Free Infinite (Strange and Beautiful, Book 1) by Brittney Musick Page A

so ago,” Jackson explained.
    The
titles sounded vaguely familiar, and then I remembered that Rose the librarian
had mentioned them to me when I finally made it to the library over the
weekend. “Someone else mentioned them to me too, actually,” I said, “but they
were checked out of the library, and there was a long waiting list.”
    “Well,
I have my own copies of both. You can borrow them if you want,” Jackson
offered.
    I
had officially decided I was in love—or at the very least very seriously
infatuated—with this beautiful, generous, book-reading boy. I managed to rein
in my inner glee, and smiled, probably a little manically, “Really? That would
be great.”
    “No
problem,” Jackson shrugged, as if he hadn’t just stolen my heart. “What about The
Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe ? Have you read it?”
    “Yes!
I completely forgot about that one,” I said. I couldn’t curb my surprise as I
asked, “You’ve read it?”
    “Yep,
several times. Every time I read it, I notice more and more Biblical
parallels.”
    “I
don’t know much about the Bible ,” I admitted, “but I’ve looked up some
stuff about the books and symbolism online.”
    “Sometimes
I like to visit sites like SparkNotes to read the analysis,” Jackson commented.
“I know it’s kind of dorky, but I like to see if I’m understanding things right
or see if I missed something while reading.”
    “It’s
not dorky!” I exclaimed; then I reconsidered. “Well, maybe it is, but I do the
same thing.”
    “Really?”
Jackson looked both disbelieving and hopeful at my admission.
    “Yeah,
I thought I was the only one,” I blushed.
    “Apparently
not the only one, but we might be the only two,” he laughed lightly. It was
melodic; it reminded me of music. I tried to think of a way, that didn’t
involve making an ass out of myself, to make him laugh again.
    While
I thought, he leaned over and pulled open the glove box. He kept his eyes
mostly on the road, but he glanced briefly at the glove box and grabbed a pack
of Marlboro Reds before he shoved the door back into place. He straightened up
in his seat and glanced at me as he pulled a lighter out of the pack of
cigarettes. “Mind if I smoke?”
    “It’s
your car,” I shrugged. I couldn’t deny being somewhat disappointed to find he
was a smoker, but I supposed that a boy so seemingly perfect had to have some
sort of flaw.
    “I
can wait if it bothers you,” he offered.
    “It’s
okay,” I smiled. He eyed me for a moment, as if to check for some form of
deception before he placed a cigarette between his lips and lit it. “I do find
it odd that one minute you’re talking about Christianity and the next you’re
smoking,” I commented as he exhaled a cloud of smoke and cracked his window.
    “I
know. It’s a nasty habit, but I picked it up while I was staying with my
brother over the summer,” he sighed. “I thought I’d be able to kick it when I
got back home, but I was wrong.”
    “You
could try the patch or gum,” I suggested.
    “I
guess I could,” he shrugged, “but I’m not too worried about it.”
    “Maybe
you should,” I commented, which earned me an arched eyebrow. “I mean, maybe
it’s just me and I’ve got it wrong, but I don’t think most girls are into
kissing guys with mouths that taste like an ashtray.” I shrugged, as if to
lessen the unintentional insult.
    “Huh.
Are you planning to kiss me?” Jackson smirked as he tapped the ashes at the end
of his cigarette off into the ashtray.
    “No,
I was just saying . . .” I trailed off as my face bloomed into what I was sure
was a tomato red blush. Jackson simply smiled innocently, and I knew I’d been
baited.
    After
a moment he took mercy upon my poor, mortified soul and admitted, “You’re
probably right. Most girls probably wouldn’t appreciate kissing an ashtray.”
    “Well,
good luck to you whenever you decide to quit,” I said.
    “Thank
you,” he nodded as he pulled the car to a