Текст книги "Emerald"

Автор книги: K. A. Linde

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Emeralds, All That Glitters, Book 2.5

By K.A. Linde

Copyright © 2015 by K.A. Linde

All rights reserved.

Cover Designer: Sarah Hansen, Okay Creations, www.okaycreations.com

Editor and Interior Designer: Jovana Shirley, Unforeseen Editing, www.unforeseenediting.com

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Visit my website at www.kalinde.com

To Jessica,

Without you, this book would have never existed.

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Three

Twenty-Four

Twenty-Five

Twenty-Six

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Summer Before College

FREEDOM WAS THE SOUND OF THE SUBWAY whisking through the tunnels and screeching to a halt at Trihnity Hamilton’s stop in Greenwich Village. It was walking off the train and emerging onto the busy streets of Manhattan above. It was knowing that, in three months’ time, this would be her life.

Trihn sighed happily and maneuvered the busy streets with practiced ease. Her sister, Lydia’s, apartment was right around the block, and Trihn would be moving in at the end of the summer to attend fashion design school. She was already visualizing where all the new things she had purchased would go when she moved out of her parent’s townhouse in Brooklyn.

With her head in the clouds, she traipsed up the stone stairs to Lydia’s building. As she was punching in the code to enter, the door violently swung open. Trihn yelped as it crashed toward her. She jumped backward, just barely missing getting hit in the face.

“Jesus Christ!” she yelled.

The door hit the wall and ricocheted back toward the person who had thrown it open in such haste.

“Why don’t you watch what you’re doing?” she asked.

She picked up her dance bag where it had landed on the stairs two steps below the entrance. She hadn’t even realized she had thrown it, and now, her shoulder was throbbing. Great.

“Oh, shit! I’m sorry,” the guy said. He roughly grabbed the door in his hand and eased it back open.

She rolled her shoulder back and cringed. If she didn’t have the use of her shoulder, she was going to be fucked at ballet later tonight. She could not have this two weeks before the Senior Showcase.

“Yeah, well”—Trihn shifted her dance bag to the other shoulder and winced—“be more careful next time.”

“Sorry. I will. Are you all right?” he asked, taking a step toward her.

Her eyes drifted upward, and she forgot all about her hurt shoulder.

This guy was hot. She’d seen all manner of gorgeous men while modeling during the past two years, but this guy was different—less of a pretty boy with no coifed hair, oil-slicked body, or perfectly waxed…everything.

He wore a fit NYU T-shirt and running shorts that accentuated his muscular physique. He had sandy-blond hair that wasn’t flawlessly groomed. Some of it fell into his electric-blue eyes when he looked at her. Concern was written on his face, and she felt her body humming to its own tune when he smiled at her.

“Um…yeah. My shoulder. Dance.”

Am I even coherent?

He smiled wider. “Sorry about that. I didn’t know anyone was on the other side.”

She cleared her throat and shrugged her dance bag higher. Why is his smile so disarming?

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Seriously, are you sure your shoulder is all right?”

She dropped her bag and then dramatically rolled both shoulders to show him that she was fine. But then she flinched, ruining the effect. “Actually, I’m not sure. We’ll see how it goes.”

“Well, let me give you my number, and if you need to see a doctor or anything, you can give me a call.”

Trihn ignored the flutter in her stomach. “Sure. I don’t think I’ll have to go but just in case.”

Right. Just in case.

Trihn handed over her phone, and he punched in his name and number. Before she could take it back, he clicked the Send button.

He smiled at her again. “Now, I’ll know it’s you,” he explained.

Yeah. Definite flutters.

She glanced down at the screen. “Preston.”

“That’s me. And you are?”

“Trihn. Um…Trihnity, though my friends call me Trihn.”

“You know you have a church named after you,” he joked.

She laughed. “Yeah, so I’ve heard. It’s on the other side of Washington Square Park. And I’m pretty sure it’s not named after me.”

“You’re probably right.” He ran a hand back through his messy hair.

Then, they stood there for a minute in charged silence. He seemed like he wanted to say something else, but he held his tongue. She felt as if her black Louboutin heels should carry her across the short distance into the building, but she didn’t move.

In fact, she didn’t even want to move.

It had been a long time since she had met a guy whom she paid more than a second’s notice. Between school, modeling, and the dance company, she’d had zero time for guys. Sure, she’d had plenty of flings—make-out sessions in Prague, dirty-dancing in London, flirtations across multiple borders—but nothing long term. Lydia always said she was too young to be so serious about her work. Though Lydia was the exact opposite, so Trihn hadn’t even bothered to listen to that.

But now, Trihn had put modeling behind her. In two weeks, her time as a company member at the New York City Dance House would come to a close. There would just be school. Perhaps she should give in to the one guy who had turned her eye.

“Let me get that,” Preston said. He reached down, snatched her bag up, and swung the door wide, holding it open for her. “Here. After you.”

“Thanks.” She bit her lip and pushed her long brown-to-blonde ombre hair off her shoulders.

This was her moment. This was where she should say something, be more like Lydia. What would my wild child sister do? Probably lean into her hip, touch his arm, hold him hypnotized in her captive gaze. She’d toss her hair and casually ask him to dinner without a second thought. It was her way.

Trihn was confident but not like Lydia who would go through boyfriends as frequently as her mood changed and never feared rejection.

Trihn opened her mouth to say something and then closed it.

No, she couldn’t do it.

She wasn’t Lydia. That much she was sure of.

If he wanted to pursue her, then he would. He had her phone number after all. She shouldn’t expect more than that while meeting for the first time even if some intense energy was coursing between them.

“I appreciate it.” She grabbed her bag out of his hand. “I didn’t mean to keep you from wherever you were off to in a rush.”

“Oh, right,” he said as if he had just remembered that the only reason they were talking was because he had nearly slammed the door into her. “Well, I hope you feel better. Maybe I’ll see you around.”

Is that an invitation?

“Sure. I’d like that,” she said with a winning smile.

His eyes met hers again, and she felt her stomach do a full-on somersault. Her smile widened, and she looked at him through hooded eyes and dark black lashes. If Preston didn’t know she was interested at this point, then he was the most oblivious man on the planet.

He looked as if he were debating on saying something more. Instead, he finally took a step backward and nodded his head. “It was nice meeting you, Trihn. Let me know about that shoulder.”

“Will do,” she murmured.

As he jogged down the stairs and out of sight, she sighed heavily, losing the bounce in her step from earlier. Damn, maybe I should have just asked him out.

At least next year, there would be plenty of hot guys in the city to go out with. She had just graduated from high school last weekend and would be at NYU starting in September. No need to rush into anything.

She couldn’t help the pang of disappointment anyway.

Oh, well.

Next year.

TRIHN TRUDGED UP THE STAIRS to Lydia’s second-floor apartment. She knocked on the door and waited impatiently, still on edge about what had just transpired.

How come I could flirt with half a dozen guys in other countries when I was modeling but not have one reasonable conversation with a hot guy I can actually date?

It was so frustrating. This was why she didn’t bother with this shit. Maybe the language barrier was better. Kissing had made so much more sense to her in other countries where the guys all spoke half-coherent broken English.

The door popped open, and Lydia’s glowing face smiled back at her. “Trihn!” she cried. “There you are! I didn’t know if you would still be coming over before dance!”

“Yeah, sorry. I got held up,” Trihn said dismissively.

No point in telling her what had happened. Lydia never would have let Preston get away without a promise of a future meeting.

“Well, get your ass in here. I just had an epiphany about the living room for when you move in!” Lydia said.

Trihn laughed as she followed her sister. “When did you die your hair blonde?”

Lydia shrugged. “Two days ago?”

Of course.

Lydia would change her hair color with her mood, just like how she’d change the guy she was seeing.

Even though they were sisters, they couldn’t be more different. Trihn and Lydia had acquired different marks from their parents’ mixed ancestry—Vietnamese, Brazilian, and a melting pot of European roots. Trihn was tall, lean, and exotic with high cheekbones, green eyes that slanted upward at the corners just like her mother’s, and her dark-as-night natural hair. Lydia looked more like their father. She was of medium height with dark brown eyes with gold rings and hair that she always parted down the middle. She was energetic, drew all manner of people to her like no one else Trihn had ever met, and had a proclivity for eccentricity.

Trihn usually just called her a hippie to get on her nerves, but today, with the new blonde look, long maroon skirt, and crocheted cream crop, she looked every inch the hippie. Trihn had always been more of a rocker, like how she looked now in the shortest high-waist cutoff jeans she owned, a studded sheer black top, and sky-high designer heels. Yet they were sisters, and for that reason alone, their differences never mattered.

“What epiphany did you have?” Trihn asked. She tossed her dance bag down on the couch and moved her shoulder. It was still hurting. She immediately started doing stretches to try to work out the pain.

“Okay, so I was thinking that once you move in, we could collage this entire wall,” Lydia said, spreading her arms wide. “We could put up pictures from my photography classes and your fashion projects. Oh, modeling shots! We could even do a dance shoot. I’m sure I have my old pointe shoes around here somewhere.”

Lydia disappeared into her room to look for her toe shoes from when she had been a part of the NYC Dance House as well. Trihn just shook her head and followed after her. She plopped down on Lydia’s bed that basically touched the ground.

“Here they are!”

“Ly,” Trihn said, “we have three months to figure out how we’re going to decorate. Shouldn’t we just wait until Tasha moves out? Then, I could move in what I have, and we could see what we actually need.”

Lydia’s shoulders dropped dramatically as she sighed. She tossed the shoes onto her cluttered desk. “Please, Trihn, try to have less enthusiasm about the fact that we’re going to have the coolest apartment in all of Manhattan in a few months.”

“I’m excited. It’s just not happening yet. We both have other things to worry about until then.”

“What do I have to worry about? I have the summer off!” Lydia proclaimed.

“Aren’t you interning?”

Lydia brushed her hair over one shoulder and smiled forlornly. “Right, I’m interning at a fashion magazine in the photography department. It’s just what I’ve always wanted to do…to follow in Mom and Dad’s footsteps.”

That was how their parents had met in the first place. Their mother had been the head of acquisitions for the fashion magazine where their father had sold his work to at the time. Their mom had pulled a lot of strings to get Lydia this opportunity. Of course, she was being blasé about it and would rather spend the summer working on her art.

“It’s a great opportunity.”

“Whatever. Tell me about you! Are you excited about the Senior Showcase?” Lydia asked. Her voice filled with longing. “I so wish I were still in the company.”

“Well, I’ll never outshine you. That’s for sure. We both know that you were always better at ballet than I was.”

“But you love it more,” Lydia conceded.

Trihn smiled brightly. She had always loved dance in all forms. The company focused so much energy on ballet, but she was excited that her dance for Senior Showcase was going to be a contemporary piece from her favorite choreographer at the studio. She would leave it to her best friend, Renée, to perform the beautiful ballet solo.

“I just can’t believe that it will all be over in two weeks,” Trihn said.

“Then, you can spend the whole summer with me.”

“Aren’t you going to be swamped?”

Lydia was such a dreamer. Trihn swore that if Lydia didn’t have to work, she would spend the rest of her life daydreaming, writing poetry, growing a garden, and drinking.

“Oh, right. Work.” She stuck her tongue out and made a face. “Well, that just means you have to find a hot guy to spend all your time with.”

Lydia winked at her, and Trihn’s mind immediately went to Preston. It wasn’t as if he were the only guy in the city she would be interested in. He was just the most relevant at the current moment.

I do have his number. Maybe I should try to reach out to him…

“Maybe, Lydia.”

“Maybe, maybe. Always maybe, baby. You need to get out more and date,” Lydia said. She plopped down onto the bed next to Trihn and started braiding her hair without asking if it was all right.

“Speaking of, did you want to go to a party this weekend after I get out of rehearsal?”

“Oh! A party? What kind of party?” Lydia asked.

“Just some of my friends getting together.”

“High school friends?” She sounded dismayed.

“Don’t you know me better than that?”

“Model party?” she guessed.

“Only the best. Some people I know from London who I worked with last summer are going to be in town.”

“Any hot guys?”

“What part of models did you not understand?” Trihn joked.

Not that models were Trihn’s type. They were extremely good-looking, but so many of them were narcissistic to a fault. She couldn’t handle a guy who took longer to get ready and had more hair products than her.

“Okay, I’m in. Can’t pass up on hot models. Though…you’re the one who shouldn’t be passing up on hot models. You’re too serious, and you need to loosen up.”

Trihn rolled her eyes and stood. “I’m going to get my bag and get ready for dance.”

“You can ignore me all you like, but you need a good lay,” Lydia called loudly as Trihn walked out of the room.

She retreated to the shared bathroom and pulled on her tights and leotard under her ensemble. She forced all of her hair up into a high ponytail on top of her head and then removed her box of bobby pins. It took fifty of them to get all her hair up into a proper ballet bun. There was just too much hair for it to cooperate with fewer pins. She sprayed back the wisps around her face. After retouching her blush and mascara, she exited the bathroom and returned to Lydia, who continued to rant about how Trihn was too serious.

“Give it a rest, Ly!” Trihn said in exasperation. “I’m not you. I’m never going to be you.”

“I’m not saying that you have to be!” Lydia cried. “I’m just saying that there’s nothing wrong with casual sex.”

Trihn shook her head. “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with it. Feel free to fuck around with whoever you want.”

“I will.”

“Good.” Trihn hauled her bag onto her shoulder and slid into her heels. “I’m going to dance.”

“Hey, don’t be upset,” Lydia said, following her to the front door.

“I’m not upset.”

“You’re clearly upset. I’m your sister. I should know.”

Trihn let out a deep breath. Lydia could push her buttons like no one else. Trihn loved her sister to pieces, but the subject was already a sore one at the moment. It hadn’t helped anything that Lydia was pushing.

“Just say you’ll think about finding a nice guy to occupy your time this summer. You deserve it for all your hard work,” Lydia said.

“I’m not dating someone or fucking someone as a prize for my accomplishments,” Trihn said in frustration. “I want to date someone because I like him, because I could fall in love with him. I want to be with someone who I could marry.”

Lydia’s eyes widened. “You’re eighteen years old, Trihn. Life isn’t that serious. You don’t have to marry anyone for a while, and if you keep talking like that, you’re going to give me gray hair.”

Trihn rolled her eyes. “You’re insane.”

“Probably, but creativity stems from madness. Or does madness stem from creativity?” she pondered. “Anyway, go to dance. Don’t worry about finding someone to marry or whatever horrible thoughts are floating through your head. You’re young and beautiful, and you should have so much more fun before you get married. This weekend, we’ll find someone fun for you!”

“Okay, Lydia,” Trihn said. If she didn’t relent, Lydia would continue with her relentless diatribe.

What she didn’t say was that she’d had plenty of that kind of fun during the past two years.

Lydia thought she was older and wiser; thus, she would be the one to corrupt her younger sister. But the truth was, with all the modeling events Trihn had been to, it had been almost too easy to be casual.

Now that she wasn’t modeling, she was intent on finding something more meaningful.

A WEEK HAD PASSED BY IN THE BLINK OF AN EYE.

Trihn sank down to the floor of the dance studio and started working at the knots on the ribbons of her pointe shoes. She had just spent six long hours rehearsing for the Senior Showcase at the NYC Dance House this upcoming weekend. Her feet were killing her, and she had worn through another pair of shoes. At this rate, she would go through at least two more pairs before the performances and probably one each night next weekend during the shows.

Renée flexed her feet and then pushed up onto the toes of her shoes. “Do you see this shit?” Renée asked.

She moved up and down on her shoes, and Trihn could see that the hard insole of the shoes—normally, a perfect curve to her friend’s foot—had split in half.

“The shank is completely broken. Fucking hell.”

“Mine, too.”

“What the hell am I going to do? I can’t keep spitting out seventy-five dollars every week. I’m not made of money.”

“We’ll work it out. We always do.”

Renée plopped down next to her and mercilessly tore at her shoes. “This wouldn’t have happened if I wasn’t in the middle of the fucking Intensive as well.”

Trihn laughed. “My shoes are falling apart, and I’m not doing Intensive.”

Every year, the NYC Dance House would put on a big summer dance workshop called The House Intensive. Dancers from all over the country would come to their studio to compete for dance scholarships. Renée was a scholarship recipient, so her participation in the summer program was required. The studio liked to showcase their prodigies. It helped that Renée had just been admitted into Juilliard for the fall. It was an incredible achievement for anyone but even more so for an African American scholarship student from the Bronx.

“Well, you should be helping with Intensive! There are so many fucking kids, and we need more brilliant-minded choreographers.”

“Ha! You must be joking. We all know that I’m not a choreographer.”

Renée gave her the look. She tilted her head down, cocked one eyebrow, and pursed her lips. “Puh-lease. I know what you do on your days off. That freestyle shit works in contemporary, too.”

“That’s why, in a week’s time, I’m performing my senior piece in contemporary and then spending the rest of my summer doing what I do on my days off!”

“Whatever, hooker,” Renée joked.

Trihn shook her head. It wasn’t the first time she’d heard that one. “I just like to have a good time. Why don’t you come with me tonight?” Trihn asked.

She shoved her shoes in her bag, and they headed to the dressing rooms.

“As much as I’d love to, I can’t. My mom’s expecting me home to watch the boys while she takes the night shift,” Renée explained.

“What is she going to do when you’re out of the house next year?” Trihn asked.

Renée sighed heavily. The choice to move to Manhattan and pursue her dreams had been really tough on Renée. Outside of dance, she’d work her butt off around the house while her mom worked three jobs to try to support their family.

“I try not to think about it. One day at a time,” Renée said. “At least Matthew will be there to help tonight.”

“Oh, I see how it is. You’re really going home to be with the BF.”

Matthew was Renée’s boyfriend of three years. They were pretty much the cutest couple around. He was a jazz musician and swore up and down that he was going to compose a ballet for Renée like nothing anyone had ever seen before.

“Whatever,” Renée cried.

Trihn stepped into a shower stall, peeled off her sweat-soaked tights and leotard, and stuffed them into an empty side pocket of her bag. She turned on the water and hurried under the spray when it was steaming hot. Her hair was still tightly held in its bun. She wouldn’t have time to blow it out before meeting her friends. After washing off the hours of practice, Trihn dried off and changed into a pair of tight leather booty shorts and a low-cut V-neck tank before slipping into her favorite pair of heels.

When she stepped back out, Renée just shook her head. “There’s my hooker. Are you man-hunting tonight?”

“Yeah, right. You know me.”

“Reconsider it. You look hot and could have any guy you wanted.”

Trihn shrugged. “Maybe,” she said, giving the same answer she had given Lydia.

When they had gone out last weekend, Lydia had ended up making out with two different male models who were out with them. Trihn had left empty-handed—again.

They hurried down the three flights of stairs and into the marble-tiled entryway. The revolving door was already locked tight for the night, and all but one light had been left on. The rest of the girls had left the building as soon as they could. Some of the management was still upstairs, but otherwise, it was dead.

“Do you want me to walk with you?” Renée asked.

“No. Don’t worry about me. I’ll catch a cab. Get home to your mom.”

“I’m not looking forward to telling her about the shoes,” she said softly.

Trihn grabbed her hand and stopped her before they exited. “I’ll cover it if I have to. It’s only one more week.”

“Thanks, Trihn.”

“What are friends for?”

They stepped out of the building and onto the brightly lit street. Even at eleven at night, people were still strolling the streets, and the sight made Trihn smile. She would never get tired of watching the way her city operated. It was home.

Trihn threw her hand out, and a cab pulled up to the curb. “You take this one,” Trihn told her. She opened the back door and pushed her best friend toward it.

“No! You take it. You have to meet people!”

“I’ll make it. You have farther to go.”

Renée sighed. She could see that she was going to lose the argument, and the cab would leave them if one of them didn’t get in. “Okay, but be careful.”

“I always am,” Trihn said.

She kissed Renée on the cheek, and then after she climbed into the backseat, Trihn shut the door behind her. The car drove off, and she searched for the next cab.

“How’s the shoulder?”

Trihn whirled around in a panic. Her stomach leaped up into her throat. “Jesus!” she cried when she saw who it was. “Don’t sneak up on people like that.”

Preston smiled and held up his hands. “Sorry about that. Can’t seem to get my footing with you.”

“How the hell did you even know I would be here?” she asked suspiciously.

It was kind of creepy, having him show up outside the studio at the exact time that she had finished with dance. How did he even know that I dance here? It was probably about time to get into a cab or else she wouldn’t be heeding Renée’s advice to be careful.

She hedged backward a step.

“I saw your dance bag that day we ran into each other. I was in the neighborhood and thought I would just swing by,” he clarified.

“At eleven o’clock at night?”

“Okay,” he said with a nervous laugh. “You caught me. I actually asked around to see when your class would end, so I could surprise you.”

“You have my phone number. Why didn’t you just call?”

“Can’t a guy surprise a girl anymore?”

Trihn raised her eyebrows. “Probably not at eleven at night after staking out her studio.”

He ran a hand back through his messy blond hair and looked at his feet. This wasn’t going at all the way he had planned it. She figured he had wanted to surprise her and have her think it was cute. And while she couldn’t deny that her heart was beating wildly in her chest at the thought that he had stood out here, waiting just for her, she wasn’t an idiot and didn’t want to end up on a Missing Person poster.

“All right. My bad. I guess…I’ll just head out. I didn’t mean to freak you out,” he apologized.

He shoved his hands down into the pockets of his dark jeans, bunching his black T-shirt up around his muscles and drawing her eyes to his body. He looked back up at her then with those sexy blue eyes, and her stomach dropped out of her body.

“Wait,” she said before he could walk away. “I was just surprised. Why did you really show up anyway?”

“I wanted to check on your shoulder,” he offered.

She rolled it twice. “It was a minor thing. Went away before dance last week.”

“Oh. Oh, okay. Good.”

He smiled again like he might just leave it at that, and in that moment, she decided that she couldn’t let it end. He was undeniably attractive. He had sought her out at dance. There was no way she was just going to let him walk away again. She had been kicking herself for letting it happen in the first place.

“You have plans?” she asked.

“Have something in mind?” He took a step closer to her.

Her body heated at his nearness. Dear God, he was going to be the death of her.

“I’m meeting some friends. You could join…if you wanted,” she offered.

“What am I in for?”

She shrugged, all nonchalant. “Just a regular night in New York City.”

He laughed, and it was beautifully effortless. “This should be interesting.”