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Mya
My heart stops beating.I suck in a deep breath and hold it as I watch him browse the shelves. My lungs burn as I continue to stare in awe of the man I've been lusting after for two long years.
Two years he's only ever seen me as a friend.
I've accepted that friendship since he's never given me any indication he was looking for more. Not just from me, but from anyone.
I've heard rumors, of course.
That he sneaks around with girls. To fill his needs and nothing more. But that's all they are— rumors. No one can seem to prove anything. No one can confirm details. And no none is confessing to being the person he's with.
Basically, I'm jealous of imaginary women who have potentially shared his bed.
The fire inside my chest becomes too much to bear. Slowly, releasing the breath I've been holding, I turn my back on the man I often dream about. Drool over. Ogle when I'm sure no one will notice, especially him.
He's a mystery to everyone, including myself. Even though we're friends, and I use that term somewhat loosely, I don't know much about him aside from the fact he's pre-med and rides a motorcycle. His muscular arms and shoulders are covered in tattoos, currently hidden beneath a leather jacket.
If I were to pigeonhole him, he'd be a bad boy. He puts off a rough, mysterious vibe. But after spending an entire semester studying with him, I also know he has a heart of gold. A sweeter side. The leather jacket and motorcycle aren't for appearances. He's not trying to look a certain part. In fact, he may dress the opposite of who he really is.
It all adds to his appeal, though.
Girls in college aren't looking for a guy they can bring home to Daddy. They're looking for one who will ideally piss him off. They want to rebel against everything their parents have warned them about.
And guys who look like Brady fit the mold perfectly.
Every girl's wet dream
A good time wrapped in a pretty package that Daddy would never approve of.
You don't consider him a forever kind of guy. He's the naughty mistake you make over and over again until the fun ends, the appeal wearing off.
Frowning at the thought, I attempt to focus on the rows and rows of textbooks in front of me. I already amassed a stack of books that are currently weighing my arms down. The walk back to the Zeta house is going to be hell. If Kora hadn't parked behind me, I would have driven, but she refused to wake up when I beat on her door this morning.
I reach for the shelf above my head, pressing the four other books and study materials against my chest for balance, when a hand suddenly reaches over my shoulder and startles me.
The books crash to the floor, causing me to jump backward, bumping into a rock-hard body. One hand snakes around my waist to keep me from falling, while the other snags the book I was reaching for.
"A little jumpy today?"
His voice is smooth as silk, causing a shudder to run up my spine. I try to ignore it, especially considering my back is pressed against his front, but my body betrays me, vibrating against his. His musky scent is intoxicating—oil and grease mixed with sweat. Like he just finished working on his bike and came directly here without showering.
I should be repulsed, but instead I become a jumbled mess of feelings as he continues to hold me with one hand and the book with the other.
"Brady," I state, finally finding my voice as I force myself to step out of his embrace, taking the book from his hand. I immediately feel the loss of his body heat. Miss his scent. The feel of his body pressed against mine.
I'm turned on, my cheeks flush. The deep, burning desire I've held for him over the years is back in full force, overwhelming all rational thought. Every synapse in my body is rapid firing.
"Mya." I can hear the tease in his voice, mimicking my greeting.
I turn and find Brady's eyes appraising me. They snap to mine, and there's a hint of a smile in them.
"Long time no see."
Yes. Too long. I haven't caught a glimpse of him the entire summer. It's like he vanished off the face of the Earth. Not that I was looking for him. I mean, that would be crazy. Silly. Unlike me.
Who am I kidding? I visited our coffee shop twice a week, every week. Different days. Different times of day. All in the hopes of running into him. Not that he goes there anymore. Why would he?
"How was your summer?" I ask, kneeling to collect my fallen stack of books.
