Girl Meets Boys by Ari Reavis

Author:Ari Reavis
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: romance, love triangle, black, new adult, college, interracial romance, african american romance, quotes
Publisher: Ari Reavis
Published: 2021-01-14T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 16

When I wake up, the first thing I see is Julian’s smiling face.

“How can you be so cheery so early in the morning?” I groan.

“Because I woke up to the most beautiful woman lying next to me.” He grins, kissing me before getting out the bed.

“So true.” I smirk.

“What do you want for breakfast, oh conceited one?” He chuckles.

“Conceited?” I gasp. “I am far from conceited.”

“You’d have every right to be if you were.” He winks.

“I’ll take whatever’s easiest to make,” I say.

I go into the bathroom and brush my teeth as he makes us a few small pancakes and sausages. We’re just finishing up when his phone rings. His eyebrows scrunch as he looks down as the screen.

“It’s my uncle,” he murmurs. “He never calls.”

I open my mouth to ask if he’s going to answer the phone when he does exactly that.

“What, did you butt dial me?” He snickers, but the grin drops from his uncle’s response the longer Julian listens. “How?” he finally states, and the edge in his voice is enough to make my worry grow.

His hand balls into a fist on his leg, and his jaw gets tight, a muscle working on the side of his face.

“Yeah, I’ll be there... No, I can handle all that on my own... Yeah, sure. Bye.”

He puts the phone down on the table and hangs his head for a while, silent as his hand clenches and unclenches.

“My mother,” he utters. “She’s dead.”

My head snaps back at his words. That was the last thing I was expecting to hear. I reach forward and link my hand with his.

“I’m sorry. What happened?” I ask.

“Drunk. Fucking drunk as usual.” His other hand comes down hard on the table. “She fall a few blocks away from a bar. Hit her head and since it was three in the morning, no one was around to find her. She bleed to death.”

The hand linked with mine begins to shake, so slowly at first that I wonder if I’m imagining it, but then it quakes faster, too hard to ignore until he removes his hand from under mine and brings it to his lap.

“What are you feeling?” I inquire.

Honestly I have no idea what to do right now. I know they didn’t speak, but it was his mother regardless. Is he sad, upset, relieved? I don’t know. And from the way he just shakes his head and shrugs his shoulders at my question, I don’t think he does either.

“I have no idea. I...”—his mouth opens and closes a few times, but no words come out—“I need to write in my journal.”

He’s out of his seat in an instant, walking over to his bag and plucking his journal out of it before he goes and sits on his bed. I watch his hand move swiftly over the page. Left to right, down to the next line, again and again. Until suddenly, he stops. The pen drops from his hand as if it’s weight has suddenly became too much, and he looks up.

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