Read Online Suffer Love by Ashley Herring Blake - Free Book Online Page A

. . .”
    â€œThanks.” Before I can stop him, he slides the paper from between my fingers. I inhale deeply and watch him while he reads.
    A grin ambles across his mouth. “Am I seeing things, or did you correct this teacher handout?” He holds up the paper, his finger on a paragraph where several red marks bleed across the page.
    I snatch the paper back from him. “You’d be surprised how many teachers make spelling and grammatical errors.”
    He nods, pressing his tongue to his top lip, probably to keep from busting up laughing at my neurosis.
    â€œOh, shut up,” I say, cracking a smile and brandishing my red pen at him. “What act are we doing?”
    He blocks my pen with his book and finally laughs, a resonant boom from deep inside his chest. “Why don’t we skim the play really quick and see what we think?”
    â€œOkay.”
    So we do. In silence. I watch him for a minute, waiting for a sidelong glance or a subtle brush against my arm. Nothing. He just reads and keeps checking his phone, like he’s waiting for something better to pull him from my presence.
    Finally, he slaps his book shut. “I think we should do act three. It’s long, but it’s when everything starts really heating up. Beatrice thinks she might love Benedick, Claudio thinks he sees Hero in bed with what’s-his-name. It’s a good tension-building act.”
    â€œI like act five.” Actually, act three sounds good to me too, but I don’t feel like acquiescing so easily.
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œIt’s the resolution. The happy ending.”
    He makes a sound in the back of his throat, something between a laugh and a snort.
    â€œEveryone wants a happy ending, Sam, even if you don’t believe it’s possible.”
    He glances at me and puts his book down. “
Is
it so impossible?”
    â€œHave you ever seen one? A real, honest-to-God happy ending?”
    He frowns and opens his mouth. Nothing comes out, but he keeps looking at me. With our eyes locked like this, I know this is the moment. I need to lean in, let him get within a millimeter of my mouth, whisper what an asshole I think he is for assuming words on a locker somehow mean I’m going to sleep with him, and then leave.
    I angle my body toward him and press lightly against his arm, holding his gaze. I hear him suck in a breath and I look at him from beneath my lashes. All those little tricks I used to abhor. But something stops me from going any further. For one thing, he doesn’t move closer. He doesn’t even blink. Just maintains this baffling intensity that chews at my stomach. It’s not the same type of look I got from Josh or Henry Murphy or Isaac Jorgensen, like I was their favorite flavor of ice cream. It’s a different kind altogether.
    His gaze flicks down to my lips once, but he remains a fortress. Unreadable. I shift away from him and fiddle with the neckline of my shirt.
    â€œAll right,” he says hoarsely before he clears his throat. “Let’s give your happy ending a shot.”
    I nod and write
Act V
in my notebook, tracing over the letters again and again while I wait for my heart to stop hammering. I feel unsettled, like I’m face-to-face with a mirror, only I don’t quite recognize my own reflection. I look around Sam’s room, but it’s all unfamiliar, making my head even lighter.
    A strident beep sounds from somewhere downstairs, and I startle.
    â€œOh, just a sec.” Sam gets up and heads for the door. “I need to get this out of the oven.”
    â€œDid you just say
the oven?
” He doesn’t answer and I follow him downstairs, entering the kitchen in time to see him pull a casserole dish out of the top of a double oven.
    â€œWhat’s that?” I ask, taking a seat on a stool at the island.
    He places the dish on a trivet on the counter. “Chicken Georgia. Or maybe it’s Tennessee.” He