Unwanted Girl. MK Schiller

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СКАЧАТЬ trench coat and an even baggier blue sweater underneath. She certainly didn’t dress to impress, which was almost a sin in this city. Yet, she managed to be sexy nonetheless.

      “Hello, Shyla,” he said, gesturing her inside.

      “Nick,” she greeted.

      She placed the paper bag on the table. Nick helped her with her coat and took her knapsack, and just like the night before, she seemed surprised by his small gesture. His hand twitched slightly, aching to tuck the loose strand of hair behind her ear, but he refrained.

      She cupped her hand to her mouth, her grin transforming into a long yawn.

      “Tired?”

      “Very much so, and it’s your fault, Nick Dorsey.”

      “My fault?”

      She reached into the knapsack and pulled out his book. “I read this last night. I stayed up very late, but it was worth it. I loved it.”

      Nick tried to subdue his grin, but couldn’t help it. The fact she liked something of his meant a great deal, especially coming from such a harsh critic.

      “I’m glad you enjoyed it.” And relieved, too.

      “It’s amazing, Nick.”

      “Stop swelling my ego.” Among other things.

      “I have to get this out. The fact you can get a girl from rural India to sympathize with an Irish poker player from New Jersey…well, that’s pretty special. I think that’s what a good book does. It brings us together as people no matter how different we are, because in the end, the human experience connects us.”

      Nick swallowed as he took in her words. A sense of gratitude filled him, but he wasn’t sure why. “I’m humbled by your description.”

      She handed the hardcover back to him.

      He held his hands up. “I told you to keep it.”

      “I plan to. I was hoping you would autograph it.”

      “Of course.” He walked over to his desk and grabbed a pen. “Would you like something to drink?”

      “I bought drinks this time.”

      He took his time autographing the copy for her. By the time he handed it back, she’d set up the table for them. She handed him his drink.

      “Juice boxes? Is this a joke?” The confused look on her face made it quite clear she wasn’t joking. “I haven’t had one of these since preschool.”

      “I know it’s childish, but I love them. I thought you might like one, too. They actually do taste like candy.”

      God, she was so fucking innocent. How would she survive in this city? He shook the ridiculous question out of his head as soon as it entered. She had survived, and it was a miracle in some ways. Not because she had—naive girl versus the big, bad city wasn’t a unique story. That she survived with her innocence intact was the true miracle.

      Nick laughed, taking one of the small boxes with its colorful design and tiny straw. She misunderstood his hesitation because she took the straw, freed it from the wrapper, and punctured the tiny dot at the top of the bright yellow box.

      “Thank you.” He sipped, wincing at the artificial sweetness.

      “You’re most welcome. He had such an interesting life, your grandfather.”

      “Yeah, he had some good stories.”

      “Enlisting in the Army at a young age and then losing his wife. And the relationship you two had. I can see how you both needed each other. How he influenced you.” She walked over to the wood frame hanging in a prominent place in his living room and ran her finger along the border. “These are the cards, right?”

      “The only royal flush ever dealt to him. When I graduated college, he gave them to me.” Nick deepened his voice, bringing out the Jersey of his Gramp’s accent. “He said, ‘All I have to give you are these cards I’ve been carrying in my back pocket for twenty years and some advice. You’re smart enough to know there is a sucker at every table, but I hope you’ll be wise enough to realize that sometimes it’s you. I never was.’”

      “Wise words.” Her smile widened when she opened the book and read his inscription. “To Shyla, a shining light in a dark world. Love Nick Dorsey.” She looked up at him, the dimple deepening with her grin. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”

      “My pleasure.”

      “Do you think the world is dark?”

      “Sometimes.” He didn’t want to have this discussion with her. She had an ability to draw out his sorrow in a way that both relieved and surprised him. “But not tonight. I don’t want to talk about me anymore. Tell me about you.”

      “What do you want to know?”

      He pulled out a chair for her. “Anything.” Everything.

      “My father is retired. My mother passed away a while ago.”

      “I’m sorry. That must be difficult.”

      “It was.”

      “Any brothers or sisters?” he asked.

      “I’m an only child.”

      “Me, too.”

      “That’s about it.”

      “I doubt it. Do you like NYU?”

      “It’s a great school. I’m here on a scholarship.”

      “Impressive. I graduated from there myself.”

      “Why didn’t you say so yesterday?”

      “I didn’t want to change the subject. Big surprise, I was an English Lit major.”

      “How come you didn’t move back to New Jersey?”

      Nick dropped the needle on the record player, hoping the music would defuse, possibly distract him from making an advance on her. Nick didn’t have a trace of an accent so he wondered for a split second how she knew he was a Jersey boy before it dawned on him that she knew a great deal about him from the book.

      “I love Jersey, but this city has an ebb and flow that’s conducive to writing.”

      “I get it.” She gestured to the turntable with its record spinning on the track. “Who is this?”

      Nick tilted his head. “Jimi Hendrix. The song’s called “All Along the Watchtower.”

      She moved her lips, silently repeating the name as if trying to commit it to memory. “Jimi Hendrix, I’ll have to remember the name.”

      He arched a brow. “You’ve never heard of Jimi Hendrix?”

      “No, СКАЧАТЬ