CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: in which she meets him part 2- SHONDRA

Twelve years ago (one hour before)

SHONDRA (continued)

I’d snuck more than a few glances at him. More than I had at any man. I liked the way he moved... gracefully, as if the ball were part of his hand.

Tall, with wavy blond hair and light eyes, he knew he was handsome. I could tell by the way he had taken off his Harvard hoodie, carelessly tossing it on the ground. It was there in the slow look-at-me-way he’d run a hand over his abs before flexing his sculpted arms, stretching them towards the heavens.

Yep, this Mr. Harvard knew he was something.

Duke was like that as well—even to the point he was working on his body to back it up. When he’d cornered me in the janitorial closet last week, Duke had made a point of planting his muscled arms close to my head as he tried to steal a kiss.

Tried being the operative word. I kneed that fool so hard, he’d dropped like an anchor, straight to the floor. I left him there in the dark, coughing and moaning like a little bitch. Served him right. No man would take from me what I didn’t want to give—not any more.

When I have my first real kiss, it will be with someone I want to be with.

Unlike the only kiss I’d received, my first real kiss wouldn’t taste like beer and cigarettes.

My sight turned inward, thinking of that day. When the past grabbed a hold of me, I spaced out for a few minutes, sometimes longer. Eventually I’d snap myself from my trance and go about my business. This time, when I came back to the world, Mr. Harvard’s eyes were on me, searching, probing, taking me in from head to toe.

Guys had tried to devour me before, sure, and I brushed it off like I would an insect crawling on my arm. This boy, this man, had my heart lurching and my stomach pounding. Puzzled by my instant attraction, I bent my head and pretended to read. Seconds later, I hazard a peek to see if Mr. Harvard was still looking. He wasn’t. He had the ball under one long arm while he used his mouth (and what a beautiful mouth it was) to argue with Michael.

Michael’s thin brown lips moved in ugly strokes and his beady eyes shot daggers in my direction. That damn fool was probably calling me all sorts of names because I’d turned him down. Clown was mad because he couldn’t get some. Lousy pig. All Michael and his type wanted was to break me in, not build me up.

I’m not about to settle for that.

Mr. Harvard seemed of the same mind. He threw the ball at Michael, hitting him square in the gut. The smack the projectile made when it connected with his flesh made me smile. Michael was part of Duke’s clique and I hated him almost as much as his fearless leader. They ran through girls like berries through a goose, their droppings, or victims, left on the pavement.

Mr. Harvard turned his back, missing Michael’s scowl. He picked up his hoodie, dragged it over his head and down his long torso, watching me, watching him. His smile grew wider. He left the court, headed my way.

All right, Mr. Harvard. Let me see your worth. Are you strong steel or weak-ass chaff that I’ll cut and let the wind blow away?

The confidence Mr. Harvard exuded as he swaggered towards me like a sailor back on shore didn’t win him any points. In fact, I barely kept from rolling my eyes.

Chaff then.

However, I gave him a little leeway when he didn’t sit down without asking, plant a dirty shoe near my bag, or lean in to grab my attention with a tired-ass line.

As we talked, the man...Axel won me over with his sincerity, his intelligence, and his abundant charm. He didn’t make me feel less of a person because of my affinity for math and science, and he didn’t try to undress me with his eyes. He seemed legit. When he asked if I wanted to go see a film, I readily agreed.

“Oh, that one looks good,” I said, pointing out a romcom my mom had said she wanted to see. Axel moved in closer, bending his head and—

What is he doing?

Is he sniffing me?

I never had a guy sniff me before.

Cute!

“Are you sniffing me, Axel?”

“Um, no.”

He lied.

Damn! I wanted to trust him too.