Playing with Fire, Tome 1 : A Beautiful Lie

At the sound of laughter and teasing voices, she glanced up from the book she was reading and brushed her auburn bangs out of her piercing green eyes. She watched the culprits of the interruption shove and push each other while they walked to the counter of the coffee shop with their backs to her. They continued behaving like twelve year olds while they placed their orders and moved off to the side to wait for their coffees. The playful insults they lobbed at each other made her smile wistfully and reminded her of siblings hiding their closeness and love for one another behind arm punches and silly name-calling. Not that she had any kind of idea what it was like to have a sibling. Or family, period. Watching their interaction surprised her by making her long for something she had no business wanting. There was nothing about her fellow male college students that ever held her interest. They were immature and annoying, and so far the ones she met only cared about who was buying the keg for the upcoming party or how quickly they could get to third base. She had too much at stake and too much invested in her future to waste time with people like that.

Feeling entirely too vulnerable where these strangers were concerned and the emotions they unwittingly forced into her heart, she pushed her long, wavy hair off of one shoulder and started to put her head back down to finish reading the night's Photojournalism assignment when one of the guys turned around. Her eyes locked with his and she felt her heart speed up. He was the type of man that made you sit up straight and pray to God your make-up still looked good after six hours of classes. He made you blush and want to look over your shoulder to see if he was really looking at you or a prettier girl behind you.

He wore faded jeans that hung low on his h*ps and a long-sleeved grey Abercrombie and Fitch shirt. Regardless of his obvious college student status, he was all man. He easily reached six feet, and while he wasn’t your typical, muscled jock, she could see the strength in his arms as he flexed to heft his backpack higher on one shoulder. The defined muscles of his chest stretched across the cotton fabric of his fitted shirt and made her hands itch with the need to smooth her palms against him or trace the word “Abercrombie” with the tips of her fingers just to feel the heat from his skin. He absently nodded his head at something his friend said, never taking his bright blue eyes off of her as he ran his long fingers through his short, midnight black hair.