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Evidently, he is waiting for my reaction when I see him at his full height. He slides off his bike and approaches me, his boots thudding lazily on the flagstone path.
The Kharlees of the world, I can handle. I am not sure about my ability to handle this beast with pecs like a gorilla and eyes like a wolf. What is he doing? Why is he stalking toward me? What does he want? More importantly, why are there butterflies in my stomach?
“C-can I help you?” I curse myself for stammering.
“Sure can. I came to ask you out on a date.”
He doesn’t slow his ambling approach. The smirk on his self-assured face has spread into a boyish grin. And those eyebrows. Evil, evil eyebrows.
“And you are?”
Let’s see if I can guess his name. Cody. Jake. Travis. No, wait. He’s probably in a motorcycle gang. So…Snake? Spike? Shredder? Homewrecker?
“Crosby Nash.”
Where have I heard that name before? My mind flashes back to a party I was dragged to last year, and the pieces click into place. I’ve never actually seen the man, but I’ve heard about him. The weed dealer with the big dick. Great. Just the kind of riff-raff I need to be seen with in public.
He stops at the foot of the stairs leading up to the porch, waiting for me to approach. Well, I’m not going to come. But I will close the door now because I’m tired of wasting money by cooling the humid air outside. Oh shit, my internal monologue sounds a lot like my grandmother.
Instead, I take one step closer to the porch, leaving the daggum door open. I scan Crosby up and down as he balls his hair up in a messy man bun. I hate man buns, as a rule. I like guys who know how to groom themselves and shop for properly fitting clothes.
“Traditionally, a young man learns a lady’s name before asking her out on a date,” I say, leaning against one of the white columns that border the stairs. When did I move closer to him? I’d intended to keep my distance. That’s what a good, intelligent, capable woman like me does around guys like him.
“I already know who you are, Leela Gamble.”
Crosby now stands on the top step, and with his full height, his eyes are even with mine. This stranger knows my name. Awesome.
Unfazed, I reply, “You a student?”
“Yep.”
He’s lying. Does he not know his reputation precedes him? “Really? What’s your major?”
Crosby scoffs but not unkindly. “That’s your opener?”
“Are you serious? You came here to ask me out. The onus is on you to be the sparkling conversationalist.”
“How’m I doing?”
I shake my head as I continue sizing him up. He looks older than any student I know at Pine Mountain. He should know that.
“You’re doing…C-plus work so far.”
He briefly tosses his head back to laugh, and a strand of wavy, chin-length hair escapes his ridiculous man bun. The color is multi-hued, a sun-drenched light brown, and matches the amber flecks in his dark eyes.
“Fine. I’m pre-med.”
“Fancy.”
Crosby is clearly done with that part of the conversation and sprints right into: “Let me take you out tonight and earn extra credit, then.”
“I can’t tonight. I have a fundraiser,” I inform him.
“What kind of fundraiser?”
“For the animal shelter. They need to build an addition, so we’re going to help. Us and Zeta Gamma Nu.”
“Good cause,” Crosby says. “Even if Zeta Gramma Nu’s a bunch of assholes.”
