{FIRST BOOK IN 'THE GIRL IN THE HOODIE' SERIES} {2014-2018} A girl moved to California two years ago. No one knows what she looks like. All they know is that she wears a hoodie. *~*~*~* "HOLY SHIT, NOAH! WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU LET THE TROLLEY GO?! COME BACK! OH MY FUCKING LIFE, FIZZY DRINKS UP AHEAD--" BANG FIZZ POP "...am I dead?" I'm suddenly grabbed by the back of my hoodie and pulled up from the ground and out of the mess of the opened bottles of fizzy which had exploded when the trolley and I crashed into them. My hands instantly go to my hood and I sigh in relief to find that it hadn't fallen off through all of that. I turn my head and look the the employee who's holding me, his face completely red and the vein in his neck throbbing. "Wassup, dude?" I smile sheepishly. *~* {HIGHEST RANKINGS: #1 in Funny #1 in Sad And #1 in Cancer apparently }

Gaslight is now published as a Wattpad Book! As a Wattpad reader, you can access both the Original Edition and Books Edition upon purchase. ***** Studious seventeen-year-old Maddie must learn self-defense while trying not to fall for her womanizing trainer. ***** When straight-A student Maddie is forced to move to LA, she plans to keep her head down, grades up, and make it through senior year as unnoticeable as possible. But when she stumbles upon an underground boxing match starring the intriguing Hayden Walker, she sees a chance to protect those she loves from her crazy, abusive father. She offers Hayden money in exchange for self-defense lessons, a dangerous arrangement that just might end up changing the pair of them forever. *If you aren't reading this book on Wattpad, it has been stolen. Please report the website!*

I was breathing hard. I don't know what is this thing. Her face that pops on my mind became constant after that night. I can't even sleep because of her. And that moment I saw her dancing in the kitchen her arms show off as her hair fall prettily on her angel face doesn't help at all. It kept playing and playing inside my head. My muscles were tensed and hard when I think about her. That I even have to do a hand job to release this fucking heat she has instilled with me. Damn it. "I'm not your type." Yes. She's right. She wasn't my type. Ace. Jet black hair. Silver gray eyes. Pale white skin. So far of my blonde and tan qualification and yet I just did a fucking hand job thinking her body plastered with mine. Fuck. This can't be happening. Lust. Yes, that's just it. I need to get fucking laid.