[Currently being rewritten and updated chapter by chapter]
Book One in the "Hard Love" series.
It's hard being knocked down. And it's even harder getting back up.
Thalia Carter grew up on the south side of Chicago with a dead-beat dad and never real...
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Isaac continues to impress me, despite my best efforts to lock any tempting thoughts of him away in a safe, secured box in a far corner of my mind.
He's just so good. He's a good man, despite his rough exterior with dark features, sprawling tattoos, and hard muscles. It's been a little over a week and the kiss hasn't been brought up once since he texted me. At least by him. Oliver and Nate think it's hilarious to throw an occasional jab in there, specifically about the part where I ran away from him.
I've apologized for that, too, at the first of three tutoring sessions we've had PK–post kiss. He tensed up a little, because it's obviously not a good memory for him, before shrugging and telling me he understands. I'm ninety-nine-point-nine percent sure he doesn't understand why I would flee the premises, but I took his acceptance gratefully.
All of our tutoring sessions have been at Bruno's. For the sake of my sanity, a public setting is a must. And even then, I find myself honing in on his lips, my mouth watering at the thought of kissing him again.
As much as I'd like to pretend it never happened, we're living in PK era now and I can't get it out of my head.
That kiss was everything. It had passion and need and emotions that surprised even me. I could feel how bad he needed me, not just because he was pressed up against me and his penis was like a hot poker trying to make it's presence known–although that was pretty hard to ignore. I could feel it in my heart.
It was like our souls were fusing together, like two missing puzzle pieces finding their match.
It was like seeing color for the first time. Even in the dark hallway, everything became brighter and I felt the strangest sense of belonging, like I was right where I was supposed to be.
PK era is a pretty good place to be sometimes.
Except for right now, when I'm with Isaac supposed to be studying at Bruno's. I say supposed to because his lips are moving but I'm definitely not thinking about the words coming out of them.
"Got it?" he asks.
Wordlessly, I nod. Better to do that than admit that I was fantasizing about him while he explains the product rule to me.
He passes my paper back to me, where neat arrows and notes are written in blue ink on top of my scrawly pencil markings. Even his handwriting is attractive. Is that a thing? Can handwriting be attractive?
Apparently I've still been getting my wires crossed with the rules, so I take a few minutes and try to work out the next one on my sheet, rapping my pencil on the table as I think.
A warm, fuzzy feeling fills my belly. I snap my eyes up to see Isaac watching me. The warm and fuzzies turn into a pit of nerves when he smiles sheepishly, knowing he's been caught.
"What?" I demand.
"Nothing." Except it's clearly not nothing.
"Tell me," I insist. "Do I have something on my face? We've been here for almost an hour. Why didn't you tell me?"
