Series: Cobalt Empire Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 234
Estimated words: 226965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1135(@200wpm)___ 908(@250wpm)___ 757(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 226965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1135(@200wpm)___ 908(@250wpm)___ 757(@300wpm)
I’m caving beneath the temptation. Beneath the idea of spending more time with Harriet outside of college, outside of work. Beneath the desire of being with my brothers. It feels like it’ll be better if she’s there.
It all entices me.
“I’ll think about it.”
12
HARRIET FISHER
“Ican’t,” I say, my stomach dropping as soon as I reject Ben’s invite. Friday night out with Ben Cobalt sounds like an image right off most girls’ dream boards, but if I had a board, two pictures would engulf all the rest.
Get into the Honors House.
Become a doctor.
Being body-to-body in a sweaty, sticky club in Hell’s Kitchen shouldn’t even sound that appealing, but as soon as I imagine Ben and his hands on me, tucking me to his build so no one bumps into me, I crave it a billion times more than a solo night with old episodes of CSI while modeling carboxylic acids with my molecular model kit for O-Chem.
Ben leans against the windowsill of my apartment as rain beats against the pane. His buff arms are crossed with casualness. Barely any tension in his body, despite the big fat rejection I just cast upon him.
Did I mention he came to my apartment tonight to ask me in person? Luckily, I made up the couch before he arrived. The knitted blankets are folded and tucked in the closet with my pillow.
I’m sitting cross-legged on the lumpy lime-green sofa, a flimsy paper plate with my sandwich balancing on my thigh. My stomach grumbles. I had to skip lunch because of an interview at a genetics research lab on campus. A necessary sacrifice even if my stomach does not agree.
“You always eat sandwiches for dinner?” Ben wonders.
“It’s a top three supper staple.” I pick up the white bread cut in a diagonal. “I’m not exactly a Michelin-star chef.”
“Same.” His lips start to rise. “What kind of sandwich is it?”
“Tuna salad.” I’ve learned a lot more about Ben, including his refusal to consume any animal products. I take a large bite and speak as I chew. “Does this hurt your vegan soul?”
He has a slanted smile. “I’ll survive.”
“Shucks,” I deadpan.
“Trying to kill every Cobalt off one by one?” he teases.
“I gotta take my shot considering your brother aimed first.” My next bite is bigger. I quickly realize I’m more ravenous than ladylike. Whatever. It’s not like I’m courting Ben Cobalt or trying to woo him with feminine wiles. We’re just friends. Licking my thumb, I continue, “And I know I sound bitter and butthurt over the auditions, but I was the best drummer there. I was watching everyone go up on stage and perform for the band, and I was the best. I know my worth, and Tom—”
“He messed up,” Ben says in agreement. He might as well have thrown a brick at my face. The surprise is all the same.
“You’ve never seen me play.”
He raises his shoulders up and down in an easygoing shrug. “I don’t have to. Tom admitted you were the best one who tried out, but you were just too young.” He eyes the half-eaten sandwich. “Don’t kill me off yet, okay?”
“I doubt I could.” I lift my sandwich to my mouth. “Cobalts never die.”
His smile is fond for a second. “I like that one.”
“I’ll take the praise, but I’m not the originator.”
“I know,” he laughs. “I’ve heard it before. My family has many mottos.”
It reminds me. “How’d the whole pride of lions come about?” I wonder, since Cobalts are associated with the animal. The color blue is obvious. Cobalt blue, duh. But lions, less so. “Is it a king of the jungle thing?”
“Maybe partly.”
“You don’t know for sure?”
“No, most things like that about the Cobalt Empire feel like myths. Legends. Told too many times from person to person over decades, and they’ve created a life of their own. We embrace them because why the hell not? Some, I’m sure, my parents even started. Some were definitely started by us. Whatever the case, it’s always just bonded us closer as a family.” He tips his head in a thought. “Though, among my siblings, I’d say I’m more black sheep than lion.”
“Hmm,” I chew slowly, then swallow. “Same.”
“Black sheep of your family?”
“Yep. It seems we’re the same breed, Friend.”
“Knew I sensed a connection, Fisher.” His smile edges across his mouth.
Do not blush at your tuna fish, Harriet. Too fucking late.
Ben lifts a ceramic pot off the windowsill. He inspects the sad little plant and the drooping heart-shaped leaves. “The actual drum audition isn’t why my brother has a problem with you, is it?” His eyes flit back to me.
The tuna fish sinks to the bottom of my stomach. “He told you I emailed the bassist,” I guess.
He nods like it’s nothing, which feels a lot like another brick to the face.
Another realization strikes. “You knew, and you still asked me to go to this party with you?” I question like he’s delusional. “I was a vindictive brat who tried to get Tom kicked out of his own band.”