and almost fainted on the spot. The hood had long fallen and the atrocity that was my head was in full view. My bangs stood up in all directions, and my ponytail was as disheveled as it’d ever been. My eyes were puffy and red. And was that a piece of Butterfinger stuck to my chin?
I groaned and tried to smooth down my hair, sparing a quick glance at Slade—Hunter—through the mirror. He was at the front speaking to old Marco, who looked delighted to have him over, as if he’d known him from before. Picking off the tiny piece of chocolate off my chin, I watched the guy, tilting my head to the side. Ignore his mouth. Ignore the fact that he couldn’t go two minutes without getting under my skin.
But Hunter was…damn. He was a sight to behold. The blonde hair, those grayish eyes, that perfect, chiseled jawline. Like Ash, he was more than good-looking. Not beautiful , because he wasn’t. If anything, it was a hard, icy beauty, something that I’d love to photograph and pin in my collage. Maybe, in the distant future, when he and I became friends—really, he looked like he’d be an awesome friend, if he’d take the pole out of his ass—I could ask him to let me take a picture of him. That truly was a face worthy of the lens.
I finished fixing myself up and, taking out a bobby pin from my back pocket, pushed my bangs back and pinned them in place. My eyes drifted to him and latched onto his hair. Tousled. Unkempt. Such a light blonde that it almost looked white…
No.
It almost looked…silver.
Right at that moment, a tuft of light kissed my nose, and I jumped back. It winked out of sight, fluttered across my neck and caressed my cheek. I reached up to slap it away. Nothing. Frowning, I glanced at Hunter’s reflection, only to pause when I saw that he was already looking at me. After holding my gaze for a moment too long, he turned away as if to hide a smile.
Yeah. Okay. To each their damn own.
And then I saw him.
Through the storefront window, I had a complete view of the street, the sidewalks, and everything in between. Shay’s Shakes stood in front of Marco’s, and when I saw who walked out of its doors, hand-in-hand with a tall, slender beauty, I stopped on my tracks.
Ash. None other than damn Ash.
Like an idiot, I ducked in the aisle and watched them over a paintbrush display. They both held milkshakes and were laughing at something, though Ash was watching her laugh more than he was laughing himself. His eyes were warm. Soft. Something inside me broke. A lung, I thought, tightening my mouth. Nothing more.
Grudgingly, I inspected her. Wit h long, dark hair and a model-like frame, she looked as if she would be from Korea or Vietnam. Her almond-shaped eyes were outlined with liquid kohl. Lots of blush, a light sweep of lip gloss, and tight clothes. She had a bombshell body, so her outfit was a total win. Her make-up looked a little caked on. The only imperfection. She was still gorgeous.
I didn’t understand. I’d seen him. I’d sworn he was that boy. And yet he was sitting here as if nothing— No. I should forget that. Right now, I was a girl with mundane problems. Like an unrequited crush. It was perfect. It helped me get it off my mind, whatever the hell happened thirty minutes ago.
And then I realized.
My bike. My damn bike. It was across the street, locked to the pole that stood in front of the bench. The damn bench. The damn bench Pretty Asian Girl pointed to. The damn bench Ash and P-A-G proceeded to sit on, still holding hands.
Someone please kill me now.
Nerves standing on end, I walked down the aisle, keeping an eye on them through the window. Ash didn’t notice my bike. In fact, he was looking at her, and only at her. Good. And not so good. He wouldn’t know I was nearby. But he also seemed to be engrossed in what she was saying, and that was more than enough to break my other lung. Tear it apart. Rip it to shreds— “She’s quite attractive,” a cool voice said behind
I groaned and tried to smooth down my hair, sparing a quick glance at Slade—Hunter—through the mirror. He was at the front speaking to old Marco, who looked delighted to have him over, as if he’d known him from before. Picking off the tiny piece of chocolate off my chin, I watched the guy, tilting my head to the side. Ignore his mouth. Ignore the fact that he couldn’t go two minutes without getting under my skin.
But Hunter was…damn. He was a sight to behold. The blonde hair, those grayish eyes, that perfect, chiseled jawline. Like Ash, he was more than good-looking. Not beautiful , because he wasn’t. If anything, it was a hard, icy beauty, something that I’d love to photograph and pin in my collage. Maybe, in the distant future, when he and I became friends—really, he looked like he’d be an awesome friend, if he’d take the pole out of his ass—I could ask him to let me take a picture of him. That truly was a face worthy of the lens.
I finished fixing myself up and, taking out a bobby pin from my back pocket, pushed my bangs back and pinned them in place. My eyes drifted to him and latched onto his hair. Tousled. Unkempt. Such a light blonde that it almost looked white…
No.
It almost looked…silver.
Right at that moment, a tuft of light kissed my nose, and I jumped back. It winked out of sight, fluttered across my neck and caressed my cheek. I reached up to slap it away. Nothing. Frowning, I glanced at Hunter’s reflection, only to pause when I saw that he was already looking at me. After holding my gaze for a moment too long, he turned away as if to hide a smile.
Yeah. Okay. To each their damn own.
And then I saw him.
Through the storefront window, I had a complete view of the street, the sidewalks, and everything in between. Shay’s Shakes stood in front of Marco’s, and when I saw who walked out of its doors, hand-in-hand with a tall, slender beauty, I stopped on my tracks.
Ash. None other than damn Ash.
Like an idiot, I ducked in the aisle and watched them over a paintbrush display. They both held milkshakes and were laughing at something, though Ash was watching her laugh more than he was laughing himself. His eyes were warm. Soft. Something inside me broke. A lung, I thought, tightening my mouth. Nothing more.
Grudgingly, I inspected her. Wit h long, dark hair and a model-like frame, she looked as if she would be from Korea or Vietnam. Her almond-shaped eyes were outlined with liquid kohl. Lots of blush, a light sweep of lip gloss, and tight clothes. She had a bombshell body, so her outfit was a total win. Her make-up looked a little caked on. The only imperfection. She was still gorgeous.
I didn’t understand. I’d seen him. I’d sworn he was that boy. And yet he was sitting here as if nothing— No. I should forget that. Right now, I was a girl with mundane problems. Like an unrequited crush. It was perfect. It helped me get it off my mind, whatever the hell happened thirty minutes ago.
And then I realized.
My bike. My damn bike. It was across the street, locked to the pole that stood in front of the bench. The damn bench. The damn bench Pretty Asian Girl pointed to. The damn bench Ash and P-A-G proceeded to sit on, still holding hands.
Someone please kill me now.
Nerves standing on end, I walked down the aisle, keeping an eye on them through the window. Ash didn’t notice my bike. In fact, he was looking at her, and only at her. Good. And not so good. He wouldn’t know I was nearby. But he also seemed to be engrossed in what she was saying, and that was more than enough to break my other lung. Tear it apart. Rip it to shreds— “She’s quite attractive,” a cool voice said behind
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