I glanced around, then made a fist and gave the vending machine a small bang or two.
Nothing happened.
“Dammit.”
“Ah, this one is temperamental,” said a tenor voice beside me, wearing a British accent. “The moodiest of the lot.”
I looked up.
Okay, so he’s beautiful.
The thought slipped into my mind like a cat through an open door.
I was 5’6”, but the guy towered over me, easily six feet and probably one of the most handsome guys I’d ever seen in person. The kind of handsome that made you forget your own name. He belonged in aHollywood movie or TV show instead of standing in front of a busted vending machine.
I must’ve been staring because he grinned at me, a blinding smile of perfect white teeth. It hit me full force, warm and electric, like a spotlight. His light-brown skin was, in a word, flawless, and his rich dark-brown eyes were full of intelligence, and yet twinkling.Twinkling.I would never in my life use that word and expect to be taken seriously, but this guy’s eyestwinkledwith humor and more than a touch of arrogance. He wore jeans and a polo shirt that screamedmoney, as did his fade haircut—short on the sides, a mop of loose dark curls on top.
Definitely not a Bender. Not by a mile. Which meant he was a Richie. The opposite end of the social spectrum from me, which meant the social gulf between us was a mile wide.
No, Britain/Rhode Island-wide.
That didn’t stop me from gawking at him like an idiot.
He eyed me, amused. “Like some help?”
“What?” I blinked. “Oh. The damn thing ate my money.”
“You must be new or else you’d know to steer clear of Bandit. He’s a thief.”
“You name the vending machines?”
“Of course,” he said, as if it were natural to name inanimate objects. “I’ve been here three years. This school has six vending machines, and I know all of their quirks and foibles.”
Foibles. Good word.
“Bandit, as you’ve learned the hard way, loves to chew up your money.”
The guy leaned in, drawing me into his aura of cologne, soap, and designer clothes—all of him expensive and clean but not overdone. Not like the clouds of Axe body spray the guys back home wore. His scent was…
Sexy. It’s sexy and I must be losing my mind.
“But I’ll let you in on a secret,” he continued with a grin. “Bandit’s a bit of a masochist. He likes when you rough him up a little.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“I’ll show you. What were you after?”
“F-3.”
He squinted, searching the rows of snacks.
I pointed. “That one.”
“Ah, yes. Come now, Bandit, do not steal this lovely girl’s quid. You want a bit of a beating, do you? Perhaps a good spanking?”
And now I was blushing. I never blushed.
He made a fist and pounded the glass over F-3, whacked the side, then grabbed the whole machine and gave it a good rattle. My protein bar was jostled loose, as well as another stuck bar from a different coil.
