Ave Michaels is an out-and-proud cynical romantic who never had her heart broken (considering she has to fall in love first.)
That is until, in order to get published, she has to prove she's a versatile writer by writing a romance novel.
Throw in a...
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"In Which Reality is a Teenage Purgatory Known as High School"
(Pt. 2)
· · ·
Taking my surprised reaction as an opportunity to escape, he tugs at his arm again.
Bad news for him, I don't get disarmed that easily. My grip on him is still as tight as ever. I twist his arm even more.
He grunts in pain and settles to shoving his hand at my face.
"Why you little"— his hand covers my mouth before I can say whatever curse I can spit at him
"SSHH, do you want Crankston or Mathers to find us?" Emile whispers matter-of-factly.
I scowl. As if that explains why he just suddenly decided to grab me and drag me to a dark corner!
"Owie, my wrist," he wheezes.
I exhale heavily and let go of his arm. I raise my hands to show him I don't mean any further harm.
Emile steps back a couple of feet away from me. Puffing at the few blonde baby hairs that float lazily on his big baby-blue eyes, he rolls the sleeves of his gaudily-printed Versace sweatshirt to his elbows.
He rubs his wrist while shooting me a glare as he does so. Like it's my fault!
I scowl. "Don't look at me like that."
He puffs again and raises his pert nose in the air, expecting me to apologize. As if!
I sigh, running my fingers through my hair. "You know how I don't take surprises lightly."
His small thin lips purse, knowing all full well that it was a given fact.
I do not like surprises. Ever.
I stare at him for a second. He guiltily avoids my eyes. Always the lady.
I sigh again and try to change the subject. "What are you doing here, anyway?"
He looks at me with a poor-me face, his pout even more pronounced with his plump cheeks sucked in and the soft narrow slope of his jaw emphasized.
His bright-eyed gaze is solemn, reminding me of a dewy-faced cherub in an old Baroque* painting with his soft near-feminine features and mid-length blonde tresses, reflecting multiple tones of honey, gold, and butter.
Oh shit.
Emile doesn't look like this unless it was serious.
