![]() ![]() ![]() “You can go,” I whispered when the girls were out of earshot. “I’d rather stay right here,” he said, finally, not taking his light brown eyes away from me. He was still looking at me, and my heart felt like it was having a seizure. “You want to come drink with us? We’re going to play a game,” one of them said. His eyes left my face for a second, just to acknowledge them with a nod, but he looked right back at me. “Hey Jensen,” a group of girls said as they walked by. What mattered was that he looked good-better than good-and I was ogling. His face was closely shaved, and his hair was mussed, from the wind or his motorcycle helmet, there was no telling. He was wearing dark jeans, boots, and a white shirt that read, “I am.” You couldn’t see the tattoos I knew he had because of the quarter sleeves of his shirt, and I was dying to pull them up to see if he’d added any new ones. ![]()
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |