Brody's Girl

2: Not Just a Boy

Brody's blush was endearing and adorable. A flush of pink spread over his cheeks, camouflaging his freckles. The intensity in his brown eyes was a sharp contrast, stealing my breath. The few dark brown lines etched into medium brown irises weren't a unique, fascinating color, but the intensity burning in them quickened my heartbeat.

A few strands of medium brown hair slicked across his forehead, and brown freckles dotted his round cheeks. He was very tall, arching my neck as I gaped at him. I curled my fingers tighter around his long, toned arm muscles attached to the hand I dropped. A small bump in the bridge of his nose was his only imperfection.

"Uhh, this is the girls' bathroom." His eyes darted around, and he rubbed the back of his neck. His voice was deep for our age, not like most high squeaks around here, but cracked with inflection.

His lips, not thin but not like pillow-puffy from Botox injections, parted. Was Goldilocks-middle-ground an appropriate description for lips? Pale pink and proportioned to his face with a symmetrical bow, they fit. A tiny divot sat below those lips. Scotts Valley wasn't big, with less than eight hundred students. I wasn't a social butterfly, but I would've remembered him.

He must be new. And he had eye candy written all over him.

The red flush in his cheeks spread up his forehead and down the sides of his neck. Once the tips of his ears joined in, sympathy tugged at my heart. I wanted to wrap my arms around him over whatever embarrassed him. The urge froze my feet. That wasn't me. Hugging was not me.

The skin on my palm still tingled from his hand's contact. He couldn't have known what such a simple gesture, a handhold offered, meant. My other hand squeezed around my bag's handle. He gave off a vibe of beating himself up for his response. Or he wanted to say more. Or maybe that was me. Brody's palm covered mine like a damp glove, pumping heat where they touched, and his long fingers brushed the inside of my wrist. I dropped my gaze to two large feet dwarfing mine. Did that mean—

Focus, Paige.

His pimple sat front and center in that small chin divot. Raised red, swollen, and capped white, it festered under his skin. I tucked more hair behind each ear and swallowed. Awkward was an understatement here. Why did I offer to help? I had no idea past the obvious fact that he was embarrassed easily. The kids at this school would eat him alive if he didn't look like he did. Pretty privilege.

While he stood silent, I memorized the ridges of the rubber edging his shoes. They were brilliant white, edged with faint gray smudges, and as brand-new as him. "And the longer you stall, the higher the chance girls will be in here." I set my backpack on the closest sink counter.

"Okay." He sounded unconvinced, mirrored by the doubt in his eyes, but hopefully, he'd thank me when done.

I unzipped the front pouch of my bag and retrieved my makeup pouch, studying Brody out of the corner of my eye. He towered over my average frame, thin from my stupid diet. His red T-shirt molded to the muscular form underneath. Nate's arms and legs were thin and gangly, but Brody's were well-proportioned. Was he some kind of jock? He didn't seem like any jock I'd ever met. His limbs were lean, and his hands and feet were large like a puppy that hadn't grown into its paws. Brody's averted eyes tracking all corners of the bathroom were adorable. I smiled more than I should have, considering how this morning was going minutes before bumping into him.