Oh. My. Gods. - Weebly

high cheekbones. His lips are full and soft and yummily pink. The
kind that just make you want to grab him by the hair with both
hands—even though I can’t see his hair under the blue bandanna—
and make out until you can’t think anymore.
“Hi,” he says, his voice just low enough and smooth enough to
send shivers down my spine.
“Hi,” I say back.
Brilliant. Normally, speaking is not a problem for me, but I’m
hypnotized.
His mouth lifts up at one side, like he finds it funny that I’m staring
and incapable of speech. “Where did you run from?”
“Um,” I say, continuing my display of brilliance. A large portion
of my brain is distracted by the faint accent that makes his question
sound like a melody. I manage to gesture vaguely over my shoulder.
“The dock.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “That’s nearly eight kilometers.”
“What?” That’s like five miles. I’ve been running for over half an
hour. Even if I keep my same pace the whole way back I won’t have
time to shower before meeting Damian. And the way my thighs feel,
I’m definitely going back at a slower rate.
Great, I’m going to show up for my first day of school sticky and
smelling like sweat.
“There’s a shortcut,” Mr. Beautiful offers. Pointing to the rocks
at the edge of the beach, he explains, “That path will get you home
in half the time.”
I squint at the rocks, trying to find a path. All I see are big, beige
rocks and short, shrubby bushes that look like they might like to
scrape the crap out of my legs.
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