Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 103102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
“That was the idea.”
Interesting. “Did it work?”
“It offered a million insights. The symmetry of her face. The golden ratio in her figure. The way the light bounced off her hair.” He looks to Alice again. “But it didn’t help me understand why I want to be with her.”
“Do you understand now?”
“That was high school. I’m an adult now.”
It’s not an answer. It’s not an acknowledgment he still wants her—or a denial. But there’s no need for him to deny it. It’s obvious. “She’s not interested in you,” I say, tired of dancing around the obvious. “Not the way you’re interested in her.”
“And what way is that?”
“You think you love her,” I say. “But you don’t. You have a crush. And they call it a crush for a reason.” Sometimes you have to be cruel to be kind. Or to be effective. So here goes. “Because when you realize the other person doesn’t return your feelings, you’re crushed.”
He gives me a look I don’t quite know how to interpret. “And you know her feelings?”
“She’s my sister,” I say.
“I suppose you know everything.”
“Most things,” I say.
“What do you know about love?” He finishes his drink.
“It’s not love. It’s a crush. And it’s not love on her side, either. It’s attraction. She loves her boyfriend.”
“They’re still together?”
Did Lexi tell him she was breaking up with Jake? Is that what they were whispering about before?
They’re just on a break, though. They’ll be together again soon.
He notices my lack of an answer. Takes it as a yes.
“She might have feelings for you. They’re not love.” My eyes dip to his broad shoulders. “Don’t pretend you didn’t do the whole muscle makeover thing on purpose.”
He lets out a dry laugh. “I don’t pretend.”
“So you understand—”
“I have a conventional appeal now, yes,” he says.
“That’s what Lexi wants, what she’s always wanted.”
“And you know what she needs?” he asks in a tone that screams it’s a trap.
I say, “Yes,” anyway.
He stares at me, victory in his dark eyes. “Do you believe in love?”
“What?” What the hell does that have to do with anything?
“It’s a yes or no question.”
“Love is a chemical reaction in your brain. Dopamine and serotonin and oxytocin and vasopressin. There’s nothing to believe in or not believe in.” Seriously, why do people even debate things like this? There’s science to explain it.
“But what about true love? Soulmates? The Sting and the Police song. ‘Every Little Thing She Does is Magic.’”
“That isn’t love,” I say. “That’s infatuation.”
He raises a brow.
“There’s no such thing as magic. Or soulmates.” Seriously, get real. I know he’s an artist, but how could anyone look at the data and think, of all the billions of people in the world, only one can complete me?
“What if I convince you otherwise?” he says.
Why would he do that? I take a sip, to try to find some thread of logic. But there’s nothing. It’s nowhere.
“Will you back off then?” he asks.
“If you convince me of the magic of love, I step out of the way of your, what, destiny to be with Lexi?”
“Call it that if you want. But yes.”
“And what do I get if I win? If you don’t convince me love is, what, more magic than science?” I ask.
“Or equal parts magic and science,” he says. “However you want to see it.” He takes a long sip, debating what to offer me. “You want her with this app guy, right?” he asks.
“It’s what’s best for her.” And the company, but I don’t add that.
“If I can’t convince you, I’ll help you keep them together,” he says.
Wait…what? “You will?”
“Absolutely.
Score. “And what do you get if you win?” I ask.
“You back off. Give me a chance to be with Lexi,” he says.
“So if I win, you leave Lexi alone. If you win, I leave the two of you to destiny?”
“Exactly,” he says.
“But how are you going to prove love is real or not real? That’s so ambiguous.”
“Fair. Let’s set a definition now, then,” he says. “If you don’t agree in, say, three weeks, I’ll concede.”
“You trust me that much?”
He nods.
This is a good deal. A great deal. And it will keep him busy. I nod. “So… What’s our definition of love?”
“An attachment to someone that gives you warm, fuzzy feelings and butterflies.”
“Too vague. By that definition every puppy I see on Instagram is my soulmate.”
He nods, thinking for a moment, trying to come up with a more scientific response. “How about this? When you love someone enough, you act against your own self-interest. You put them first. Would you agree to that?”
“It’s not specific to romantic love.”
“But it exists in romantic love.”
“If you love someone, set them free?” I ask.
He nods. As if that means I need to leave my sister free to be with him, in whatever way she wants, because I love her.