Total pages in book: 22
Estimated words: 21429 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 107(@200wpm)___ 86(@250wpm)___ 71(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 21429 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 107(@200wpm)___ 86(@250wpm)___ 71(@300wpm)
My dad is nice, but he works so much that he’s basically turned into one of those clichés from the movies—spending all his time at the office, forgetting my birthday and then thinking he can make up for it by lavishing me with extravagant gifts, many of which I don’t even want or need.
And then the girls at school…well, we couldn’t be any more different if we tried. I don’t know how I’m ever going to make any real friends at this rate. The guys are even worse; they see me as even less worth their time because I don’t want to get drunk and “hook up.” I’ve never had a boyfriend, never been to homecoming, never been to prom. This is my senior year and my last shot, and I don’t see that changing.
Sighing, I swing my arm like I’m going to throw my cell phone into the trees, but don’t of course, then kick the rocks at my feet.
It’s a sunny day. I should be smiling, riding bikes with a friend I really like, or holding hands with my boyfriend. Instead I’m moping about like a miserable little—
“Hey.”
A voice from behind me startles me and causes me to turn, and what I see causes me to drop my phone anyway.
Standing not even twenty feet away is the most handsome man I’ve ever seen. At least six feet tall, broad shoulders, with sharp cheek bones and a square jaw that gives him good looks that could make him a model—but I can tell somehow, by the way that he’s standing and the way that he’s looking at me now, that he isn’t.
There’s something behind his eyes, something that immediately makes me want to know more about him.
“Careful now.” He steps forward, picks up my phone, and offers it to me. “I mean, I know you girls are rich, but a phone’s a phone. They aren’t cheap.”
“I—thank you,” I stammer like an idiot. “You’re right. It’s not good to waste money.”
“It’s not.” He smiles.
“But let’s not pretend you’re not a rich boy,” I tease. “They don’t let just anybody hang out around these parts. And aren’t those Gucci loafers you’ve got on?”
I point to his shoes. They’re pretty scuffed up, but they’re definitely Gucci.
“Present from my future step-dad,” he replies. “Not trying to stunt. I wear ‘em cause they’re comfy.”
“Not to impress the girls?” I reply.
“That depends. Are you impressed?”
“Not at all.”
“Good.” He smiles. “I like that.”
That wasn’t at all the response I was expecting—and I like that. My life has grown predictable—so predictable that I could probably write a script laying out everything everyone close to me will say on a day-to-day basis and not be too far off. This man standing in front of me is like an ad lib in that script from a world class actor.
“So what’s your name?” he asks.
“Guess.” I don’t know why, but this guy makes me feel very playful.
“Guess?” he laughs. “Nah, I’m not gonna guess.”
“You’re not?”
“Nope,” he chuckles, but as I reach for my phone, he pulls it away from me. “I’m not gonna play that game.”
“Hey, gimmie that!” I squeal, reaching. But this guy, whoever he is, easily dodges out of the way, keeping my phone out of my grasp.
“But what I am going to do is hold your phone hostage until you agree to go swimming with me.”
“Swimming with you?” I should be totally annoyed, but I have to confess that I’m already excited by his invitation. Not only is he incredibly attractive, but the thought of going back to the “house-party” with the girls is about as appealing as slowly pulling out my fingernails.
“Yeah,” he says as he casually begins walking away as though he expects me to follow. “You’re hot, it makes sense.”
Hot? Does he mean I’m hot or I look hot?
“You mean I—?” It doesn’t matter. I’m intrigued. I want to go swimming with him, and I obviously need my phone back, so I quickly hurry after him.
My heart is racing as I follow him across the street, past the Fullers’ cottage and down a side path I never even knew was there that leads down a slope to a hidden pond that looks like it was painted by a master artist.
“Wow,” I breathe as we come out onto a grassy knoll overlooking the crystal clear water. “How did you know about this?”
“It’s my secret spot,” he smiles, stripping out of his shirt.
Oh my God.
He has the body of a Greek god. Sure, maybe I’m used to high school boys—which he is definitely not—but still. This man is jacked. His shoulders are broad, his biceps bulging, his chest sculpted, and his abs ripple with every movement.
I gasp audibly at the sight.
“See anything you like?” he asks.
“I—”
Without hesitating, he unbuckles his pants and steps out of them.
“Oh my God!” I blurt out. “You’re not shy, are you?”