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Wait.
Not that one!
“What um…” my toes wiggle to prevent my fingers from anxiously touching my glasses again, “what do you think you need help with?”
“This assignment.”
“Writing letters to yourself?”
“The whole voice shit.”
“Finding your voice?”
“Yeah.” His broad, Prussian blue t-shirt covered shoulders innocently bounce. “I don’t get it.”
There’s no stopping my head from slightly tilting to the side. “What don’t you get?”
“Like how to find it, if it ain’t just the sound that’s comin’ out of my mouth or whatever.”
Must he.
Must he be sexy and adorable?!
Oh, and too young.
Can’t fucking forget that part.
It’s probably why he doesn’t know what I’m talking about.
He most likely slept through his senior year and is taking this course to make up for a credit he needed to officially get his diploma.
“Will you read this?” Hogan unexpectedly pulls out a loose piece of notebook paper from his spiral. “Tell me what you think?” The offering allows me to admire the intricate rope tattoos that wind themselves around his fingers. “Let me know if I’m in the right boat or if I’m tryin’ to sail a brig in a creek.”
His word choice furrows my brow. “A…what?”
“Type of boat.”
“You’re a boat guy, not a bike guy?”
“I’m a don’t limit myself guy.”
“Does that include with women?” leaves me before I can stop it.
It’s Hogan’s turn to look taken off guard.
Good.
Now, I’m not alone!
Because…What. The. Hell?!
Why would I say that out loud?!
“Uh, disregard that,” leaps off my tongue in tandem with me quickly snatching the paper he’s holding. “Let’s um…take a look at,” the sudden sight of a tiny drop of red trickling down my index finger has me switching gears on a high-pitched squeak, “shit!”
“That bad?” the thick, almost shaggy, brown haired male jokes.
“No, no,” I insist while hurriedly discarding the sheet on my short wooden desk, determined to get to my bag as fast as possible, “I’ve just got a bleeder.”
