Read Online Never Just Friends (Spotlight New Adult Book 2) by Mina V. Esguerra - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Mina V. Esguerra
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session, members of the audience got to ask questions.
“Hi, my name is Miya,” said a girl in an “I Ship Them” shirt, from her place at the mic stand at the end of the aisle. “So I know you can’t really answer this, but maybe you could just nod once for yes? Everyone has their theories about who John and Charlie really are, but I think the hints support my theory that they were lovers. Were they lovers, Jacob?”
Everyone laughed. Over a hundred people, Pamela Rowe, even Jake, even Lindsay. He made a big deal out of trying not to nod. They loved it. They loved him , and this was becoming clear to her. He had managed to make himself adored in this world, no matter how tough. Instead of resting on this adoration, he was going off into her world, where he was on uncertain footing, and would need to prove himself all over again.
It didn’t seem fair.
Was she complaining? Surely a dozen or so people in this auditorium would be ready to slap her, then switch bodies with her, right this second. Rendering useless years of half-meant plans of having a future together in the “zombie apocalypse.”
It wasn’t even a question of him loving her. They loved each other. He’d do anything for her. For all the praise he was getting in this room for his acting, she didn’t doubt the feeling behind each kiss, each touch. She didn’t doubt his feelings for her at all.
But she was doubting something.
Stop it.
Chapter 15
Over time, Jake nailed line readings more consistently. He was already better than the average student at speaking; it was what got him noticed by Cora to begin with. It was one thing to sound like the most knowledgeable college student in the room. Another thing entirely to stand up in front of government officials, scientists, experts, at their event, and talk to them about their work, without sounding like an ass.
Lindsay told him about this. She helped rewrite his draft, but not so much that he didn’t feel it was his anymore. She listened to him go over the three pages (when printed out) of his opening remarks, over and over, and had an opinion every time he made a minor change here, said it differently there. She thought he was harder on himself than anyone would ever be. He read it to her in his hotel room, in her apartment, in the car service, at La Guardia, once on the plane to Hong Kong, another time in his room after checking in.
He thought she’d mind or get sick of it, but he should have known her capacity for patience. When she began to learn it line by line from hearing it too much, he noticed her eyes wander, but her lips would mouth the words. Sometimes, when she did that, she’d say that a pause there would be better, or switching the words here made it clearer. Lindsay did this while slaving over her own presentations. (He felt a tad guilty about taking time from her own work, but they were colleagues now kind of, and she helped him anyway. Also if he screwed up, this would be to a larger audience.)
“You’re not nervous?” he asked her, minutes before the opening plenary, right before he was expected to speak, to what was going to be the largest group of people he’d ever spoken to in one go. Almost a thousand people were expected to attend the conference itself, and though they weren’t all in the convention center first thing in the morning on the first day, this packed hall was still beyond anything he had yet seen.
Nothing to it.
Lindsay hadn’t said a thing about that. Late last night, when he’d asked her the same question, she looked at him, eyes peeking over the laptop screen, and said she’d gotten used to this. “It gets easier, the more you know what you’re talking about.”
This time, she instead flicked invisible lint off his tie, and rubbed a smudge of something off his lips. “This conference is like a yearly camp we show up in. Most of those people know each other, like to outsmart each other. Frankly they don’t expect much from you but
“Hi, my name is Miya,” said a girl in an “I Ship Them” shirt, from her place at the mic stand at the end of the aisle. “So I know you can’t really answer this, but maybe you could just nod once for yes? Everyone has their theories about who John and Charlie really are, but I think the hints support my theory that they were lovers. Were they lovers, Jacob?”
Everyone laughed. Over a hundred people, Pamela Rowe, even Jake, even Lindsay. He made a big deal out of trying not to nod. They loved it. They loved him , and this was becoming clear to her. He had managed to make himself adored in this world, no matter how tough. Instead of resting on this adoration, he was going off into her world, where he was on uncertain footing, and would need to prove himself all over again.
It didn’t seem fair.
Was she complaining? Surely a dozen or so people in this auditorium would be ready to slap her, then switch bodies with her, right this second. Rendering useless years of half-meant plans of having a future together in the “zombie apocalypse.”
It wasn’t even a question of him loving her. They loved each other. He’d do anything for her. For all the praise he was getting in this room for his acting, she didn’t doubt the feeling behind each kiss, each touch. She didn’t doubt his feelings for her at all.
But she was doubting something.
Stop it.
Chapter 15
Over time, Jake nailed line readings more consistently. He was already better than the average student at speaking; it was what got him noticed by Cora to begin with. It was one thing to sound like the most knowledgeable college student in the room. Another thing entirely to stand up in front of government officials, scientists, experts, at their event, and talk to them about their work, without sounding like an ass.
Lindsay told him about this. She helped rewrite his draft, but not so much that he didn’t feel it was his anymore. She listened to him go over the three pages (when printed out) of his opening remarks, over and over, and had an opinion every time he made a minor change here, said it differently there. She thought he was harder on himself than anyone would ever be. He read it to her in his hotel room, in her apartment, in the car service, at La Guardia, once on the plane to Hong Kong, another time in his room after checking in.
He thought she’d mind or get sick of it, but he should have known her capacity for patience. When she began to learn it line by line from hearing it too much, he noticed her eyes wander, but her lips would mouth the words. Sometimes, when she did that, she’d say that a pause there would be better, or switching the words here made it clearer. Lindsay did this while slaving over her own presentations. (He felt a tad guilty about taking time from her own work, but they were colleagues now kind of, and she helped him anyway. Also if he screwed up, this would be to a larger audience.)
“You’re not nervous?” he asked her, minutes before the opening plenary, right before he was expected to speak, to what was going to be the largest group of people he’d ever spoken to in one go. Almost a thousand people were expected to attend the conference itself, and though they weren’t all in the convention center first thing in the morning on the first day, this packed hall was still beyond anything he had yet seen.
Nothing to it.
Lindsay hadn’t said a thing about that. Late last night, when he’d asked her the same question, she looked at him, eyes peeking over the laptop screen, and said she’d gotten used to this. “It gets easier, the more you know what you’re talking about.”
This time, she instead flicked invisible lint off his tie, and rubbed a smudge of something off his lips. “This conference is like a yearly camp we show up in. Most of those people know each other, like to outsmart each other. Frankly they don’t expect much from you but
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