First Comes Love(2)

By: Emily Goodwin

They’re the kind of eyes that can fill with lust in an instant, flicking up to me as I nail her.

I want to nail her.

I want to feel her, all of her. Now. I can’t help it.

“No, it’s not,” I finally say and move my books out of the way. She sets her stuff down and gracefully perches on the chair. “I haven’t seen you in here before,” I blurt, heart lurching as she takes a seat next to me.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

Maybe the better question is, what the fuck is wrong with her? Why is she making me nervous, turning me on just by sitting in the goddamn chair next to me?

“I’m not in trouble,” she says, then looks embarrassed. She’s not in trouble, but I am. Six weeks and I have that reputation already. And she knows it. She knows who I am.

Why does that excite me?

“Why are you here then?” I ask.

Her sea-green eyes run over me with a bit of familiarity that throws me off-guard. It’s not fair. She’s looking like she knows me by more than my rep. Yet I have no idea who she is. I don’t even know her name.

“I’m protesting.”

I don’t mean to laugh, but I do. She pushes her perfectly full lips into a pout. “Sorry,” I say, curbing my laughter. “You don’t look like someone who would throw a public fit.”

One of her eyebrows goes up and she pushes thick brown hair over her shoulder. “You don’t have to cause a scene to make a statement.”

“Yeah, true. What are you protesting?”

“The cats AP biology dissects,” she starts.

“Let me guess,” I interrupt, grinning, needing to say something because I had no idea advanced bio sliced up cats and the shock on my face doesn’t jive with the bad boy image I’ve decided to roll with. “You think it’s awful and want to put a stop to it?”

“Yes and no. I think it’s important to learn about the body, but I don’t think it should be a requirement. The less students who dissect cats, the less that have to die for the name of science.”

“That’s actually a really good point.”

“Thanks.” She smiles. “I hope Mrs. Jefferson thinks so too.”

“She might.” My mind races with something else to say, something intelligible that will make this girl want to keep talking to me. I should ask her name. I should tell her mine. I should say something, yet all I can do is stare at her beautiful face, unable to form a logical thought.





And I don’t know why. I don’t know why I’m reacting to her the way I am. This isn’t me. I don’t get tongue tied around chicks. I don’t worry what they think of me.

Because I don’t care.

So why do I have this weird yearning for this girl to like me? And why am I worried I’m not good enough for this stranger. This attractive stranger.

She pulls a notebook from her bag and flips through the pages. Doing my best to not be obvious, I look over her should and read her notes. She’s written out what she’s going to say to Mrs. Jefferson, like a script. It’s cute, in a total OCD way.

“What side of the fence do you fall on?” I ask her. “Do you want to dissect the cat or no?”

She wrinkles her nose, distaste for cutting into a dead animal obvious. “I want to be a vet, so I should do it. Though at the same time, I’d rather wait until vet school. I don’t see how this will benefit me now.”

“Good idea. And being a vet would be cool.” I’m internally wincing. Could I be more lame?

“I think so. Half the time I like animals more than people.”

I chuckle. “I agree with you there. Animals don’t let you down.”

“Exactly!” she exclaims and turns toward me. Her hand lands on the armrest of the chair, fingers brushing my skin. It’s the most innocent gesture, one she didn’t even mean, yet leaves me craving her touch. “They don’t judge you either.”

“That’s always a plus.”

“I hate being judged,” she says quietly. “And I try not to judge others.” Color rushes to her cheeks and she looks away, head dropping and a shock of that gorgeous hair falling over her face. “I think if we were more like dogs the world would be a better place.”

I refrain from a joke about sniffing asses and agree. “I like dogs. Never had one, but they’re cool.” And I’m wincing at myself again. Fuck. I just want this girl to like me.

“That’s kind of sad,” she tells me. “We have a dog. And two cats.”

“Lucky.” Suddenly I want to go get a dog just to have a reason to invite this girl over.

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