Hopeless(10)
He’s holding two sacks down at his side with one hand while he rubs the back of his neck with his other hand. I’m really wishing the weather were still shitty and rainy so he wouldn’t be standing here right now. He rests his eyes on mine and the look of contempt from inside the store is now replaced with a crooked grin that seems a bit forced in our current predicament. Now that I have a closer look at him, it’s apparent the stomach virus isn’t the root of the sudden stomach issues at all.
It’s simply him.
Everything about him, from his tousled dark hair, to his stark blue eyes, to that…dimple, to his thick arms that I just want to reach out and touch.
Touch? Really, Sky? Get ahold of yourself!
Everything about him causes my lungs to fail and my heart to go into overdrive. I have a feeling if he smiles at me like Grayson tries to smile at me, my panties would be on the ground in record time.
As soon as my eyes leave his physique long enough for us to make eye contact again, he releases the tight grip he has on his neck and switches the sack to his left hand.
“I’m Holder,” he says, extending his hand out to me.
I look down at his hand, then take a step back without shaking it. This whole situation is entirely too awkward for me to trust him with this innocent introduction. Maybe if he wouldn’t have pierced me with his intense glare in the store, I would be more susceptible to his physical perfection.
“What do you want?” I’m careful to look at him with suspicion rather than awe.
His dimple reappears with his hasty laugh and he shakes his head, then looks away again. “Um,” he says with a nervous stutter that doesn’t match his confident persona in the least. His eyes dart around the parking lot like he’s looking for an escape, and he sighs before locking eyes with me again. His multitude of reactions confuses the hell out of me. He seems close to disgusted by my presence one minute, to practically running me down the next. I’m usually pretty good at reading people, but if I had to make an assumption about Holder based on the last two minutes alone, I’d have to say he suffers from split-personality disorder. His sudden shifts between flippant and intense are unnerving.
“This might sound lame,” he says. “But you look really familiar. Do you mind if I ask what your name is?”
Disappointment sets in as soon as the pick-up line escapes his lips. He’s one of those guys. You know. The incredibly gorgeous guys who can have anyone, anytime, anywhere and they know it? The guys that, all they have to do is flash a crooked smile or a dimple and ask a girl her name and she melts until she’s on her knees in front of him? The guys that spend their Saturday nights climbing through windows?
I’m highly disappointed. I roll my eyes and reach behind me, pulling on the door handle to my car. “I’ve got a boyfriend,” I lie. I spin around and open the door, then climb inside. When I reach to pull the door shut, I’m met with resistance when it refuses to budge. I look up to see his hand grasping the top of the car door, holding it open. There’s a hard desperation in his eyes that sends chills down my arms.
He looks at me and I get chills? Who the hell am I?
“Your name. That’s all I want.”
I debate on whether or not I should explain to him that my name isn’t going to help him in his stalking endeavors. I’m more than likely the only seventeen-year-old left in America without an online presence. With my grip still on the door handle, I discharge a warning shot with my glare. “Do you mind?” I say sharply, my eyes darting to the hand that’s preventing me from shutting my door. My eyes trail from his hand to the tattoo written in small script across his forearm.
Hopeless
I can’t help but laugh internally. I am obviously the target of Karma’s retaliation today. I’m finally introduced to the one guy that I find attractive, and he’s a high school dropout with the word hopeless tattooed on himself.
Now I’m irritated. I pull on the door one more time, but he doesn’t budge.
“Your name. Please.”
The desperate look in his eyes when he says please prompts a surprisingly sympathetic reaction from me, way out of left field.
“Sky,” I say abruptly, suddenly feeling compassion for the pain that is clearly masked behind those blue eyes of his. The ease at which I give in to his request based off of one look leaves me disappointed in myself. I let go of the door and crank my car.
“Sky,” he repeats to himself. He ponders this for a second, then shakes his head like I got the answer to his question wrong. “Are you sure?” He cocks his head at me.