King of Campus

Okay, so maybe beautiful is the wrong word. I don’t think guys really like being referred to as beautiful but there just isn’t any other word to adequately describe him.

He’s completely beautiful.

I kind of want to stand here and stare at him for the rest of the night.

But I won’t because in my somewhat limited experience, beautiful guys are, more often than not, egotistical douchebags. And even though I’m only nineteen, I’ve already had my fill of those.

So thanks… but no thanks.

That being said, my fingers almost itch to slide their way through all that messy chocolate colored hair. And don’t even get me started on those golden brown eyes of his. Yep, totally dreamy.

Er… if I were a dreamy sort of girl, that is.

Which, trust me, I’m not.

He’s almost as tall as Alex but not quite as broad in the shoulders. Athletic looking with long lean muscles that are showcased rather amazingly in jeans and a simple dark t-shirt that hugs his chest and upper arms quite nicely.

And damn if that isn’t my very own personal kryptonite.

Yeah, this guy is way too nice looking for his own good.

Mine too.

I almost have to shake myself out of the stupor that has fallen over me because I’m definitely not in the market for a boyfriend or a random hook up or even a friends-with-benefits situation.

I want absolutely nothing to do with guys period.

End of story.

Then he goes and smiles this smooth slow grin that spills its way dangerously across his striking face. Aw, crap. The kicker is a pair of perfectly placed dimples that wink at me.

No doubt about it- definitely kryptonite material.

It’s almost laughable the way my heart starts hammering under my breast as I continue staring. I’m not really the kind of girl who is susceptible to male eye candy. No matter how beautifully packaged. So, whatever he wants, I’ll be passing on. Now, if there just so happens to be a tiny pang of regret sliding its way through me at the notion of walking away, I shut it down right quick before I can make any more disastrous decisions. Because, trust me, I’ve already made more than my fair share of them.

“Nope, sorry.” After the calamity of last year, I’m only beginning to find my bearings. Self-preservation is now the name of the game. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Unfortunately he isn’t so easily deterred. I almost sigh. The good looking ones never are. “So what did Alex do to deserve being chewed out by a pack of angry women?”

Without bothering to answer, because that’s exactly how one gets sucked into these conversations, I turn away feeling a sudden need to escape surge its way through me. Pushing and shoving with a little more impatience, I search for Brooklyn’s blonde head in the crowd.

Even though I’m desperate to leave, I won’t abandon Brooklyn. We agreed early on to always use the buddy system when we went out at night which is partly how I got wrangled into this mess in the first place. And if I’m not being forced to join her for a night of heavy drinking and possible hook ups, I usually make sure she’s with someone who won’t flake out at two in the morning and leave her stranded at some off campus fraternity party.

Because bad things happen to girls who think there is safety in a party of one.

I’m hoping if I ignore Mr. Beautiful long enough, he’ll simply go away. That’s usually my go-to weapon of defense. And most of the time, it’s effective.

“Hey, are you going to answer me?” Again his voice is rather distractingly right at my ear. I can practically feel his warm breath slipping over my flesh. Little shivers of pleasure laced with just a bit of fear skitter their way down my spine. I grit my teeth in response still trying to ignore him.

Good looking or not, this is just plain annoying. Most of my irritation is actually directed at myself for the reaction he’s able to pull so effortlessly from me. It’s taken the better part of nine months to emotionally deaden myself. And somehow this guy has shot all my hard work to hell with two adorable dimples and a pair of gorgeous whiskey colored eyes. Not to mention the rest of the package.

Yeah, it’s definitely best not to think about that right now.

Without a word of warning, I spin towards him again. I’m hoping the element of surprise will have him backing off. Of course he’s much closer than I anticipate. And so, with the shitty luck I’m having this evening, I crash right into his rather impressively muscled chest.

Did I happen to mention just how hard those muscles feel beneath the soft pads of my fingers?

Or that I might actually enjoy running my hands slowly over what I imagine to be completely amazing pecks?