Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 123779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 619(@200wpm)___ 495(@250wpm)___ 413(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 619(@200wpm)___ 495(@250wpm)___ 413(@300wpm)
I can barely restrain myself from looking at him again.
When the drop-dead gorgeous guy takes a seat right next to me, I try to forcefully keep myself from stealing another glance, but my eyes have a mind of their own. Slowly, I turn my head, and I take in the cargo pants that hug his thighs just right.
Dear God, have mercy on my hormones.
I can’t resist and let my eyes slide up his body to his broad chest. He’s wearing a dark blue button-up shirt, the top two buttons undone. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, exposing his forearms and tanned skin.
Then my eyes land on his hands and the veins snaking beneath his skin, and my heart skips another beat.
Lost in the attractive guy beside me, my eyes drift upward, pausing at his totally kissable lips.
The corner of his mouth curves up, and I’m just about to get entirely lost in him when our eyes meet.
Well, actually, it’s more like he catches me gawking at him.
My soul almost ups and leaves my body, and I practically give myself whiplash when I turn my head away to look out the window.
Ugh. Embarrassing!
My heart hammers in my chest while a wave of mortification hits me hard.
Every drop of blood in my body rushes to my face, and lifting a hand, I rest my elbow on the table and cover my eyes.
Now’s a good time for the ground to open up and swallow me whole.
I get a whiff of his aftershave, and of course, it has to smell incredible – fresh and masculine with a hint of rain. And something spicy and addictive.
I suck in a deep breath of air, then open my sketchpad to the page with the waterfall.
“That’s really good,” he says suddenly, his voice low and deep. “You like drawing?”
To my absolute horror, I snort before awkward laughter bursts over my lips.
Dear God.
I clear my throat and nod. “Yeah.”
“Where have you seen that waterfall?” he asks.
The last thing I expected today was a hot guy walking into school and asking me about my drawing.
A slight frown forms on my forehead, and turning my head, I look at him. “It’s from a dream I had.”
His eyes take mine captive. “That must’ve been quite some dream.” A smile tugs at his mouth, then he adds, “I’m Ryan Jackson.”
Somehow, I manage to smile while I murmur, “I’m Jane. Welcome to Steamboat Springs.”
His smile grows warm and friendly, making him a million times hotter. “Thank you.”
“Did you say your name’s Ryan?” Megan asks from the desk next to ours. “I’m Megan, the head cheerleader. Just say if you need someone to show you around.”
Ryan nods at her. “I’m good. Thanks.”
When he turns his attention back to me, my jaw drops open. No one dismisses Megan, especially not to talk to me.
“I haven’t had time to get any books. Mind sharing?” he asks.
“Ah…” I nod quickly while digging the history book out of my bag. “Sure.”
My tongue darts out to wet my lips as I open the book between us.
While I wait for Mr. Brady to start, I focus on my drawing, not trying to make it obvious I’m affected by my new neighbor.
As the lesson begins, I desperately try to focus on what Mr. Brady is saying, but it’s of no use. The Titanic could be sinking beside me, and I wouldn’t even notice right now.
I’m super aware of the hot guy sitting only inches away from me, and all I can smell is his amazing cologne.
Ryan shifts in his chair as he turns the page in the textbook, and his arm presses against mine. When he doesn’t move again, my stomach free-falls into oblivion and tingles explode over my body.
I clear my throat and try to control my breathing while my palms grow sweaty. My sole focus is glued to the spot where our arms are touching.
When the bell finally rings, relief floods my body. Gathering my sketchbook and pencil, I grab my bag before darting up from my chair. I squeeze past Ryan’s seat and rush for the door as if hellhounds are nipping at my heels.
Holy shit. Sitting next to Ryan was intense.
Sucking in deep breaths of air, I try to calm my racing heart as I head to the next class.
Walking into English Lit, I take my usual seat at the back, and as I set my sketchpad down on the desk, Molly takes a seat in front of me. It’s not her usual seat, so she has to have an ulterior motive for sitting close to me.
“Why did you take off like a bat out of hell after history?” she asks.
“I didn’t.” Molly keeps staring at me so I add, “I’m just excited about our poem reading today.”
I hate speaking in public, and the poem I wrote sucks ass.