Page 1 of His Virgin Valentine

1

I HAVE A CONFESSION TO MAKE

Gemma

Ihave a confession to make.

Addictions come in many forms…and Wyatt Everdeen is mine.

Unbeknownst to my sexy neighbor, I watch him through the peephole of my apartment door.

How often?

Every day and every chance I get.

To be honest, ever since he moved in next-door to me, I’ve had a thing for him.

I know it’s risky and creepy to spy on him, but I can’t stop. Wyatt Everdeen makes me weak everywhere.

Every day around the same time, I wait by my front door and listen for his motorcycle engine to turn off.

Vroom…brrrrr…clink…clink.

I can hear it all from my fourth-floor kitchen window.

Squeeee! He’s back!

With a love-struck smile on my face, I wait to hear his boots clunking across the hallway floor. Wyatt wears sexy biker boots with chains and they jingle and punctuate each of his footsteps. This is how I know the exact moment that he’s going to pass by my apartment door.

Clunk…clink…clunk…clink…clunk…clink.

My breath hitches in my chest, and then—like an obsessed fiend—I press my eye against my peephole and watch him walk by.

God, he’s so gorgeous.

I love his chiseled jawline and perfect lips. If I’m lucky, I’ll get to watch him run a hand through his short tousled bad boy hair.Oh my God! He just did it!

Oh Wyatt…Wyatt…Wyatt. How do I love thee? From my obsessed heart, I send you these three fervent words: Love. Love. Love.

“Excuse me? Did someone say something?” he asks over his shoulder.

My heart leaps.Oh shit!Did I just say that out loud?

“Who’s there?” he asks on an exhale. “I can’t see you, but I KNOW I heard something.”

With my heart in my throat, I watch his deep blue eyes scan the hallway.

Oh wow. He’s so drool-worthy.

This is the longest amount of time I’ve been able to stare at him. Right now, he’s wearing a leather jacket, a black t-shirt, and distressed blue jeans with biker boots. His whole outfit reflects a devil-may-care attitude.

Wyatt Everdeen is pure alpha male, and exactly the kind of man I want.

Dammit. Just as he goes to scrub a hand over his jaw in frustration, my breath fogs up the peephole and makes it difficult to see.

What’s he looking at?

I quickly wipe the fog from my peephole with the sleeve of my sweater.

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