245 Days
Author: Isabelle Peterson
PROLOGUE
~ Taylor ~
I hated clothes shopping, especially when the style of jeans I liked were no longer carried by the store. I preferred a looser cut, when all I seemed to be able to find were the 'skinny' fit jeans. As a triathlete, my muscular thighs made the skinny fit difficult at best. But I just had to toss my favorite pair because I ruined them when I accidentally spilled bleach on them. Some people can carry off a 'randomly spotted jean look,' but I was not that person. Yeah, I suck at doing laundry.
I slipped into the fourth pair I'd pulled off the shelf and took a look in the mirror of the small dressing room. Not bad, I thought. The length was perfect, a little long, but not overly so, they were comfortable in the waist. And not too skinny, more like a straight leg. I turned and tried to see how my ass filled out the back, but the room was so tiny that I couldn't get a good look, so I stepped out of the tiny room and headed to the set of three mirrors at the end of the hall in the common area of the fitting rooms. Again, I took a look at the front. The slimmer fit made my muscular thighs look pretty amazing, if I did say so myself. I turned to look at the back using one mirror's reflection in one of the other mirrors. Wow. Really good.
"That pair is definitely the winner," I heard from behind me.
Startled, I turned to see who was talking and who they were talking to. I saw a guy, a hot guy, a confident guy, looking my way. He stood against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest in a black T-shirt and pair of black jeans. He had these brown eyes that were like chocolate chips. His smirking mouth was tucked into a nice layer of scruff on his jaw and sent shivers down my spine. No one has ever looked at me that way before. It both excited and terrified me.
"Um, yeah. Thanks," I managed, once I got my wits about me. "Well, mirror's all yours," I said and walked back to my fitting room on shaky legs. When I turned to close the curtain behind me, I chanced a second look. That guy was still watching me. Watching my ass, was more like it. When his eyes traveled up, our eyes locked for a second, then he strode toward the mirrors and looked in the three-way reflection to check out his own pair of jeans. I wanted to be as brave as he was and tell him how hot he looked in the black denim that hugged his ass.
He caught my gaze in the reflection and asked, "What do you think?" He checked out his back side in the mirror, while asking my opinion.
"Yeah. They look good." Mentally, I kicked myself for sounding like such a dunce.
"I guess I'll get 'em." Again, he found my eyes in the reflection, looked down my body and my jeans, then winked at me.
My cheeks heated instantly and I ducked back into the fitting room and sat on the small stool and worked to calm my breathing.
Yup. I'm definitely buying this pair of jeans.
ONE
~ Ashley ~
Tuesday, September 1, 2015
"Really? That's your pick up line?" I groaned at the otherwise attractive man in front of me with the Bostonian accent.
I gave one last look at the sharply dressed guy; starched white, button-down shirt, a green tie loosened at his neck and snug fitting jeans that boasted a nice package. I made eye contact with him again through my horn-rimmed glasses, his eyes behind his hipster specks, and half wondered if his glasses were prescription or just for show. I noticed that the green tie matched his eyes, the tie that I might have initially wanted to grab to pull him to me so I could taste those plump lips on his cleanly shaven face. But when he opened his mouth, letting the smarmy pick up line slide out, any urge I had to kiss, or even talk to, this man fled. A pity really. His preppy look and slender build were just my type.
"What?" he scoffed, like he was offended. Clearly this guy thought he was God's gift to men. "That ass of yours has had my attention since you sauntered in here. Unless you only like to top. And let there be no question-I'd bend over for ya."
I usually avoided college bars. At least I had back at Stanford, where I'd taught for three years. I intended to continue that practice here in Connecticut at New England University. I just started this semester, but I really needed a drink after today. I was no stranger to teaching at a high ranking school, but teaching at a prestigious school, no matter who you are or what experience you have, can mess with your nerves. Even for an egghead like me. So here I was, at The Library-the bar all the co-eds seemed to go to.
"Anyway, I don't date students," I explained to the mouthwatering hottie before me, hoping he'd get the hint. After his tacky pickup line, I'd love to just tell the guy to get lost, but I've always had a problem being rude. Blame it on my mother.