Lipstick Covered Magnet

By Amber Herbert

For fans of You and I May Destroy You

She's running from her past. He's hoping to become her present.

Skylar has avoided the past for three years. She can't be plagued by guilt and regret if she never has time to process what happened. When a song triggers the memories she's tried so hard to bury, she knows she can't run anymore. Despite her ex being gone, he's hiding in the quiet and stillness. There's no escape.

Connor has always been passionate. If he's into you, he will follow you to the ends of the earth. Sure, his fixation once ended in a restraining order, but that was just one girl. When he meets Skylar, he feels that same itch. Despite her attempts to brush him off, he increases his efforts—even if that means tracking her movements and stalking her online. He knows he'll win her over if he's persistent.

As Skylar does her best to heal, Connor sinks further into obsession.

Lipstick Covered Magnet is a genre-bending debut that weaves the intricacies of healing with delusion and suspense.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tintagel Press
• Release date: Apr 18, 2022
• ISBN: 9798985692013

Book preview

Skylar

August morning dew stuck to my windshield, leaving a dwindling layer of fog. As I waited for my car to warm up, I leafed through the CD case in my glove compartment.

I removed the Warped Tour 2010 compilation disc, not remembering listening to it four years back, and inserted it into the console. With Bring Me the Horizon’s Chelsea Smile blasting, I peeled out of the dorm lot and drove west toward the village shopping center. When I pulled into my spot behind the store, the song ended and rolled into another.

Love how you disagree—

I couldn’t press Eject fast enough.

The CD reappeared, sticking out like a tongue. I chucked it backward and heard it ping against the rear window before landing on the backseat.

My hands shook in my lap. I couldn’t relive that moment.

Pull yourself together, I told myself as I opened the car door with a shaky hand. I could make it through the day without anything else derailing me. The store would be busy; I could easily pile on extra tasks if I needed a distraction.

I plastered on a smile and made my way around the building. I’m okay. It was just a song.

Pequod’s rested between a candy shop and a video game retailer. With large signs in the left window advertising half-priced books and a large poster of Orwell’s 1984 in the other, it didn’t take long to figure out we sold nothing like our neighbors.

Inside, Pequod’s looked like any other family-owned bookstore—oak bookcases set into the walls, smaller yet filled-to-the-brim shelves categorized by genre, tables in the general walking space featuring local authors, bestsellers, and all-time favorite titles.

When I opened the wooden blinds beside the register, daylight trickled in. I watched as dust motes danced in the air before landing on the hardwood floor. I took a deep breath to calm my nerves. The pit in my stomach was still there, but I could work around it, push it down until it became a part of me—a reminder I would never stop fighting. The low buzz of the oscillating fans became a dull murmur, white noise, as I dusted off the display tables.

It was August 16th, a few days before the fall semester. English majors came in to see whether we sold required texts at a more reasonable rate than the college. Being one of the few small-town booksellers in Colorado Springs, we also had our fair share of twentysomethings and out-of-their-depth gifters come in to ask for recommendations on vampire romances or something like Stephen King but not Stephen King.

I was rummaging through the haphazard clearance trolley for anything close to what my latest customer asked for—"a romance that wasn’t written in the nineteenth century but must also be, like, not Fifty Shades"—when the bell above the door chimed, signaling another customer’s entrance.

Welcome, I said over my shoulder as a woman of about forty made her way inside. I watched as she scanned the bestsellers. When we made eye contact thirty seconds later, I asked if she needed help finding something.

Oh, I was just looking for... She scratched her head. I think my daughter said it was about a boy who dates a bunch of girls with the same name.

I offered her a smile. "An Abundance of Katherines?"

Her eyes lit up. Yes, that’s it!

I nodded and walked her over to the teen section near the back. "If you’re looking for a great young adult romance that doesn’t end in a happily ever after, I’d recommend John Green’s latest novel, The Fault in Our Stars. Or Eleanor & Park by Rainbow Rowell."

Thank you, sweetheart, the lady replied. I’ll check them out.

On my way back to the front of the store, I picked up a discarded copy of The Handmaid’s Tale and wedged it under my arm. I glanced over my shoulder and grinned when I caught the woman reading the back cover of John Green’s best novel to date.

---

Alex texted me throughout the day, ensuring every time a customer was browsing in the mystery section or searching through the kitschy gift items, I was checking my phone behind the register. I had been typing a response to his vague mention of the school’s next production when a man walked up to the counter with a dozen books. I say man, but that isn’t quite accurate. He was right on the cusp; not a man but not a boy either. He was the in-between, the gray area.

All ready to check out? I asked as he meticulously placed the novels on the counter and shook out his left arm.

He looked up and met my gaze. A flicker of light found his green eyes; emerald, not grass. When he straightened up, his dirty blond hair swayed, catching the air from the fan beside me. He smirked ever so slightly and said, I suppose I am.

I took the first book and scanned the barcode before asking if he wanted a bag.

No, thanks.

I continued scanning, placing each one onto the last to make a teetering tower of paperbacks, until I came to the last book, Dracula. Great choice, I said, holding the book up in case he didn’t catch my meaning.

He moved his gaze from the novel to my face and said, I’ve been assigned the book this semester and can’t wait to read it again. He offered a bashful smile, like what he admitted—in the middle of a bookstore—made him sound a little too nerdy.

Awesome, I replied with sincerity. I loved it. And I’m also taking Professor Stephens’ class. I pressed the Enter key on the register for the total. You owe me $65.37.

That’s it?

Yeah, and I’d say that’s a steal. I looked him over and noticed the Neck Deep shirt peeking through his unzipped hoodie. Nice shirt, by the way.

He furrowed his brow before looking down to inspect his outfit. Oh, he said before chuckling. You like them too?

I saw them at Warped Tour a couple weeks back and at The Black Sheep last year, assuming that answers your question.

His smile widened until the corners of his mouth crinkled. He pulled out his wallet and handed me his debit card before asking, So, what’s your name?

Skylar, I said, still waiting for the receipt to print. When it finally spit out of the antiquated machine, I glanced at his card. It’s nice to meet you, Connor.

We made eye contact as he reached for his things. I’ll see you in class, he said before taking his leave. He pressed the door open with his back and held the stack of books to his chest.

See ya, I offered as the door closed behind him.

An elderly woman dropped a hefty stack of steamy romances on the counter. When I finished ringing up her softcore pornography, I pulled out my phone and responded to Alex’s earlier text. So when are the auditions?

Not twenty seconds later, he replied: Wednesday… u trying out?

Umm… yeah. You thought I’d pass up Shakespeare?

As long as ur down to kiss me. Im sure L wont mind.

I’ll do my best not to get a hard on, I retorted.

Without waiting for a response, knowing he almost never indulged me, I got back to work. By the time I finished alternating between organizing our latest collection—What to Read When You’re Not Getting Any (there’s a reason I love working here)—and assisting customers with their shopping, Stephanie clocked in and told me to take my break.

I grabbed my copy of Troilus and Cressida and made my way to the break room which looked more like a principal’s office than a lounging area. I reviewed Cressida’s lines while tearing pieces off my peanut butter and jelly sandwich and placing them into my mouth.

Alex and I had performed in various plays together. Washington Irving High had little to brag about when it came to standardized tests and graduating averages; instead, it was the magnet school for theater and choir. Our productions received statewide acclaim, and it wasn’t uncommon for one of our plays to make it onto the local cable channels or go on a brief tour. This constant movement only wound our friendship tighter.

However great I was on stage, I knew I couldn’t place all my eggs in that basket. When I researched colleges, I made sure to find ones that offered BA programs in English and a decent theater program for extracurriculars. It came as a surprise when I found my hometown university provided both.

I received a cheeky response from Alex as I got up to throw away my garbage: Good luck with that ;P You know how irresistible I am.

I rolled my eyes, put my phone in my pocket, and clocked back in.

The rest of my shift went by without a hitch. After ringing up another twenty customers, and helping a few Austen fans find a Brontë work that would quench their thirst for nineteenth-century women’s fiction, it was time to leave.

When I got to my car, I didn’t look in the backseat. I knew the CD rested there, and I couldn’t will myself to do what seemed the easiest—pick it up and chuck it like a Frisbee out the window. Instead, I turned on the engine and drove back to campus in silence.

Connor

I stopped at Java the Hut on my way home from Pequod’s. While I waited near the counter for my order, I thought about Skylar.

What an awesome name. Skylar. Skylar. Skylar. She seemed interested. Then again, maybe she flirted with every dorky guy because it sold more books. Yet she looked at my card because she wanted to know my name. She wanted to know me.

There was a spark at the register. I felt it.

Connor, a barista with pink dreadlocks called out.

I waved my hand in the air and she nodded. Thanks, I said as I took the tray of coffees and tossed a $2 tip into the gaping jar beside the sugar packets.

I sat in my beat-up 1993 Honda Civic, considering the possibilities. We had at least one class together. I knew where she worked. At the very least, I had an in.

When I pulled out of my parking spot, the tray shifted in the passenger seat and one of the lids fell off. I uttered a quick shit and continued on my way. My car was in bad enough shape already, and it’s not like Dad gave me enough money to buy something better. No one would notice a new coffee stain.

---

Hey, man, Derrick called from the couch of our shared house. After he got sniped in Halo, he glanced over the back of the couch to see what I was holding. Sweet! How much do I owe you? he asked as his soldier respawned in front of a swarm of reds. Fucking kidding me, bro, he yelled before one-shotting each of them and tea bagging the last.

It’s on me, I said as I placed his triple chocolate mocha on the coffee table. I placed the tray on the bar, hoping Nick and Simon wouldn’t be too late, their blended drinks turning to slush.

So where else did you go? Derrick yelled.

I tapped him on the shoulder.

He jolted upright, dropping his controller in the process. Dude!

Maybe pause the game and interact with the world around you? I replied, chuckling as I walked down the hall. The two doors to my right were closed. On one hung a topless pinup from the 80s; the other served as a homing device for band and pop culture stickers. I knocked on them in quick succession and hollered, Get up, you lazy sacks of shit.

Neither of my roommates offered a rebuttal, so I retrieved my books from the car and jogged back into the house, up the stairs, and into my room. I tossed the books into the weathered recliner in the corner.

I trekked back to the kitchen to witness Nick pop the lid off his coffee and spill half of the cup’s contents down his white shirt and boxers. Smooth, I said, feeling cheated when he didn't offer a snide comment or a slap in the face in response. Instead, he looked down at his chest, grumbled something I couldn’t make out, and tossed the plastic cup into the sink. The remaining contents splashed over the faucet and misted the nearby cabinets and appliances. Before I had time to turn around and apologize for pissing him off, the bathroom door slammed and I heard the trickling of the shower head.

Someone’s in a mood today, I said, nudging Simon with my elbow.

Dude, could you please cut the bullshit? he said with a purple straw between his lips. It was hard to hold back a laugh when his words came out with a whistle.

I walked backward with my hands up in surrender. Alright. I’ll be in my room when you’re ready to hang.

I turned on my computer and searched for Pequod’s bookstore. There was something about Skylar. Perhaps it was her strawberry blonde hair tied up in a messy ponytail or the way she bit her lip while reading behind the register. I don’t think she noticed me watching her behind the shelves, too busy with the housekeeping and relentless questions from customers.

My search brought me directly to their Facebook page. The latest post captured Skylar holding a handful of new releases with a seemingly candid smile. Her teeth were straight except for one of her bottom incisors that jutted out of line. I scrolled over the image and clicked on the tag: Skylar Hayley. She wasn’t one to take selfies, at least not on a frequent basis, so I found more tagged images than anything else—at parties, at the library, at gigs.

Her profile noted she was single, and I almost reached out before thinking better of it.

Simon smacked my door open, interrupting my indecisiveness. You ready to go see a movie?

I closed my tabs and shut down the computer, pushing off the desk and spinning around to face him. Let’s do this, I said before jumping out of the chair and following him down the hall. The dining room table was strewn with new textbooks and near-illegible notes we wrote to each other in passing. I took a seat at the head of the table and cracked my knuckles. Derrick, Simon, and Nick took their places around the table and looked at me expectantly. So what are we seeing? Nick asked.

---

After sitting through an hour and a half of exaggerated violence, nudity, and decapitations, we made it back to the house and I went to my room to fetch my phone. I scoured Skylar’s profile and noticed she RSVP’d for a dorm party later that night.

I flung open my door and yelled down the hall toward the living room, You guys still going to Kyle’s?

Uh, duh, Simon retorted. Where else would I be picking up chicks?

Fair enough, I replied. I might be meeting a girl there too, so you never know.

Don’t forget your rubbers, interjected Derrick.

Skylar

Still in my towel after a post-shift shower, I scooped up the phone resting on my coffee table/food consumption surface and dialed Alex’s number. He picked up on the third ring.

Out of breath, he said, Hey, Sky! What’s up?

Let’s get one thing out of the way first. Are you out of breath from running to the phone, or am I interrupting your afternoon fuck sesh?

He snickered and I heard a distinct slap, as if Landon wasn’t done fondling him. The latter, but don’t worry, we’ve postponed our violent lovemaking. He cleared his throat, laying it on thick. So… what’s going on? Did you just get back?

I’ve been back for a bit. Anyway, I was wondering if you and Landon were going, or would like to go, to Kyle’s kegger tonight.

Uh… lemme check. He pulled the phone away from his ear, but I could still hear a muffled version of their brief conversation. Um, yeah, we’re down.

Awesome. I’ll meet you downstairs at 8:50. Have fun boning each other’s brains out.

Oh, we will! Alex replied before hanging up.

Alex hadn’t changed much over the course of our friendship. He was still the flamboyant, horny, charismatic guy I called my best friend, so it soon became a joke to rib each other over our sex lives on an almost daily basis. He and Landon had been joined at the hip for going on a year. They were so in love that I almost envied them. Almost.

Connor

I grew more anxious as the day progressed. It wasn’t like I’d never been infatuated with a girl, or that I was uncomfortable in my skin. In high school, there had been Destiny and Cheryl. I shared my first two years of college with Laura... though that didn’t end well. It had much more to do with the fact Skylar seemed perfect. As I considered that ridiculous phrase, the perfect woman, I reminded myself that everyone had their fair share of flaws and baggage.

After changing into a t-shirt and tattered skinny jeans, I scoured Skylar’s social media. In an hour’s time, I found nothing incriminating. She majored in English, published a few poems, and liked my favorite bands. I didn’t find a single flaw. Maybe she was perfect.

Knowing it was nearly time to head out, I grabbed my hoodie from the recliner in the corner and closed the door behind me, taking the stairs two at a time.

As I walked down the hall, I caught a strong whiff of booze. Did you guys already start drinking? I asked as I turned the corner to the three of them doing shots.

Did you want one? asked Derrick.

No thanks, man, I replied. I’ll wait until the real party starts.

Think of this as a palette cleanser, Simon said. You know they’re only going to have kegs of Bud Light and Coors. If anything, these few shots will make the refrigerated piss slide down a little easier.

I chuckled. You’re not wrong. Regardless, we should probably head out.

Without another word, or shot of cheap whiskey, we were off. By off I mean out the door, across the street, and a block down the road. We got there just in time for a group of jocks to let us in.

Skylar

Kyle lived in Cragmoor Hall. Alex and Landon, who swindled their way into a shared room, lived on the first floor of Flaubert Hall; I lived on the second in a single. To get inside any of the buildings, you either had to have a key—one of those electronic chips you place against a black rectangle on the doorframe with your student ID attached—or know someone willing to sneak you in. It was an unspoken rule that non-dormers were only invited if they had access to booze, drugs, or were themselves eye candy.

Though it was only 9:05, five minutes after the party commenced, students overflowed into the hall with red cups. Given each room could only hold fifty students, if no one minded squishing into a stuffy room like sardines, kegs were usually set up in the lobby. As Kyle’s room straddled said space, the party’s occupants didn’t have to go far for booze or entertainment.

I found Alex and Landon among half of the members of the LGBTQ group. As I moved toward the flock, I overheard Alex and Landon discussing their pre-party lovemaking.

Hey! I said in greeting, taking my place between the two of them in hopes of putting an end to their gloating. Why don’t we go find ourselves some booze, I suggested, already regretting the disgusting beer I hadn’t swallowed. At least it would quiet my mind, distract me from the pit still lodged in my stomach.

We made our way through the sea of already-intoxicated freshmen. I grabbed three cups of beer, squeezing one between my chest and lower arm, and walked the offerings back to the happy couple.

So, you looking for someone to take back to your room? Landon asked in his sultry voice.

I nudged him in the arm, sloshing some of my cup’s contents onto the lobby’s already-destroyed carpet.

Smooth, Alex and Landon said before yelling jinx in each other’s faces.

I saw a few cute guys but haven’t set my sights on anyone yet. I turned around and gestured at a group