Her matte-black nail polish was chipped again, a detail she had grown used to. She knew she was rough on her nails, using them for everything from a makeshift screwdriver to a replacement for the worrystone her grandmother had given her and that she had lost. Instead of rubbing a smooth stone to assuage her nerves, she taken up nail-biting. Or, rather, she had taken it up again. The stone was her grandmother’s way of trying to break of the nail-eating habit. And it had worked, until she went and lost the stone one night out on the town. She kept hoping the stone would show up but considered the possibility unlikely. And she had yet to get around to replacing it.
She ran a ragged fingernail over her lips, drawing a pinprick of blood where the rough edge accidentally caught a ridge of flesh. When she thought about it, she found that she did not care. Maybe he would think that was sexy. If not, she had other ways of getting his attention.
He did a double take as he glanced over in the middle of his conversation with the puffed up wannabees that were trying to climb the social ladder at the party. As far as Sarah knew, they were nobodies and would continue to be nobodies — the exact reason being how they tried to monopolize the guest of honor’s time. His focus had now shifted to her, as intended. She imagined he was confirming the presence of blood on her lip as his eyes would look to her lips, the velvet choker on her neck, and then to her eyes on repeat.
Everything was going as planned. Except for the wannabees. She had nearly lost patience with their antics and was ready to have his full attention now. She was deciding how best to orchestrate that when someone said her name.
“Sarah? Sarah Randall?” Caught fully in the middle of her hunt, she had to shake her head to clear her thoughts enough to comprehend the interruption. “Oh wow, it is you! I didn’t expect to see you her tonight. It’s been ages!”
She bit back a groan. Jackson Pierce stepped between her and her quarry, cutting off her view. She had not seen Jackson since they left high school and that had been perfectly fine by her. His grandmother knew her grandmother and that was the limit of their connection, although he always acted as if there were more to it than that. Why tonight? Of all nights, why tonight? she asked herself.
She tried to catch the eye of the man she was pursuing, but he had already started moving on, slipping out of her grasp as she watched.
10 responses to “Chipped nails”
Isn’t that always the way? I enjoyed reading this prose. Again, a little different, but well written.
Thank you. I’m trying to be less focused on weird fiction and fantasy.
Sorry if I’m being a pain but I’ve had to add my name and email to these replies (first time in a while) and your reply didn’t show up in my reader.
Apologies if this causes you any (further) stress.
Sigh. Jetpack schenanigans again. I’ll have to look at it closer.
Hey! Diggin the new look and the new site!
Thank you Aerik. Welcome!
Jaw dropping. I love the details and imagery. That her nails are a focus, drawing attention, blood, and the hanged nail paired with her hanging on to her pursuit, is lovely.
Thank you, Raven. It was to zoom in on the little details for this one. 🙂
I used to have a worry stone. Worried it till it broke. Never got another, and I still miss it.
They are cheap enough. You should get a replacement. Or one of those various fidget toys… 🙂