Over. That about sums up everything in my life. Suspended from my college football team and forced to cut back my hours at The District bar because of my crappy grades, I can’t keep turning to my sister, Fable, and her pro-football playing husband, Drew, to bail me out. I just can’t seem to find my own way. Weed and sex are irresistible temptations—and it’s messed up that I secretly hand over money to our junkie mom. A tutor is the last thing I want right now—until I get a look at her.
Chelsea is not my type at all. She’s smart and totally shy. I’m pretty sure she’s even a virgin. But when she gives me the once over with those piercing blue eyes, I’m really over. But in a different way. I won’t deny her ass is killer, but it’s her brain and the way she seems to crave love—like no one’s ever given her any—that make me want her more than any girl I’ve ever met. But what would someone as seemingly together as her ever see in a screwed up guy like me?
“Anything else?” I ask them minutes later as I drop the check on their table.
Owen slaps his hand against the piece of paper and drags it toward him. “I think that’s it.”
“Great.” I smile but it feels brittle. “I can be your cashier or you can pay at the register.”
“Hey, what else can you be for us, huh?” one of Owen’s friends ask, making the other one laugh.
My cheeks are hot again and my mouth is open. I’m gaping at them like a dying fish and thankfully Owen rushes to my defense. “Shut the hell up, Des.” He glances up at me, all traces of the buzzed foolish boy who first walked in here gone. “He’s drunk. He doesn’t know what he’s saying.”
“I know exactly what I’m saying,” drunken Des mumbles, clamping his lips shut when Owen shoots him a deathly stare.
“It’s all right,” I say, backing away from them slowly. “Take your time.”
I turn to flee from their table when I hear someone slide out of the booth, strong fingers curling around my upper arm and stopping me from leaving. He’s standing directly behind me, the warmth from his body seeping into mine and I go completely still. Willing myself not to react, not to say something stupid and embarrass myself.
Look what he’s doing to me just by touching my arm. This sort of thing doesn’t happen to me. I don’t care about boys. I’ve been kissed a measly three times in my life, once by Cody Curtis the tongue thruster and he definitely doesn’t count.
So twice. Twice I’ve been kissed and I’m a virgin. A freaking virgin. Owen Maguire has player written all over him. I’m nothing to him.
So why is he touching me? Talking to me in that husky low murmur of his that slides over me like slow, warm honey?
“…need to talk to you. About this tutoring thing,” he’s saying and I wrench myself out of his grip, irritated that I didn’t pay attention to what he said at first.
“Just meet me Monday afternoon as scheduled and we should be good to go.” I turn to face him, a fake smile plastered to my face and he stares at my lips for a long, breath stealing second before he finally lifts those too pretty green eyes up to meet mine.
My lips are tingling like he actually kissed them. God.
“I don’t even know your name,” he murmurs.
ABOUT MONICA MURPHY: New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Monica Murphy is a native Californian who lives in the foothills below Yosemite. A wife and mother of three, she writes New Adult and contemporary romance for Bantam and Avon. She is the author of One Week Girlfriend and Second Chance Boyfriend.
Author Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5934418.Monica_Murphy
Amazon author page: http://www.amazon.com/Monica-Murphy/e/B00AVPYIGG
FOUR YEARS LATER Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/17978533-four-years-later?ac=1