Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 28709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 144(@200wpm)___ 115(@250wpm)___ 96(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 28709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 144(@200wpm)___ 115(@250wpm)___ 96(@300wpm)
How can I tell?
I don’t know.
Maybe virgins recognize other virgins.
There’s just something so pure and breathless about her that gravitates me closer—which is a mistake, because now her head is tilted back and I’m thinking of her kneeling.
And you guessed it. My dick is getting hard.
Shit.
As fast as possible, I slide down into my chair, but she still doesn’t move out of the way, leading to my entire side rubbing against this seriously beautiful girl, the outsides of our thighs pressing together when I’m finally sat.
Oh Jesus, my body is about to rain sweat, isn’t it?
Is everyone staring at me?
Nope. Just her. She peruses the body that earned me the nickname Colossal, starting at my throat, coasting down my expansive chest, the barrel of my stomach. Then she seems to get stuck on my thighs, her legs crossing beneath the table—and that’s when I spot her black, thigh-high stockings peeking out beneath the hem of her pleated skirt.
I’ll tell you, it’s a fucking miracle that I don’t soak the crotch of my special-order jeans when I see those things. Why is a girl my age wearing stockings?
Is this a porn?
“My name is Marlow,” she whispers, her gaze traveling back up to my face, though I notice her pupils have bled into her green irises. Why? “It’s nice to meet you.”
“I-it’s nice to…” I’m breathing too hard. “Nice to meet you, too. I’m Eric. Mostly everyone calls me Colossal.”
“Is that what you want me to call you?”
No. No, I just want to be normal. To this one girl. Please. I shake my head.
After a moment of studying me, Marlow nods. “Okay, Eric.”
She smooths her skirt and faces the front of the class, picking up her pencil. Ready to take notes. But I already know I’m not going to hear a word of this lesson. Not with her hip pressed against mine and visions of those stockings dancing in my head. Why is she so comfortable with me when I seem to make everyone else so uncomfortable?
“Where did you come from? A fairy tale?” I blurt. Loudly.
“Mr. Von Hagen,” admonishes the teacher, several students turning their heads.
“Sorry.”
I assume Marlow is going to be horrified by my outburst. Instead, she waits until the class returns to the lesson, before giving me her attention again. “Did I come from a fairy tale?” She reaches over and traces the back of my hand with her index finger. “I was wondering the same thing about you.”
Chapter 2
Marlow
I raised myself on fantasies.
Well. Sort of.
My illustrations count as fairy tales, right? My stepmother would never buy books for me, so I had to draw the pictures in my head. She probably did me a favor, because I would never have honed my beloved craft otherwise.
Beloved by me. Only me. It’s not like I’ve ever shown my illustrations to anyone.
What would Eric think if he saw them?
He’d probably wonder how I drew him before I knew him.
I’m wondering that myself.
The main character in every illustration I’ve ever completed is a giant named Tarek. Most people would expect a giant to be slow, but no. Tarek has the reflexes of a master ninja. He protects the meek and feeds the poor. He can also rip someone’s head off with a swipe of his hand. Or knock an entire house to the ground.
Eric is the closest thing I’ve seen to my favorite fictional character.
In fact, he might be better, because I can touch his huge paw, with its blunt, dangerous-looking fingers. I can smell the pine and musk of his cologne. I can see the pricks of his beard already shadowing his jaw, even though he likely just shaved this morning. I can hear his breath struggle to remain even. I can see the seams of his shirt and jeans straining to keep all of him contained. My goodness, he’s a superb being.
Eric looks down at my fingertip as it continues to trace the back of his hand. “Seriously, where did you come from?” he asks, swallowing hard.
A wave of discomfort rolls into my tummy. I knew I would be required to talk about what suddenly landed me in public high school, I just didn’t expect it to be during first period. “Well.” I wet my lips. “About two years after my mom died, my father met a woman online and we moved here to be with her. She has two daughters, too—and we’ve all been homeschooled until now. But my homeschool teacher got hit by a car and my stepmom couldn’t find a suitable replacement, so she enrolled me and my two stepsisters here to finish our senior year.”
The gorgeous giant blinks at me. “Damn. I don’t know what to apologize about first. Mostly, I’m just sorry about your mom.”
“Thanks.”
“And your teacher. Is she—”
“Dead as a doornail, yes,” I whisper, unable to keep the horror out of my tone. “She was walking out of an iHop. One minute, she was eating pancakes. The next, she was one.”