Old Souls Read Online Free PDF Page A

racing pulse.
    “Oh boy, I’m in trouble.”
                                  ***
    The next morning, I couldn’t stop the ear to ear grin that spread over my face. All I could think about was that kiss. Wow. Just the memory raised my body temperature, increased my breathing and had moisture flooding my panties. I had to stop dwelling or I wasn’t going to get any work done today.
    It was hard to believe how attached Mark and I had become over the past few weeks. I felt like I’d known him for years. In fact, we’d fallen into such an easy rapport that I’d completely forgotten about our first meeting or his ominous warning. That is, until this morning when the weird shit started happening. It wasn’t what I expected, at all. To be honest, I didn’t know what I expected, but there was no way I could have expected this . And there was no way he could have predicted this .
    It was a morning like most others, rushing around preparing for work. I was a commuter. I hated the city, preferred the peace and quiet of smaller towns, so I lived a good forty five minutes away—an hour and a half with rush hour traffic. This meant I rushed most mornings.
    As I breezed through my morning routine, I glanced into the mirror and noticed a large, angry pimple had developed on my cheek overnight. It was so large and swollen it actually throbbed at the slightest movement.
    “Fan-freaking-tastic,” I muttered.
    Normally, I was lucky with my skin, it was rarely marred with breakouts. But when I did get a blemish, I got it good, and this one hurt like hell.
    Fussing with my makeup for way too long, I tried in vain to cover it. Finally, realizing it was a fruitless effort I gave up and went to eat breakfast. After scarfing down my food, I grabbed my purse and gave myself a quick once over in the mirror before heading out the door. Belatedly, something odd occurred to me and I backed up, this time taking a good long look in the mirror.
    “Holy Shit,” I exclaimed and inched closer to examine my now flawlessly clear complexion. “It’s gone.”
    There wasn’t a mark on me. No red spot. No soreness. Nothing . It was as if the blemish had never existed. I ran to my bathroom mirror with the crazy idea that perhaps my front mirror was broken.
    Y eah, ‘cause that happens .
    Still nothing.
    Not only that, but my skin looked fantastic, like I’d just spent a fortune at the spa. I poked and prodded for a while trying to figure out how this had happened.
    After a long, internal argument, I managed to put the whole incident aside and forget it, convincing myself I’d imagined the whole thing.
    The following day, I had a much harder time believing that what happened was simply the product of my imagination.  I was hurrying even more than usual when I woke and discovered my alarm hadn’t gone off because the power was out. Struggling with my hair for at least fifteen minutes, I let out a string of frustrated curses that would have made a sailor proud. Natural curl always had a tendency to frizz, and I’m not one of those lucky people who can go without styling. I have to either curl it or straighten it, and both require power. I am lucky in the regard that my hair is long, almost reaching my lower back, and it’s thick. I just wish I didn’t have to always style it, especially on mornings without my blow dryer.
    Running my fingers through the strands, I tried to tame the unruly curls to no avail. Why couldn’t I have been born with straight hair? As soon as the thought hit, I felt something weird, like pins and needles in my fingers. As I ran my fingers through the locks I felt a snapping, like static energy.
    “Great,” I muttered, irritated. “Now I’m going to look like I’ve put my finger in a socket, as if today hasn’t started bad enough.”
    I imagined my hair was sticking out everywhere. Only that’s not what was reflected in my mirror. Fascinated, I watched as a small light encompassed my hands and