Perfect Fit (Derek Hale Fanfiction Book #1)

Chapter Two: Unexpected Savior

A/N: Derek Hale played by Tyler Hoechlin on the side! --> 

“Come on, Scott. Please wake up,” I begged him, slapping his ruddy cheek in the hopes that that might jog him back into consciousness, but no luck. I was sitting on the side of the road with Scott’s head in my lap. We’d been walking for an hour, but we didn’t even know if we’d been going in the right direction because of the heavy sheets of water that were falling relentlessly from the dark stormy clouds up above. Eventually, Scott had passed out, presumably from the excess blood loss and now I was stuck. I could leave him and keep walking to find help, or I could stay here and hope that someone would come along and spot us. So far, I’d been doing the latter. This is ridiculous, Christina. Man up and keep walking, I told myself determinedly.

          I scrambled up, my soaking wet short shorts clinging to my upper thighs like Band-Aids and my tank top now completely see-through (how was I supposed to know it was going to rain tonight and that wearing a white tank top was a bad idea? I wasn’t psychic!) I reached down to wrap my arms around Scott’s chest, and was in the process of heaving him up when someone else’s big hands replaced mine, easily sliding Scott away from me and into their arms.

“Hey!” I cried out indignantly, thinking it was some sort of predator. I lashed out, smacking my hands against their broad, muscular, rock hard chest and swiping at their face.

“Whoa, there Buffy, I’m not a rapist or a murderer or anything. I’m just here to help you,” a deep velvety voice said coolly, and I looked up at my unexpected savior. It was a man, probably around Michael’s age, who had an enormously buff physique that was currently acting a sort of buffer against the rain – I was no longer being assaulted by lashes of ice cold water that left my face and exposed skin stinging and raw. Along with inhumanly muscled arms, this guy also had dark hair that was plastered down to his head, a beard of black stubble on his face, and piercing hazel eyes. His thin pink lips were pressed tightly together as he assessed whether or not I was going to attack him again.

             Damn, I thought, my midnight black eyes widening of their own accord. Even if he was a murderer, I still probably wouldn’t have hit him again. He was way too gorgeous to even lay one finger on. Get a grip, Laymen. I’m sure rapists don’t exactly walk around wearing a name tag that says “Hi my name is Bob and I’m a rapist.” But for some reason, this guy looked vaguely familiar. Not speaking-terms familiar, but more like see-around-town-occasionally familiar. Did he go to Beacon Hills High? Maybe.

Collecting myself, I looked up into his eyes, ready to shoot back a witty retort and found he was staring at my chest. See?! He IS a rapist! my inner voice screamed triumphantly, but I rolled my eyes internally. No he’s not a rapist, he’s just a guy. I’d forgotten that my white tank top was totally transparent. I crossed my arms across my chest, adequately covering my hot pink bra and sending him the message that I’d caught him checking me out.

“Why should I trust you? I don’t even know you,” I pointed out.

“Yes, you do.” I raised my eyebrows at his response, signaling that he should continue because I had no idea what the hell he was talking about. “I graduated from Beacon Hills High last year. My name is-“

“Derek Hale,” I blurted out as it suddenly clicked. The face, the body, the voice – Derek was the enigmatic captain of the swim team who I’d admired from afar all of freshman year. He’d been a senior, but he was 19 because he had to repeat a year due to an unexplained prolonged absence during his sophomore year. We’d had the same lunch period, and every day I’d sit with Scott and Stiles and sigh about how cute Derek was, and how smart, and mysterious. They’d eventually forbidden me to talk about him, and when he’d graduated I’d lost hope of a relationship between the two of us (it was all in my head, anyway).