With a daughterly smile, I handed Doc the envelope as I headed out of his classroom. I probably should have been paying more attention, because right as I stepped out of his doorway some spazzy, chicken-chested kid barreled into me, knocking my mondo history book out of my hands. Corner over cover it sailed until one of the corners went right into the back of some guy with long choppy chunks of hair that were as dark as Dr Pepper.

“Sorry!” I called pushing through the now crowded hall toward my latest victim.

“S’all right,” he said, bending to pick up my book. I dropped my eyes as he handed it back to me. “Here.”

Our thumbs brushed together, and a chill zapped through my skin, straight up an artery, sliding into my heart like a baseball player taking home.

I gulped.

Nothing like that has ever happened to me with a high school guy before. A less cynical person might have thought she’d just achieved number 4 on her list. But this was me, so naturally I was coming up with a logical, non-fate-related answer. Like how it was just some weird molecular thing with the commercial-grade carpeting in the hallway and the Mexican silver of his ring.

I didn’t dare look at him in case I’d just “had that special feeling” for some meathead baller with bad breath. Or worse, maybe I’d just totally assaulted a really hot senior whose grandfather owns a chain of hotels and a hobby winery.

Crap. Why didn’t I put that down on my wish list instead being so vague? Oh right, because I didn’t believe in it.

While I was kicking myself for not being more specific in my sarcasm, I gave him an embarrassed chuckle—my yeah-yeah-I’m-a-big-klutz chuckle. I find a little self-deprecation goes a long way when you’ve just assaulted someone. Especially if he might be like the total hottie of your dreams.

“You know, I think this is going to bruise,” the guy said rather proudly. “Whadda you think? How does it look?”

He hiked up his T-shirt to reveal his summer-tanned back. With his other hand he tugged down the studded belt on his jeans.

In a chiseled plane above his hipbone, the golden brown was turning pink. Below the pink, more golden brown, and farther down a clashing swath of white, and not the cotton Hanes kind.

“Well?”

I swallowed hard. “Looks great,” I murmured, admiring his butt.

“Funny, it felt like it hit higher up than that,” he said, amused.

Busted.

I looked quickly up to his face. Strands of nearly black hair fell across his eyes as he checked again for bruising. Then with a swift shake of his head that knocked his hair out of the way, he looked up and his eyes locked on mine.