Author's POV.
Anne sat on the couch, still wrapped in Eric's damn hoodie, her jaw clenched like it might hold back the betrayal her brain was currently committing.
Damnit, she thought, staring daggers at the floor. Am I… attracted to Eric?
Eric, of all people?
Absolutely not.
She shook her head violently, as if she could physically dislodge the image of his lips, the memory of his scent, the very inappropriate thought of what lay under that smug hoodie of his. Her face flamed. Her thoughts were clearly being hijacked by her hormonal, traitorous mind.
Stupid Tyler. If he were around, she wouldn't be stuck here, mentally drooling over the wrong man.
She snatched her phone and checked the time. It was already close to 9 PM.
Perfect. Nightfall. Peak thirst o'clock.
She hit Tyler's contact and video called him. No response.
She tried again. And again. And again.
Still nothing.
Her eye twitched.
