Liam Davis & The Raven (Love Inscribed 1)

“No.” He planted a kiss on the side of my lips. “I still want you to sleep next to me. And would you think about something else if I asked?”

“Of course.”

“Would you come home with me, Shannon, and Hunter for Thanksgiving?”

Chapter 16

Heavy. My limbs felt heavy as I made my way into Scribe that Friday. Each step toward the office felt like I had weights around my ankles. I chalked it up to a case of extreme nervousness, but that didn’t help the matter. Logically, I knew my articles were of the utmost quality and that I had to place in the top twenty-five of the BCA competition, but . . . but—

What?

There was no reason to allow this heavy feeling to consume me. I shook my head as if it would help lighten me, but it only sent a wriggly, tickly feeling to my stomach.

My pocket buzzed. A text from Hunter. He wanted to meet for coffee at Crazy Mocha Coffee that afternoon.

Okay, I wrote back. By then I might be able to eat something. I couldn’t eat this morning—Quinn had pressed a spoon of oatmeal to my lips but they wouldn’t budge. Even the kiss he gave me afterward, licking away the smudge of mushed oats, left me empty of our usual thrills. All I’d wanted was to lean my head on his shoulder, for him to take the heavy feeling away.

I stepped out of the stairwell. In front of me were the frosted glass doors separating me from the buzzing, literary-charged atmosphere that encompassed most of my life—and the BCA results.

If I placed in the top ten, along with winning a feature article, surely the chief would be hard-pressed not to promote me to features editor? As soon as I had his word, I’d have a reason to mail my father again. He’d sit up and pay attention then—or at least keep me on his radar over the next couple years.

I pressed my clammy hand to the textured glass, rolled my shoulders back, and opened the door to the next stage in my life.

The board loomed at the back of the room, a halo of white notices around the navy-framed results.

One step in. To my right, in the corner of the room, Jack leaned back in his chair, swiveling as he chatted to a copper-haired girl I’d never seen before.

“So,” she said in a playful voice, “are you going to invite me to the cathedral party or not? It’s supposed to be the party of the year, and I could really make it the party of your year.”

“Sorry, babe, not this time. I’m only there to work. But maybe next time.”

Five steps in. To my left, photocopiers murmured and beeped, and ahead the chief was bent over the sports reporter’s desk, tapping Nick’s fingers away to type into the laptop.

“An intro something like this . . .”

Ten steps in. Hannah was frowning as she grumbled into the telephone, doodling on a loose piece of notepad.

Twelve steps in. Someone cut in front of me. His Mohawk casually lifted before he returned to studying the stack of old Scribe magazines he carried.

Fourteen steps in. I was one step away from the board. A few people stood checking it in front of me, and I tapped my foot, unable to hold back the impatience. I glanced back to Hannah and raised a hand. She nodded and then turned into the phone once more. The doors at the back opened. I pivoted. Jill was coming in, fumbling with the flap on his satchel. He let it go with a frustrated slap and stepped toward his corner desk—

And froze. His body seemed to tighten as if he’d been magically turned into a statue. I followed his gaze to Jack’s hand climbing up Copper Girl’s arm to her cheek.

Jill snapped into action, twisting away from the sight, and left the office.

Jack scowled as he stared over Copper Girl’s shoulder at the fogged doors. There was definitely something going on between the two of them, and my initial thoughts were: lover’s quarrel. Then I adjusted them to: unrequited love.

Maybe that was the reason Jill didn’t want to speak up about that night. Maybe he didn’t want it known that he was interested in his best friend. Perhaps The Night Warrior had seen him try something on Jack and when Jack retreated, leaving Jill humiliated, The Night Warrior had his victim just the way he wanted him. Vulnerable. Easy lunch.

Jill would hate anything that made him appear weak or outcast to his peers. It would affect his having a “life.”

Finally the board was free. I nudged my glasses upward and read the list from the bottom up. The heaviness affected my finger too, increasing with every inch I had to lift.

I stole higher and higher, my stomach twisting again, a panicked flare gurgling out of me when I reached the last few places.