Fall Into You by Posy Roberts

Author:Posy Roberts [Roberts, Posy]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: romance, contemporary, Gay, Fiction
ISBN: 9781623800482
Google: h5U4QF7XCQoC
Amazon: B00A2AHDD0
Publisher: Dreamspinner Press
Published: 2012-11-03T11:00:00+00:00

NATALIE’S call woke me the next day. She started by apologizing to me for not letting me know that Thomas was at the University of Washington, finishing his last few classes, and once again, for dragging me to the concert without revealing that Sparklebottom would be playing. My hangover only allowed me to mumble my response and quickly get off the phone and back to sleep. When I woke several hours later, my head feeling better, I was still just as pissed as I had been the night before when I’d taken my first shot of tequila.

Who did Thomas think he was that he could just waltz back into my life, sit at my library table, and stir up normal conversation like there hadn’t been a chasm dug between us? At least address the fucking elephant in the room! Not that I’d given him much of a chance, but the man had had two months to contact me and explain what had happened, explain himself. He chose not to. Therefore, I chose not to listen to anything he had to say. It was that simple.

Nothing was that simple, though.

In fact, classes had become more challenging and were requiring more study time, to the point that I considered quitting at the bar. Money wasn’t an issue anymore, but could very possibly be during my final quarter if I didn’t attempt to work now. And I wanted to go to summer school. I wasn’t a stranger to working double shifts, so I tried to think of school and work as that. My volunteering had to be adjusted some, but I was unwilling to give that work up.

I became a master at being productive, accurately so, on four to six hours of sleep. It would be good for me in the future. That’s what I told myself on those hard days, at least. Besides, being busy kept my mind from drifting to those places I didn’t want to go.

The spring quarter was well underway, and I had yet to see Thomas since the library incident when a letter arrived at my apartment. I recognized the handwriting immediately and debated what to do as I walked up the stairs, unlocked my door, kicked off my shoes, and set my backpack down next to the kitchen chair I flopped into. The envelope was made from heavy stock that felt almost creamy in my hand. It was dove-gray. When I slit the paper, I was surprised to see a formal invitation.

Thomas’s Senior Recital.

Inside of the request for me to attend was an onionskin piece of paper with his artistic script.

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