Heartbreakers (To Be Published)

Chapter 7

Jami Only

Alabama

Present Day

There are a few things in the world I hate. Well, more than a few, but a couple that make me want to randomly throat punch strangers as they walk by. I hate school, men, and life! In no particular order of importance.

School makes my skin crawl and I'm glad this is my last semester before summer. Then I can break out of this hell hole. The mundane feeling I get walking from class to class seeing the smiling faces of the basketball players and their bleach blond girl toys wrapped around their egos makes me want to vomit. Hiding in the art room is the only peace I get all day. Painting my pain away. I strolled in looking around to make sure no one will be around. I'm not in the mood to chat it up with anyone today. I pop my headphones in and let the brush do the talking. The music engulfs me as it takes me away.

I glance at my watch as I hear the door to the art room open and in walks my instructor Mr. French. He strides over to me and stands behind me. I stop my brush in mid-air. I turn down my music and wait for his words of artistic wisdom or whatever "helpful tools of wisdom" he feels like forcing on me today.

"You know Jami if you keep painting like this I might just enter one of your masterpieces into the state art competition," Mr. French says matter of factly. "You have a God-given talent. It's going to take you far."

I doubt it. "Thanks, Professor French. I'm almost done here and I will have everything cleaned up and prepped for your next class."

"No hurry. Keep at it. I have papers to grade anyway for these freshmen. They drive me nuts," He laughed with a snort. Mr. French is the only teacher who doesn't give me shit for staying to myself. He lets me paint my heart out no matter how disturbing or wrecked the canvas might end up looking.

I look up at the clock and see that it's 4:30 pm. Classes let out an hour ago. I can't be late for work again. I head out of the art room and down the hall leading to the back parking lot of the school. Before I can get through the gate leading to the bus stop I feel sharp objects being projected at the back of my neck.

I turn around to find a shirtless guy riding the school lawn mower. He has no clue that I'm in his path war because his earbuds seem to be cutting off his hearing. I start yelling for him to turn it off, but the sound of my distressed voice goes unnoticed. He is about to come back in my direction so I jump up and down waving my arms until he finally notices me. When he sees me he stops the mower and removes the headphones.

Fury rolls over me. I could walk away, but this guy is about to feel my wrath.

"Hey, can you watch where you're mowing? That thing is kicking rocks everywhere and you might put somebody's eye out!" I'm trying to be mean, but the more I stare at him the more I want to smile because he is so gorgeous. Like my favorite male model Mitch Wick.
Ok, calm down Jami. Hot guys mow grass all the time. I need to just walk away and reign in my rage.

I turn to go when I hear him cut the mower off and call me, "Hey, I'm sorry. I didn't realize how close I was to the lot. I apologize. Did I hurt you?" I turn around and he is right in front of me looking down into my eyes. I have to remind myself to breathe. Shirtless guy is sweaty and hot. All I can do is watch his chest rise and fall.

I look away and whisper to myself, "Not yet"! Who was this guy and why was he so freakin sexy? Why was his smile so Earth shattering? And as I think this about him secretly in my head I see a smile plastered on his face. Why does he keep smiling at me?

"Hi, I'm Drake," he says as he rips a glove off his right hand and extends it to me initiating a handshake.

I blush, shake his hand and respond with half smile because I don't want to give him a clue as to how his ripped muscular toned body is making me warm all over. "I'm Jami," I stutter.