She Laughs in Pink (Sheridan Hall #1) by Jessica Calla Page A

obsession, sits in the space between us. Old Chase, the Chase that nailed women left and right, would have said something shitty like “Ben who?” New Chase, though, the one who lusted after the first hot girl he met on the way to college three seconds after he swore off women, kisses Juliet’s hand and places it in his lap. “You know what they say?” She doesn’t answer. “What happens at the train station stays at the train station. No worries, okay?”
    My heart breaks a little but I let her hold my hand. At the next stop we get off the train and walk to the other side of the tracks, back to NJU. We’re quiet, but my head is swarming with all kinds of nonsense about Juliet, Ben, and myself.
    It’s well after midnight when we finally return to Sheridan. At her door, I hand her the ballet bag, and she looks up at me, her brown eyes sad. Neither of us says anything but it doesn’t feel awkward, even though my body is aching for her. I lean in and rub my nose on hers, and with a quick glance down the hallway, I kiss it. “Night, gorgeous,” I whisper into her ear and then kiss her earlobe, too. I resist the urge to look her in the eye and say, Fuck Ben. I want you more. Instead, I walk down the hallway to my room. She opens her door and I open mine, and we watch each step into our rooms.

Chapter Eight
     
    Juliet
     
    Restless, I toss and turn all night replaying my train ride with Chase. I’m half asleep, half awake, while images of Chase, Ben, Miss Stephanie, the dancers in class, and the train, race through my mind, blending together and meshing in a nonsense world. The more I try not to think about Chase, the more I imagine his lips on mine, his hands on my ass, his fingers wrapped in my hair. By three o’clock in the morning, I’m exhausted, and every nerve ending in my body is completely turned on, so I take matters into my own hands—literally. I let the feelings take me over, a sort of reverse psychology, hoping that to touch my body and play out the scene in my mind will allow me to let it go. The faces change from Chase to Ben back to Chase, but I don’t care. When I get the release I need, I fall into a sound sleep.
    I dream of breakfast foods—of pancakes and hot syrup. Justine passes me the butter, and I load it onto my plate. You’ll never guess what happened last night, I tell her. I look into her smiling face, a mirror image of mine. He’s so beautiful. He’s an artist.
    She smiles and tilts her head. But Ben’s a football player, not an artist, she says.
    No, not Ben, Chase. Clouds fall over her face, so I fan them away.
    I hear a beeping sound and Justine says, I have to get my phone now. The beeping becomes more urgent, but I beg her to stay. Justine pulls the clouds in front of her. I have to get that, she says as she fades away.
    I wake myself begging Justine not to leave. “No!” I hear my own voice and see that my phone is ringing and vibrating on the desk next to me. Ben’s smiling face lights the room. I pick up the phone.
    I look at the time before I answer the call. What day is it? Friday? My morning voice is raspy. I yell at Ben, “I can’t talk. I overslept. I’m late for class.”
    “Okay, Jules. Lunch today?”
    I picture Ben’s warm brown eyes and try hard to muster up some guilt about Chase, the train, and my late night thoughts. But I can’t. “Text me where to meet you. I have to get in the shower.”
    “Take your time. Don’t rush.”
    I wish I were calm like Ben, but I know I won’t be able to slow down. I hate being late. “I’ll talk to you later,” I say and hang up.
    In seconds, I jump out of bed, yank off my tee shirt and shorts, and wrap myself in a towel. I grab my shower caddy, slide on my flip-flops, and leap across the hall, pushing the door of the men’s room so hard that it flies open and bangs against the wall next to me.
    That deep voice that haunted my dreams yells, “Shit!”
    I stop dead in my tracks at the sight of Chase in nothing