Selling My Soul to His Royal Nerdiness.

Selling My Soul to His Royal Nerdiness. (6)

Annabel Taylor

 

This is for completely educational purposes, I told myself as he reached for the top button. He was wearing a plaid button up, the sleeves rolled up so the shirt was acceptable. His glasses were still firmly in place, but I made sure to run my fingers through his hair a couple of good times so that it wasn't dorkily smoothed down. (His hair was surprisingly soft. Softer than mine, but still kind of fluffy, a perfect combination, and why am I thinking about this...?)

The second button. Then the third.

Educational purposes, educational purposes, educational purposes, you will not blush, Annabel Taylor, you are better than this...

The final button. I found myself licking my lips in anticipation, then realized that I was focused on a small strip of flesh that showed, just above his hands, that looked very soft and very hard at the same time.

I dragged my eyes up to Noah's to see him very pink, but still smoldering.

Slowly, almost teasingly, he reached up and slid the fabric off his shoulders.

A hot flush made it's way to my face as he stared at me, his own blush still evident.

For some reason, I was putting off actually looking at his chest.

It was ridiculous. Chance and his friends came over nearly every day, walking around with their shirts off like it was nobody's business. It got to the point where I was used to seeing eight-packs and toned arms. I'd schooled myself to fight off the blush, otherwise I'd be endlessly teased.

But now...he had me coming undone. This total nerd, who just so happened to be royalty and have a some what impressive chest.

I forced my eyes downward to see what I was working with. 

His chest wasn't bulky, like Chance's, or lean and tight, like West's. He was lean, yes, but his muscles seemed to be there on complete accident. He was bronze.

I looked up at Noah's face again and we locked eyes.

The temperature became smoldering instantly. I felt a thrill go from the top of my head into my toes, the intensity in his eyes nearly sending me staggering back.

The doorbell rang.

I slowly turned my head toward the door, my head spinning. I looked at a point between Noah's nose and eyes. "Put your shirt back on."

He did so wordlessly, fumbling with the buttons while I checked through the peephole. I had learned my lesson the last time.

A tall, tanned brunette head of hair filled my vision. I prepared myself and opened the door.

"Anna, darlin'!" Two thin, tanned arms threw themselves around me and squeezed, lifting me into the air as I gasped for air.

"Hey, Mace," I forced out as she squeezed. I was convinced that she'd snap me straight in two one day.

Macey Gordan, my brother's girlfriend on-and-off girlfriend of approximately three months, two weeks, and six days, set me down and then beamed at me, pulling me back at arm's length while still studying me.  

Macey was pretty awesome. Her hair was naturally blonde but she'd dyed it in the eighth grade, announcing that the blonde captian of the cheerleader squad was too cliche for her, opinons be damned. Her hair was now a dark brown, shiny and wavy--something that my frizzy, red hair could never hope to be.

I smiled back at her, grinning at the child-like happiness in her dark green eyes. "Yep," I said. "How was China?" Macy's parents liked to travel every summer. Last summer they went to Paris, then before that, Jamacia. She was an only child. Which explained why she was so successful in her high school career. The girl practically oozed confidence. You don't ooze confidence when your sister tells you that you resemble a Raggedy Ann doll, your twin brother says that you're "kind of scary" and your uncle--who is the same age as you--just plain does not like you for no apparent reason.