Great-Hair Guy had changed me. He’d impacted my life in a way I would not forget. I felt “things” whenever he was anywhere close to me. And I promised myself that I was the only one who’d ever know what he did to me. It was my embarrassing and shameful secret.
I knew I’d be the only one who ever knew that Great-Hair Guy gave me feelings down below as surely as I knew that I was going to write for Harlequin some day. As surely as I knew that I would find my Harlequin hero. Out there. When I was ready.
Just like all the boys in high school, Great-Hair Guy didn’t seek me out. Didn’t even notice me. The only difference was, this time I cared.
And just to make my life more miserable, there was a geology lab that I was required to attend if I wanted to fulfill my science credit and graduate from college. Lab classes started several weeks later than lecture and had fewer students per class.
Would Great-Hair Guy be in my lab?
I tried so hard not to worry about whether or not my hair stayed flipped under at the ends, whether or not my feathers winged. I tried not to picture myself in a pair of male eyes when I chose the tight jeans and the shirt that hugged my breasts. The shiny blue shadow I smeared on my eyelids might bring out the blue in my eyes—my best feature— but who was going to notice?
The chances of my great-hair guy being in the same lab I was in were minimal. The idea that he might actually notice me was ludicrous. And if I thought for one second he would ever speak to me I really was living in fantasy land.
I tried so hard not to care.
And my heart beat such a rapid tattoo against my chest when he walked in the door of lab I was afraid he’d notice. And think I was some kind of freak.
He didn’t notice. My heart rate. Or me.
I was Tara Gumser. I read books.
And I hated geology.
But boy oh boy, did I like my great-hair guy.
I knew where he was every second during lab. It was like I was connected to him. I could feel when he moved. Hear when he talked. It was me I didn’t recognize. What was the matter with me?
I was focused. Determined.
I didn’t waste time on childish endeavors.
The teacher had papers to hand out. Who cared?
What? Wait! My great-hair guy was handing them out. He was coming my way. Handing a sheet to the guy in front of me. I was going to be next. I was going to make a fool of myself.
I couldn’t look at him.
I saw the bottoms of his jeans. Saw the sheet of paper coming toward me.
I looked up.
And saw him.
He saw me, too.
I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t be cool and nonchalant. Had no hope whatsoever of sexy.
And he moved on.
I was going to die.
I wanted to die.
And I had to get out of that class so I could relive the encounter, analyze every second again and again. Had I made a fool of myself? Had he noticed me even a little bit? Would he remember that second our eyes had met?
“His name’s Tim.” I turned to see Ann, a girl I sometimes carpooled with, coming up beside me as I walked down the hall after leaving the lab. I knew Ann from high school. And she knew I had a thing for Great-Hair Guy.
“I saw his notebook,” Ann said. She was in lab, too. And she knew I’d never dated.