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Slender shoulders under long, light brown hair. Heart-shaped face with
full pink lips and a daring look in her bright blue eyes. Glowing skin and a
beautiful body.
From what I can see, anyway.
I let my head fall back and draw in a breath. Fuck you, Ryen Trevarrow.
She lied to me.
Well, she didn’t lie exactly, but I damn well got the impression from her
letters she didn’t look like that.
I’d pictured a geek in glasses with purple streaks in her hair dressed in a
Star Wars T-shirt.
I look back down at her picture, my eyes falling down her back where
parts of her skin peeks through the design of her sexy shirt as she looks over
her shoulder at the camera. My body warms, and I quickly scan her profile,
looking for some clue—any clue—that it’s not her.
Please don’t let it be. Please just be sweet, socially awkward, shy, and
everything I’ve loved for seven years. Don’t complicate it by being hot.
But it’s all there. Every clue confirming that it’s Ryen. My Ryen.
The check-in at Gallo’s, her favorite pizza place, the songs she’s
listening to, the movies she’s watching, and everything posted from her
latest version iPhone. Her most favorite possession in the world.
Shit.
I turn off Dane’s iPad and start weaving around people as I slip through
the crowd. The heaters warm the frigid air, and I pass more fire pits,
smelling the roasted marshmallows. Music blares from the speakers all
around, and I flex my jaw, trying to calm my heart.
I walk up to the bar and set the iPad down, turning and crossing my
arms over my chest. Just stay put. If she’s here to see me, she’ll find me. If
not, then… What? I’ll just let it go?