Read Online Scenes From the City: A Knitting in the City Wintertime Surprise by Penny Reid - Free Book Online Page A

three minutes. People would typically mention that they’d seen me or that I looked familiar; they’d ask me benign yet friendly questions about my major and where I was from. Fern would cut in, tell a scandalous joke or flirt with someone’s boyfriend; then we’d be off to the next suite.
    It seemed Fern knew everyone, and everyone was really nice; but I was feeling somewhat overwhelmed by all the socialization, new faces, and new names. Regardless, even with the brief introductions, I got the feeling that this exercise was an initiation of sorts.
    People would talk to me now.
    I felt certain that now, after even such a hasty introduction, people would wave, stop me in the hall, ask me to join them on social outings or runs to the store. Although it seemed like such a simple thing, for the first time in my life I realized the importance of an introduction. An introduction by a mutual friend buys instant credibility, especially when the mutual friend was universally liked—as was the case with Fern.
    We were leaving the fifth suite area when I collided into a solid wall. When I glanced up I realized the solid structure wasn’t a wall at all. It was a boy. And this boy was glancing down at me with unveiled interest.
    “Hey, cutie.” His green eyes flickered over me, quick and assessing, and a lazy, blatantly flirtatious smile curved over his lips. I stepped back, lifting my chin to meet his gaze. He had long, thick blonde hair that fell to his jaw, a dazzlingly handsome face, a stocky and muscled torso—the shape of which was visible through his black T-shirt—and was inexplicably tan. As well he had an abundance of blonde chest hair that was poking out through the neck of his shirt.
    “Uh, hello.” I gave him a polite smile and stuck my hand out. “I’m Fiona.”
    “Hi, Fionaaaaah. ” He grinned widely, inadvertently drawing attention to the fact that his neck was approximately the same width as his head; his voice was maple syrup, dark and rich and too sweet to be taken seriously. “I’m Sasquatch.”
    “Sasquatch?”
    He nodded, “That’s right.”
    I pressed my lips together to keep from laughing because I could tell he found the nickname both sexy and flattering.
    “Oh,” I said and nodded. “Nice to meet you, Sasquatch.”
    Still holding my hand in one of his, he braced the other on the door frame above my head and loomed over me, his gaze moving up then down my body several times in a leisurely perusal.
    “So…” he licked his lips, “are you new here?”
    “Ugh! It’s you!” Fern’s exclamation came from behind me, and her hands closed over my shoulders, pulling me away from…He Who Calls Himself Sasquatch.
    “Oh, hey, sexy. I didn’t see you there.” Not missing a beat, Sasquatch leaned forward as though to give Fern a kiss.
    She placed her hand over his face—her palm on his mouth—and pushed him away.
    “Go away, beast.” She flicked her wrist then grasped my hand, maneuvering me around Sasquatch.
    “That’s not what you said this morning,” he called after us.
    Fern spun toward him, releasing my hand and flinging me away, and—again—I collided into a solid wall. And, again, it was not a wall but the chest of a boy.
    “Oph, excuse me-” I reached my hands out to steady myself and his came to my upper arms, likely with the same goal.
    “You have lice in your chest hair!” I heard Fern bellow at Sasquatch some distance behind me.
    I glanced up distractedly at this second boy I’d run into, wondering if he’d also be employing an aptly-titled fictional subspecies as a nickname—maybe the Yeti—then did a double-take when our eyes met.
    His face was completely calm, serene, though damp and reddish on his high cheek bones and the bridge of his undeniably masculine nose . This was likely from the perspiration associated with cardiovascular exercise in cold weather. His thick, dark brown hair was standing up and in spiky disarray, like he’d just taken off a hat. His