I mean, I’m sure he has a name, but that’s what Cece and I call him because we don’t know his name. He’s just this whole dreamboat who saunters around campus with enough effortless BDE to make you start believing in or wishing for an MRS degree.
He makes feminism run from the building.
My eyes widen, and I immediately whip my face toward Cece, whose mouth is open in a delighted way. She stealthily scurries back to me, sliding into her seat.
“God, he’s so hot,” she whispers in my ear, making me jump even though I know she’s next to me.
Hot Guy and Professor Tate greet each other and begin speaking quietly.
I nod discreetly. “So hot.”
The professor’s nodding before he pats him on the shoulder. Oooh, they look so defined. Is admiring men’s shoulders a kink? Because I think I have that one.
Cece and I both slowly lean forward, inch by inch, hoping to hear whatever they’re saying, but we can’t. We can just see that there’s a lot of smiling, so whatever’s being said isn’t bad.
“How are his teeth so white?” she whispers. “And his eyes so blue ...”
“Because he’s like a study of what men should look like.”
Hot Guy’s the perfect mix of a dimple and a cocky smile, dark eyelashes, and crystal-blue eyes. He has the blackest hair, like ink, and his skin’s so tan and smooth. He’s delicious.
“I bet he never breaks out.”
I feel her nod. “And he always smells good ... even when he sweats.”
Who needs celebrity crushes when we have Hot Guy.
“God, look at the way he stands, even that’s sexy,” Cece offers, unknowingly in tune with my thoughts.
I hum an agreement, because his hand’s on top of a chair, making his forearms all veiny. It’s so casual and nonchalant, and yet I’m feral. Cece rests her chin on my shoulder as we both stare. Taking him all in.
That is until the professor looks up, and we jerk away, almost bumping faces like two horny Lucy and Ethels pretending we weren’t ogling.
“Change of plans, players. This is Oliver—”
Cece and I look at each other, eyebrows raised.
Oliver,she mouths like she’s saying something naughty, and I smile.
“I don’t usually agree to this, but I’m allowing him to test early. In fact, I was elated when he asked because that meant I could help him make it to his first audition for the off-Broadway playPerfect Crime.”
There’s pause for applause, and we provide it, but all while my eyes drift overhim. God, the way he smiles has the kind of aw-shucks boyish charm that makes you love him even more.
A humble man ... Who knew such a thing existed on a college campus.
Professor Tate continues congratulating Oliver, singing his praises, as I turn my head ever so slightly, quietly saying, “Now, if Ollie was in our class, I might be more excited for this stupid midterm.”
She snorts. “Yeah right. You’d crumble like a cookie face-to-face with that stunner.”
I scowl, turning more so I face her. “Excuse you ... I have game ... You don’t even know what kind of seduction skills I wield. I’m known for my sexual energy ... I’m a magnet for hot guys.”
She’s nodding with a thumbs-up and a smirk. “Oh yeah, you’re a real hellcat.”
We both giggle. She knows me well enough to know that everything I’m saying is a complete lie.
Offensively hot guy falls for gorgeous quirky nerdonly happens in movies or cute young adult books. We may have our good looks in common, but I’m positive that’s it.
Because unless the model-guy dating market has made a swing toward girls who, all too often, have to apologize for saying things out loud that were meant to be kept inside ... or girls who wear sneakers because heels cause a danger to themselves and those around them ... then the idea of me and a guy like Oliver doesn’t exist.
