Kieron glances up, seemingly oblivious to his growing fan club until now. He gives his admirers a quick smile before turning to me. “They’re staring at me because I placed a spell on them.”
I choke on some of the diet orange soda I’m sipping. The burning tickle travels up my nose, and I cover my face with my hand so as not to cough all over his face. “What?” I gasp.
He stares at me, his eyes wide and gently pats me on my back. I clear my throat several times and try not to die of embarrassment. “Are you okay?” he asks. I nod, humiliated, and give my runny nose a stealthy wipe.
“Of course, I’m only joking,” he says, studying me. “The reason they’re staring is because I am extraordinarily good-looking.”
Having only just recovered from my original coughing fit, his deadpan response sends me into another one. “And also very humble,” I manage to spit out between laughs and coughs.
He shrugs and rubs my back again, much like a mother pats her newborn after a feeding. “Humility has nothing to do with it. I’m not ashamed to be exceptionally handsome, just as you shouldn’t feel bad for being unusually beautiful. There’s nothing wrong with it. In fact, it’s hundreds of thousands of years of biological evolution at its finest.”
I’ve stopped coughing and laughing. “What?”
“Females are hardwired to propagate with the best and strongest mate available, to ensure survival of their species. Even before we knew about genes and DNA, nature gave indicators to let the opposite sex know what mate is best, physically speaking. Now, as they say, looks aren’t everything. And they’re right. But from a strictly sexual standpoint, for reproductive purposes only, you can judge a book by its cover. Most of the time.” He tosses me a sexy grin and glances briefly over to the gawking girls.
“… People think it’s shallow to care about looks when choosing a partner, but in fact the opposite is true. We’re operating from one of the oldest and most enduring instincts known to man. The urge to find the strongest, sturdiest match is deeply encoded within each and every one of us. Biologically and anthropologically speaking, this is about the age females are preparing for reproduction. Instinctually, they’re looking for the best mates. I am tall, athletic, and have masculine, proportional features, indicating I have good genes. They want what I have. What I represent. You can’t fight hundreds of thousands of years of human nature, darlin’.”
He stops, looks at me, and laughs. “Sorry, I kind of went off there, didn’t I? It’s just, well, I’m kinda fascinated by human biology and anthropology—how it causes people to interact with each other. Where’d I lose you? Your eyes have totally glazed over.”
It takes me a long moment to answer him. “Right after the part where you said I was beautiful,” I finally whisper. No one, no one, has ever told me I was beautiful before. Not even in a phony way, and certainly not in the sincere way Kieron just did. I’m stunned by the effect these words have on me, and how desperately I need to hear them again.
His eyes settle on my face. Comfortably. Easily. “You are, you know—Beautiful.” His voice is lower now, but I hear him clearly. The whole world seems muted except for him.
“Thanks.”
He cracks a cocky grin. “Don’t thank me, thank your genetic heritage. I’m merely observing the simple and complex principles that contributed to designing—”
“Oh, stop it.” Laughing, I playfully tap him with a book.
“Okay, okay.” He holds up his hands in mock surrender. More people are watching us now, and I notice the stern-faced librarian making a beeline for our table.
Kieron sees her too. “Wanna get out of here?”
“Yes.”
Once we get to the parking lot, Kieron suggests we take his truck—he knows a place we can go. Somewhere we won’t be bothered. I readily agree, feeling a flurry of nerves as he holds the door open for me.
“Where are we going?” I ask as he starts the engine. The truck’s hard and glossy black shell belies its soft, cozy interior. It suits Kieron perfectly.
“You’ll see.” He smiles at me with the corner of his mouth and my heart races again. Other than the first time we met, there have always been other people around. Now it’s just us.
The easy banter we shared in the library gives way to an awkward silence. I glance at him as he stares at the bumpy road ahead, taking us away from school and far from town. He swallows, and his Adam’s apple bobs beneath his cowl-neck sweater.
“What kind of music do you like?” he asks and starts flipping through the iPod connected to the dash.