Die for Me Read Online Free PDF

monotone jigsaw puzzle in a mere four years. What a show-off! Pablo always had to be the best at everything he put his hand to, and as I was saying to Gaspard the other day, what really ticks me off is . . .”
    I turned, curious to see the origin of this fountain of knowledge, and froze. Standing just fifteen feet away from me was Vincent’s curly-haired friend.
    Now that I saw him straight on, I was struck by how attractive he was. There was something rugged about him—unkempt, scruffy hair, bristly razor stubble, and large rough hands that gesticulated passionately toward the painting. By the condition of his clothes, which were smudged with paint, I guessed he might be an artist.
    That came to me in a split second. Because after that, all I could see was the person standing with him. The raven-haired boy. The boy who had taken up permanent residence in the dark corners of my mind since the first moment I saw him. Vincent.
    Why do you have to fall for the most improbable, inaccessible boy in Paris? He was too beautiful—and too aloof—to ever really notice me. I tore my gaze away, leaned forward, and rested my forehead in my hands. It didn’t do any good. Vincent’s image was burned indelibly into my mind.
    I realized that whatever it was about him that made him seem a bit cold, almost dangerous, actually heightened my interest instead of scaring me off. What was wrong with me? I had never gone for bad boys before—that was Georgia’s specialty! My stomach tightened as I wondered if I had the courage to go up and talk to him.
    But I didn’t have the chance to put myself to the test. When I raised my head, they were gone. I walked quickly to the entrance of the next room and peered in. It was empty. And then I just about jumped out of my skin as a low voice from behind me said, “Hi, Kate.”
    Vincent loomed over me, his face a good six inches above mine. My hand flew to my chest in alarm. “Thanks for the heart attack!” I gasped.
    â€œSo is this a habit of yours, leaving your bag behind in order to strike up a conversation?” He grinned and nodded at the bench where I had been sitting. Lying beneath it was my book bag. “Wouldn’t it be easier to just walk up to a guy and say hello?”
    The slight trace of mockery in his voice evaporated my nervousness. It was replaced by a fiery indignation that surprised us both. “Fine! Hello,” I growled, my throat tight with fury. Marching over to the bench, I picked up my bag and stalked out of the room.
    â€œWait!” he called, jogging over to me and matching my pace. “I didn’t mean it like that. What I meant . . .”
    I came to a stop and stared at him, waiting.
    â€œI’m sorry,” he said, exhaling deeply. “I’ve never been known for my sparkling conversation.”
    â€œThen why even make the effort?” I challenged.
    â€œBecause. You’re—I don’t know—amusing.”
    â€œAmusing?” I pronounced each syllable slowly and shot him my You’re a complete weirdo look. My clenched fists rose automatically to rest on my hips. “So, Vincent, did you come over with the express purpose of offending me, or is there something else you want?”
    Vincent put his palm to his forehead. “Listen, I’m sorry. I’m an idiot. Can we . . . can we just start over from scratch?”
    â€œStart what over from scratch?” I asked doubtfully.
    He hesitated for a second and then held out his hand. “Hi. I’m Vincent.”
    I felt my eyes narrow as I weighed his sincerity. I gripped his hand in mine, shaking it a bit rougher than I meant to. “I’m Kate.”
    â€œNice to meet you, Kate,” Vincent said, bemused. There was a four-second silence, during which I continued to glare at him. “So. Do you come here often?” he murmured, unsure.
    I couldn’t help but burst out