Read Unspoken (The Woodlands) for Free Online Page A

totally obsessed with him? Get a grip, I scolded myself. So what that he was so good looking he belonged on a movie poster? So what that he sent cute text messages? So what that every time I inhaled, I could smell a warm, inviting masculine scent? None of these were things I couldn’t find in some other guy. Okay, maybe not as good looking or as funny, but there had to be hundreds of non-Central College guys who smelled good.
    And had big hands and broad muscular chests. And tousled blond hair with a thousand different colors that would take me a year to catalog, with a matching scruff around his chin and upper lip. I wondered what that felt like if it was close to your skin. Would it feel scratchy or soft?
    “Something on my face?” Bo asked, his long fingers coming up to wipe at his cheek.
    “Uh, no, why?” I said, still staring.
    “Because you’re rubbing your cheek and staring at me like I have parts of my breakfast hanging off my chin.”
    Heat burned my cheeks as I realized I was stroking my face as I fantasized about the texture of Bo’s stubbled cheek against my skin.
    “Ah, no, just a scratch,” I lied, turning my nails inward, wincing at the pain as I scraped my skin too hard in compensation. “Don’t you type?” I tried to distract him. He was about the only one in class without a laptop.
    “I can, but I also have impulse control problems.” He shrugged. At my questioning look, he went on, “I’d want to play a game or something. But I do get them typed up. Want to share?”
    Why not. “Sure, text me your e-mail address and I’ll shoot you my notes.”
    The indent on the left side of his mouth deepened as he smiled with approval. Was it wrong that I wanted to stick my tongue into that groove? I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, a movement that caught Bo’s attention. His eyes shifted down to my lap and then up to my face again. My breath stopped, or maybe it was just time that froze, as he leaned toward me, his ocean-blue eyes now the color of water at midnight. All thoughts of my immutable rules, the reasons why to avoid him, were gone, replaced by the shape of his lips, the hot, dark hue of his eyes, and the warmth of his breath as his face came ever closer.
    His mouth brushed lightly across my cheek and I felt him inhale, his nose an infinitesimal space away from my jaw. His chest contracted, and he let out a waft of warm air that lifted my hair away from my neck. “You smell good, AnnMarie. It’s hard to concentrate, so I need my pen and paper to keep me on track.”
    I was still shuddering when he drew back. An earthquake had happened inside my body. He was going to utterly ruin me.

    TO: [email protected]
    FROM: [email protected]
    SUBJECT: Class notes
    ATTACHMENT: NotesDay2

    AM—

    Did I ever tell you I actually hate texting? My fingers are way too big for those tiny little squares. I might not be in class on Friday. Have something going on the night before. May be too sore to show up. I know it makes me sound like a lazy jackass, but can I borrow your notes if I don’t make it?

    Bo

    Sore? My God, was he telling me he was going to be having sex all night and would be too worn out to show up for class? This was probably the reason he asked for us to exchange notes. The balls of this guy. He knew he wasn’t going to show up and was planning ahead. Affronted, jealous, and upset with myself for even caring, my return message was terse.

    TO: [email protected]
    FROM: [email protected]
    SUBJECT: RE: Class notes

    Really? Sore. Whatever, but don’t make this a habit.

    AM

    TO: [email protected]
    FROM: [email protected]
    SUBJECT: RE: RE: Class notes

    AM—

    Promise not to do this often. Have plans this weekend? Let’s go talk to some plant experts and get our lab project out of the way.

    Bo

    What kind of ass was he? Bo was going to screw some girl so hard on Thursday night that he wouldn’t be able to make it to