Baby X by Kira Peikoff EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Authors: Kira Peikoff
- Language: English
- Genre: Medical Thrillers
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
Present day
ACROSS THE CAFÉ, Quinn watched the happy couple. They hadn’t
noticed her yet. But they would soon.
Quinn knew she should feel triumphant. Her persistence had paid off.
All those hours spent refreshing Thorne’s social media feed, tracking his
routines, angling for a way in. Sometimes she felt like a stalker, until she
remembered why she wasn’t like all his other crazy fans. Her reason wasn’t
in her head.
She had tried many times to message him. But her increasingly frantic
notes kept vanishing into the oblivion of his inbox, which she imagined was
in a constant state of overflow. It was futile to keep waiting for his ping that
never came, and time was running out.
Thank God for his coffee habit. Twelve days ago, he’d tagged his
favorite café in a post, thanking them for the artistic latte: instead of leaves
or a heart, the baristas had crafted a special design for their most famous
customer: a white foam guitar. The beachside spot in Laguna Beach was
forty-five miles from her tiny apartment in the foothills of the Santa Ana
mountains.
So Quinn had spent the last eleven mornings hauling herself into the car
and driving in traffic through the narrow canyon to watch and wait for his
next appearance there. The coffee, not to mention the parking, were getting
expensive.
Now, seeing him again in real life at last gave her a familiar thrill. Nine
months had passed since the last time she’d seen him, during his summer
concert stop at the Hollywood Bowl, and she’d never gotten anywhere near
this close, even in her expensive seat.
Across the patio, she could see him perfectly. Was it the proximity to
fame that made her pulse whoosh in her ears? Or was it her overpowering
attraction to this man? She admired his profile—the curly abundance of
dirty-blond hair, the sculpted jaw she knew so well, the slight bump in his
nose, endearing insofar as he had resisted the cultural pressure to eradicate
his flaws. He was himself and he didn’t give a damn, not like those other
shallow celebrities who nipped and tucked and tweaked and plucked
themselves into stereotypes of perfection. She loved how real Thorne was
—or at least, how he seemed. She had never actually met him.
Her eyes traveled approvingly across his broad shoulders and down his
muscular calves below his shorts, to his black Chuck Taylors, then back up
to his hands at the table. Holding a cup of coffee were the iconic long,
slender fingers that had graced the homepage of Rolling Stone a decade ago.
He was shorter and scruffier than he appeared during his virtual
hologram shows. On those occasions, he was literally larger than life,
projected via smart contact lenses into her living room, at seven feet tall.
Here, sized back down to a regular guy, he retained a kind of bold
confidence that she herself had never managed to achieve, growing up a shy
only child. It was no wonder he could command a stage solo, just him and
his guitar—and his signature raspy voice.
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