Alias: The Doyen Series book 1

(3) BLUE EYES

Ps: I don't want to put pictures of the characters. For one, I don't have pictures of everyone and I don't want to stalk people on Pinterest to find some (lol creeper much). Secondly, the beauty of literature is that you can imagine whoever you want. It's a process of finding a picture in your head and creating a story. You learn to love that person in your head. Also, it helps increase creativity. If I post the pictures, I take away that imagination. And what's the fun in that? (If it helps, you can always just look up description on Pinterest for inspiration) :)

I am in my last class of the day when my professor decides that we all must invest in this textbook that is "dire to passing the final." Even though every teacher says that, I know he isn't kidding. The man doesn't even have 'joke' in his dictionary.

I drive all the way across the city to buy the stupid book to be safe.

Walking into the large Barnes and Nobles, my senses are bombarded with the smell of newly printed pages and coffee brewing at the Starbucks in the corner.

I find myself in the textbook section what seems like hours later, multiple books already tucked under my arm. I am looking at the book my professor deems "the best book of all time" when I turn around and bump into a tall figure, scattering my library of books all over the ground.

I mutter an 'I'm so sorry' without even looking at the person I just assaulted because I am 29 shades of red, dying of embarrassment, wanting to hide under a bookshelf.

I manage to pick up 1 book before 2 large hands pick up the other 4. "I believe these are yours?" a husky, masculine, deep, Australian accent asks.

The rhythm of my heart stops and suddenly I worry that this, this is what it feels like to die when I feel it start to beat faster faster faster than ever before.

Despite my goal to avoid eye contact, I hesitantly look up into the handsome face and am instantly taken aback.

Thump, thump

Thump, thump.

Thump,

T h u m p .

The first thing I notice are his beautiful blue eyes that are almost aquamarine, but not quite, and so so clear. I want to drown myself in his ocean-like eyes from all the embarrassment radiating off me in waves.

He looks to be around my age, 6'2", and built. Not body-builder built, but body of a major-league baseball player built. His dark, almost black hair is styled messily and his skin is perfectly flawless. His full, pink lips set out from his face in an adorably sexy pout and his prominent cheekbones would make any girl swoon.

And swoon I almost did until he interrupts my creepy stare. "Are you alright?" he asks, snapping me out of my daze. "Do you need to sit down?" he continues with a worried expression painted on his picture-like face.

"No, no, I'm okay," I answer breathily. I shake my head for good measure to clear my brain of the fog that has just set in. "You just frightened me is all," I laugh, "I'm so sorry for running into you, I tend to do that a lot." I am certain my cheeks are the color of a ripe tomato.

He smirks—actually smirks—and smiles a sly smile. "Don't apologize. I like being almost knocked over by beautiful girls," he spouts out smoothly.

Thump!

Thump!

ThUmP!

THUMP!

My heart almost cracks in anticipation.

I was used to being hit on by guys with cheesy lines. But none of them have ever appealed to me as much as Mr. Blue Eyes. "Ah, smooth guy," I laugh, trying to play it cool despite the hurricane brewing in my heart. "I'm sure you catch a lot of girls with that line."