The One You Can't Forget (The One, #1)

thirteen

Emyln

It takes me several seconds before I realize the loud, grinding sound I can hear coming through the cream-coloured walls of my bedroom is that of a lawnmower. Groaning, I reach out for my phone that's resting on the empty pillow beside me. It's 9:39 a.m. on a Monday morning. I groan again. Who the hell mows their lawn at this time? Why not do it at 9:00 p.m.?

"Fucking ridiculous," I mutter, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.

Tossing my phone back to the pillow, I swing my legs over the edge of my bed, ready to head over to the window that has a view of the backyard. I'm ready to give one of my stepbrothers shit about interrupting the one day I had the chance to sleep in. Just when I was starting to like them even more – we bonded over Super Smash Bros. and Mario Kart Racing on the Nintendo GameCube after I ran home from work – they have to do something like this.

But I'm proved wrong when I've pulled the curtains back and gotten a good look at the landscape.

I almost choke on my own spit. Partly it's the shock of seeing him mowing the lawn mixed with frustration that he's the one doing a job me or Joel or Miles are perfectly capable of doing. But, if I'm being totally honest with myself, it's mainly the sight of him without his shirt on.

I should stop staring at him – look what happened last time I did. But is he really going to notice this time? I'm inside, he's outside, and the sound of the lawn mower is overpowering. So I stand in front of the window and continue to enjoy the view. My eyes linger on his back rippling with muscle and coated in a thin layer of sweat that glistens under the morning sunshine. He rounds a soft corner next to the small pond that's neighbouring the white pergola, and I catch a full-on view of the rigid lines of his stomach. My eyes drink up every detail. Including the faint shadows that dip below the waistband of his well-fitted swim shorts.

What can I say?

He's handsome enough to make any girl swoon. It's kind of absurd that he has the ability to make my knees wobble and my veins feel like they've been injected with adrenaline, but I don't mind it.

When he gets to the corner of the pavement, the sound of the lawn mower's engine cuts out. I quickly pull my curtains back together in case he can sense someone is looking at him. After a couple seconds pass and I'm sure I've raised no suspicions, I peek through.

He's using his forearm to wipe the sweat off his forehead.

My God...

I watch him swipe his water bottle from the patio table and begin to walk around the perimeter of the yard. He stops at the first flowerbed after taking a long sip of water. Kneeling down, Hainsey begins to pull away some of the weeds that are peppering the dirt around the beautiful rose bushes.

The view of his back is even better than when he was mowing the lawn – the muscles, rigid lines, sweat glistening in the sun. I think my mouth goes a little dry. Shit.