Call Me Read Online Free Page A

“zip my lips” rings in my head as I realize this is my life right now, and not a joke.
    This realization becomes painfully obvious as a large form now standing beside me in the aisle casts a shadow over Courtney and me. How did he move so fast, like Gary Oldman skittering down the castle wall in Francis Ford Coppola’s Dracula ? Turning my head to the side, I brace myself, averting my eyes away from his face. Instead, I choose to go from the ground up, before I have to meet the eyes of the man who will now likely target Courtney and me over the semester, surely giving us the label of “troublemakers”. A label which will force us to work a lot harder to prove his first impression wrong, to prove that we aren’t the assholes he no doubt thinks we are right now.
    Bracing myself was right…even starting from the bottom. Holy. F-ing. Cow .
    I start to make a mental list as I silently stare, my eyes roaming over this man from bottom to top, unable to stop myself from cataloguing and checking off said list as if I were Kris Kringle himself. As he shifts in the aisle right next to me, my eyes take in his attributes like I’m laser scanning him for 3D printing. Naughty. Nice. Niiiice…
    I make a mental check as my eyes linger on his feet, noting his large black Doc Martens boots. Remember what they say about big feet? He’s tall, and the looming feeling he arouses along with his shoe size makes me wonder.
    His upper body is muscular, and despite being covered with a tan corduroy blazer, I see a tight-fitting T-shirt quoting: “Anybody interested in grabbing a couple of burgers and hittin’ the cemetery?” from one of my favourite movies, Wes Anderson’s The Royal Tenenbaums . A shirt that fits him perfectly, showcasing that he’s lean and fit. Who knew mere clothing could have the capability to make a girl take notice and drool? And don’t get me started on his ability to make me blush, as I feel my cheeks heating from the mere seconds he’s been standing—no, looming—beside me.
    I tick off the boxes for strong, sturdy-looking arms accessorized by large sexy hands graced with nice long fingers. My mind shifts, wondering what one might do with such stealthy-looking fingers as they hang at his side. God, I’d love to know.
    The room falls silent around me as I continue my assessment…it’s just his body, my list, and me.
    He’s got a broad build, a solid stature. One a person might be inclined to pounce upon if given the chance or invitation. An invitation! Can you imagine?
    Check.
    Check.
    And motherf-ing check.
    If this man’s face is anything like his body then I’d say he needs to unfurl his superhero cape and let my hero-worshipping begin.
    Finally, my eyes make a last venture up to his face. I hold my breath, waiting for the little bubble of perfection I’ve conjured up to pop.
    I gasp as my eyes rake up, up, and up to Professor Holy. F-ing. My.
    My sudden dirty mind.
    My sandpaper-filled mouth.
    My quivering loins.
    My. Flipping. Goodness.
    The man is absolutely the most beautiful thing I’ve ever set eyes upon.
    And, oh jeez, he’s crouching down. Coming closer. My palms begin to sweat, and there’s a feeling surfacing that I’ve not felt in, in…well, ever .
    Slightly curled inky black hair just reaches his collar, and forest green eyes are highlighted by the perfect pair of black Roy Orbison-ish framed glasses, all topped off, of course, by a dangerously sexy dimple! I can’t even…
    Hi, my name is Ellie Hughes and I. Am. Screwed.
    Is he giving me a look which says: “my eyes are up here”, or am I imagining it?
    Before I can start to articulate the apology that my brain has instructed my mouth to deliver, it dies as our eyes crash into each other. Instead, the wanton brain between my legs takes over, interrupting my mouth and its apology, instead forcing me to expel a tiny gasp-like moan in its place, a moan that my actual brain tried in vain to get my mouth to clamp down on, then hoped