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.