spirit, causing the student beside me to laugh, that I lost my unwavering focus and noticed I had company. Now in hindsight, I wish I had just looked at who was sitting beside me through my peripheral vision. I am sure the very reason we have peripheral vision is for occasions just like this. Okay, and maybe for when you’re trying to sneak in a midnight snack and need to ensure not even the shadows can see how much leftover chocolate cake you just inhaled. Unfortunately, I twisted my entire body to check out my new neighbor and had a holy-shit - freak - out moment.
I was close.
Like smell-your-cologne close.
To Grayson fucking Waters.
He must have arrived late and decided to hide in the back row. I had never been this close to Grayson. When I was seven, I had stood easily nine feet away from him before I had run away. I also seriously doubt that at eight he had smelled this amazing. An intoxicating mix of nutmeg, cinnamon and musk. So, of course, instead of sitting calmly and trying to breathe in as much of his amazing aroma as I can, I try to make a run for it like I was still that seven year old little girl.
Yep, people think I’m intelligent, but when faced with remaining in close proximity to a boy I have lusted after from afar, I decide immediate impulsive action is required. And foolishly choose to try and grab my handbag faster than humanly possible, leap across other people at the end of our row and head directly toward the exit.
Only there are two problems with my rash behavior.
Firstly, when you suddenly jump to your feet, everyone in the lecture hall looks at you.
Secondly, when I get nervous, I become a total klutz.
So, instead of leaping over people, I trip over some girl’s purse strap on the floor and slam head-first into the hall’s steps leading to the exit.
With everyone watching.
Fuck, it hurts.
I roll over and decide that I really should jump to my feet and get out of here before I embarrass myself further. Although, it might have to be in a couple of minutes, when the room stops spinning.
“Shit, you okay? You hit your head hard. Are you seeing stars?”
Oh my God. Grayson Waters is no longer sitting beside me. He must have followed me.
Grayson Waters is now leaning over me and checking me for injuries. And by checking, I mean touching me.
Grayson Waters is touching me.
Skin on skin. Hard on smooth.
No. No. No. This can’t be happening.
His rough but warm hands slowly sweep my brown hair away from my forehead and lightly feel for bumps.
“Um, yes. I mean no.”
“Are you confused? Sometimes, when guys on the team have concussions, they get confused. They struggle to process information.” Then he pauses, flashes me his dimple and asks, “Or do you normally talk like this? “
Grayson Waters just asked me a question.
And is smiling at me, my favorite smile.
And looking at me. He is making very focused and intense eye contact with me .
Shit. Grayson Waters is also asking me questions and waiting for me to respond. And I’m just gawking at his smile and staring into his ocean-blue eyes. Damn it, I should have practiced this in the mirror.
“Um, yes. I mean, I think so.”
“So, do I need to call an ambulance?” he asks.
“Maybe just the morgue. Pretty sure everyone is staring and I’m dying from embarrassment.”
He chuckles. Grayson Waters just chuckled at me. He probably thought I was joking.
“Maybe they’re seeing stars. I’m a little dazzled myself.”
I totally did not understand that. I’m not the star. He’s the star. Thankfully, before I can reply, he offers his hand and helps pull me up. As soon as I’m standing, everyone else stops watching us like we’re a reality TV show and resumes watching Professor Gibbons. Who apparently doesn’t feel the need to check on one of his injured students when the quarterback for the football team gives him a nod. I figure I’ll be irritated by that fact when my head isn’t pounding and I’m not facing the
I was close.
Like smell-your-cologne close.
To Grayson fucking Waters.
He must have arrived late and decided to hide in the back row. I had never been this close to Grayson. When I was seven, I had stood easily nine feet away from him before I had run away. I also seriously doubt that at eight he had smelled this amazing. An intoxicating mix of nutmeg, cinnamon and musk. So, of course, instead of sitting calmly and trying to breathe in as much of his amazing aroma as I can, I try to make a run for it like I was still that seven year old little girl.
Yep, people think I’m intelligent, but when faced with remaining in close proximity to a boy I have lusted after from afar, I decide immediate impulsive action is required. And foolishly choose to try and grab my handbag faster than humanly possible, leap across other people at the end of our row and head directly toward the exit.
Only there are two problems with my rash behavior.
Firstly, when you suddenly jump to your feet, everyone in the lecture hall looks at you.
Secondly, when I get nervous, I become a total klutz.
So, instead of leaping over people, I trip over some girl’s purse strap on the floor and slam head-first into the hall’s steps leading to the exit.
With everyone watching.
Fuck, it hurts.
I roll over and decide that I really should jump to my feet and get out of here before I embarrass myself further. Although, it might have to be in a couple of minutes, when the room stops spinning.
“Shit, you okay? You hit your head hard. Are you seeing stars?”
Oh my God. Grayson Waters is no longer sitting beside me. He must have followed me.
Grayson Waters is now leaning over me and checking me for injuries. And by checking, I mean touching me.
Grayson Waters is touching me.
Skin on skin. Hard on smooth.
No. No. No. This can’t be happening.
His rough but warm hands slowly sweep my brown hair away from my forehead and lightly feel for bumps.
“Um, yes. I mean no.”
“Are you confused? Sometimes, when guys on the team have concussions, they get confused. They struggle to process information.” Then he pauses, flashes me his dimple and asks, “Or do you normally talk like this? “
Grayson Waters just asked me a question.
And is smiling at me, my favorite smile.
And looking at me. He is making very focused and intense eye contact with me .
Shit. Grayson Waters is also asking me questions and waiting for me to respond. And I’m just gawking at his smile and staring into his ocean-blue eyes. Damn it, I should have practiced this in the mirror.
“Um, yes. I mean, I think so.”
“So, do I need to call an ambulance?” he asks.
“Maybe just the morgue. Pretty sure everyone is staring and I’m dying from embarrassment.”
He chuckles. Grayson Waters just chuckled at me. He probably thought I was joking.
“Maybe they’re seeing stars. I’m a little dazzled myself.”
I totally did not understand that. I’m not the star. He’s the star. Thankfully, before I can reply, he offers his hand and helps pull me up. As soon as I’m standing, everyone else stops watching us like we’re a reality TV show and resumes watching Professor Gibbons. Who apparently doesn’t feel the need to check on one of his injured students when the quarterback for the football team gives him a nod. I figure I’ll be irritated by that fact when my head isn’t pounding and I’m not facing the
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