “I don’t drink coffee.”

“Oh. How do you stay awake in class?”

“I’ve been known to fall asleep.”

“You?”

“Yes. I’m not perfect.”

He mumbles something under his breath, but I can’t hear. The dream is still on my mind and I wonder if he’s thinking about it, too. I’m glad it wasn’t one of the more intimate ones because I’m not sure I’d be able to look him in the eye if we’d been rolling around in the grass like before.

“What the hell is a Sprite?” he asks, and I exhale, grateful he broke the ice so we can talk.

“I think it’s a fairy. I remember someone calling you an Elf. Why are they after us? The only thing I know is they mentioned I ran away with you. But why would they try to