Author's Note: Wolfsong is a YA paranormal romance independently published through Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Smashwords ($2.99). I will be posting chapters here every few weeks until it is available in its entirety.
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I knew two things for certain: One, the girl with the mesmerizing eyes was staring at me again, and two, I would never have the balls to talk to her.
Still, I couldn’t help but seek her out of the crowd of unruly high school students loitering around the front doors. She didn’t really stand out, not to me at least. She was cheerleader material—five-three with long, platinum blonde hair that danced in the wind around a heart shaped face. I happened to be a sucker for the sort of girl to get muddy playing football with the guys. This girl would probably freak out if she broke a nail.
Then our eyes locked and it was all I could do to remember how to breathe, like all of the oxygen had been sucked from my lungs with one of those turkey basters. Wow. They were an angel’s eyes, blue as oceans, and I knew that one of these days, I’d have to talk to her.
She stood on the curb, giving me an impish smile as she pulled down the hem of her yellow sundress. A smile that promised of things to come, whether I liked it or not, and my stomach twisted.
I looked away, trying to fend off the rather demasculinizing blush burning my cheeks, thinking of dead kittens and cold showers. If anyone asked, I could pass it off as windburn. It was cold enough out here.
“Huh. I was beginning to think you fancied boys.” Greyson Meyer’s voice was a fly in my ear, slightly buzzing, his breath a warm reprieve from autumn’s chill. A smile laced through his next words: “I was getting a little excited.”
I gave him a shove with my shoulder, turning away from the blue-eyed girl. Greyson was my best friend—hell, my only friend—and played the part of a well behaved Christian boy. With tousled hair the color of sand and an innocent smile that could fool even God, he got straight-A’s, strived to graduate with honors, and played the trumpet in Rockfell High’s Jazz combo. Most people would never guess he was gay.
“Sorry to rain on your parade, but I’ve never been on that menu.”
“So, you like her?” He jerked his thumb in her direction.
I resisted the urge to look back at Angel Girl. “Well, sure. She’s pretty, yeah?” Wrong person to ask, of course. He gave me a wry grin and I shook my head. “But she’s not really my type.” Besides, I was kind of a foot-in-mouth sort of guy when it came to girls.
He rolled his eyes. “That’s why you were ogling her? Do you even have a type, besides big-boobed anime chicks? Which, by the way, are totally unproportional, if you really think about it.”
I cut him a look.
“All I’m saying is this: Live for the Now. Who cares about type? If you like her, go talk to her. It’s not like you’ve got anything to lose.”
Greyson snorted. “What dignity? This dignity?” With that, he reached behind me and groped my ass. I gave a bark of surprise and punched him in the shoulder. He merely shot me a too-innocent grin and gave me a shove. I lurched forwards, gaining my balance only to trip over the curb. One minute I was upright, the next I was eating cement. I tasted the copper tinge of blood as laughter boomed out around me.
“Nice fall.” Angel Girl’s voice was softly husky where I’d been expecting fluting and feminine. I groaned and looked up, my eyes catching hers. They sparkled with curiosity and concern. I sat up and wiped my bleeding lip with the sleeve of my jacket while she tried to stifle a grin. She failed. “Are you alright?”
“I’m alive.” But it didn’t feel like I would be for long—my heart was pinballing around in my throat and my palms were suddenly slick with sweat. I couldn’t stop staring. God. She was beautiful.
I pushed myself to my feet and glanced around behind me, ready to shoot laser-eyes at Greyson, but he was nowhere to be found. Instead I looked back to the girl, feeling suddenly sheepish. “Are those contacts?” And this was the reason I didn’t want to talk to her; I had no filter between my brain and my mouth, especially around girls. I always ended up sounding like a fool. I hauled my messenger bag back up on my shoulder.