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LANA
His perfect profilepulled me in.
He sat in the car next to mine, staring down at his lap, unaware of my gaze. I knew I should look away, but the dark stubble lining his sharp jaw and the perfect shape of his nose and cheekbones had me rooted in place.
I don't think I'd ever been quite so struck by how handsome someone was. At least not to the point that I lost track of what I was doing. I kept looking at the driver's window as I walked between our cars.
I finally managed to drag my attention away.
As I tried to pull the gift and the casserole I'd made out of my passenger side, he opened his driver's door, making impact with mine. I gasped at the sharp crack and pushed my door halfway closed.
"Oh!" I exclaimed.
"Shoot," he said, his voice deep and rich. "Sorry about that."
I turned and my eyes landed on the handsome man I’d been admiring seconds earlier. A hint of a smile played on his lips, making my stomach do a weird flip.
He was even more good-looking up close. My mind went completely blank.
For a moment, as I looked into his soft brown eyes framed by perfect, dark eyebrows, I forgot what the heck I'd been doing or thinking about.
I swallowed hard, struggling to form coherent words.
"That’s okay," I finally managed, flashing a small smile in return.
He smiled a little sheepishly. "I was worried about being late. Not paying attention."
He straightened to his full height, and my eyes followed his up until I was craning my neck to look at him. I wondered if my brain was going to come back online for the rest of the night.
He was well over six feet tall, dark brown hair, and so well-built. I felt like I was standing next to someone from an action movie.
His fitted shirt showed off his thick chest and I couldn’t help but notice how all the muscles in his arm flexed as he shut his door.
I noticed an intricate tattoo wrapping around his right arm. The black ink contrasted nicely against his tan skin. I could see hints of more tattoos peeking out from the neckline of his t-shirt, making me wonder what otherbody arthe was hiding underneath his clothes.
I imagined running my fingers over each marking. I had never wanted to tear a shirt off a man more than I did at that moment.
I would’ve been a little intimidated by a man like him if it wasn’t for his soft smile and boyish twinkle in his eyes.
My purse slid off my shoulder and hit the ground. He immediately picked it up and handed it to me. My fingers brushed his as I took it, and either I felt an electric jolt of attraction or something in my brain was about to pop.
I pressed my back against my closed car door. It seemed like there was barely more than a few inches between us. And I felt in danger of swooning and falling forward against him. Especially since he kept staring into my eyes, his brow drawn down in a slight frown.
I quickly assessed for any damage from our doors colliding.
"My car's fine," I blurted. "No damage that I can see. Yours?"
My voice came out a little too high and too tight. It probably didn’t surprise him. He must have had that effect on a lot of women.
I wanted to reach out and touch his chest. Was it as firm and muscular as it looked through his shirt?
"Mine's fine too," he said, one side of his lips turning up.
Oh yes. Yes it is.
He held his hand toward me. "Dylan Easton."
