in Spanish on the white board. I was one of his favorite students, which plays to my advantage because rather than yelling at me, he welcomes me to his class.
“Qué pasa, Frankie?” He barely glances my way as I stroll to the front of his classroom, stopping just short of Hudson’s desk.
Hudson’s face is stark white and his mouth is stuck in this sort of O shape that matches the huge roundness of his eyes. He wasn’t expecting this, but neither was I. I wasn’t expecting him at all. And that’s the point of everything—to embrace the unexpected.
“Hudson Walsh, I kinda have a thing for you. Maybe a big thing. Maybe small. I don’t know, but all I know is … ” I swallow hard as I mistakenly glance around the room and notice a few phones out, filming. I’m about to go viral.
“Yes, I walked toward your cousin at Friday’s dance. But I kissed you because of fate. And I love my stupid unicorn keychain, and our date was the best date I’ve ever had and I’m still sure I can beat you in a backward skate-off, but … ”
I took a breath, and in that time my rambling is cut off by the warmth of Hudson’s lips against mine.
He places a palm on either side of my face and leans down enough to match my height, his kiss pulling me up on my toes as my hands wrap around his wrists. The faint echo of whistles and clapping breaks through my personal sound barrier, and I start to smile from embarrassment. This kind of smile though, against Hudson’s? It’s worth the painful blush.
His mouth breaks away, tugging one last time on my bottom lip as his forehead rests against mine. A nervous giggle slips from my lips and my cheeks ache from smiling.
“Pretty sure one of those photos is ending up in the yearbook,” he says, chuckling.
I laugh with him and close my eyes, lifting back up on my toes to kiss him again, just in case someone needs one more shot. From now on, I’m always taking mine.
THE END
ABOUT GINGER SCOTT
Ginger Scott is an Amazon-bestselling, Goodreads Choice and Rita Award-nominated author from Peoria, Arizona. She is the author of several young and new adult romances, including bestsellers Cry Baby, The Hard Count, A Boy Like You, This Is Falling and Wild Reckless.
A sucker for good romance, Ginger's other passion is sports, and she often blends the two in her stories. When she's not writing, she's somewhere near a baseball diamond, either watching her son swing for the fences or cheering on her favorite baseball team, the Arizona Diamondbacks. Ginger lives in Arizona and is married to her college sweetheart whom she met at ASU (fork 'em, Devils).
I suck in a breath. Damn, this author is good. I’m about to flip the page to see what happens next when my passenger door flies open. A tall man slides into the front seat and gives me a devastating smile.
Wow, he’s sexy. But that doesn’t excuse his behavior.
“Why are you in my car?” I ask, noticing his sharp navy blue suit.
It doesn’t fit him. Okay, yes, it physically fits him—to a T, I might add—but the rest of him doesn’t seem to match. Sexy Suit Man might fill out his dapper threads, but the scruff on his jaw and tattoos climbing his neck give a different vibe.
Mama always told me not to judge a book by its cover, but in this case I can’t help it. This guy has heartbreaker written all over him.
I crane my neck to see what type of shoes he’s wearing.
“What are you looking at?”
“Your shoes,” I say. I set my book on the center console, fold my arms over my chest and scowl. “Don’t change the subject. What are you doing in my car?”
The handsome stranger isn’t deterred by my scowl and looks from me to his shoes and back. “What’s wrong with my shoes?”
“Nothing. They’re very nice.” I curl my nose and give them another onceover. “And shiny.”
He chuckles, and oh, dear Lord the deep, throaty sound shoots straight through me.