Page 18 of Curvy Girl for the Best Friend

I take another sip of my brew before something on the television catches my eye.I don't know why I turn the news on every morning. I rarely watch it, but now and then, a clip will catch my attention.

But nothing has ever caught my attention like this.

There's a girl on the screen. She has a thin build and long chocolate curls that flow down to her waist. They frame her face, making her look cherubic, like something from one of those classical paintings.

Her eyes are closed, her dark lashes laying on her creamy-white cheeks. She's wearing a fluttery little black skirt and a sky-blue tank top that shows just a hint of skin between the hem of her shirt and the band of the skirt.

It's not the clothing that gets my attention, though. She's not scantily dressed, and while she's beautiful—the most beautiful little angel I've ever seen—it's not that either.

No, what gets my attention is the crystal pure sound pouring from her pink lips. She has perfect pitch, her voice smooth and sweet.I've never heard anything like it in all my thirty-one years. Her voice is purity itself. I can't tear my eyes from her.

She's innocence personified, and that voice…

I'm suddenly burning to know everything about her. Who is she?

As if the news anchor hears my unspoken question, she answers, "That's Harper Young, ladies and gentleman, the waitress who's singing went viral last night."

She goes on to tell the story of how she and her friends were hanging out at this bar when Harper got up to do a karaoke number. Her friends filmed her and put her on the internet, and now she's become an overnight sensation.

"Harper.” I taste the syllables on my lips. Sweet Jesus, her name tastes like honey. I speak it again, claiming it as mine.

Something inside me clicks. I've never wanted anyone to perform my compositions, but I'm suddenly dying to hear my music on her lips. It's crystal clear, like I've had an epiphany. It's her. She's who I've been waiting for. This marvelous, wonderful girl. This little angel sent down from heaven.

I pause the scene and rewind it to play back the clip. I can't tear my eyes from her as I watch the emotion flood across her face and pour out into her voice. Even though she has her eyes closed, she puts more emotion into that one song than the most practiced of musicians.

My eyes rove over her from head to toe, desire coursing through my veins. I'm aroused for the first time in years.Well, I'm no monk. I've been taking care of my needs myself for a while now, but it's been a long time since any female has elicited such a reaction.

I jump from my desk, excitement coursing through my veins. I feel like I'll die if I don't get to her soon. I don't know what my plan is, but I take off toward my library door. Istop when my hand touches the doorknob, glancing to my right. My gaze is drawn there unbidden.

There's a mirror hanging in the corner of the room. I hate mirrors. Ihatethe fucking things, but I left this one up because it was my mother's. However, I put it in the most obscure location so I don't have to look at myself.

I look now and scoff as I raise my hand to my scarred visage. I trail my fingers over the mangled flesh on the right side of my face. Fortunately, my injury doesn't cause me much pain, but it scarred up the right half of my face, making me look like a monster.

I force myself to gaze upon my scarred face, my jaw hardening as reality comes crashing down upon me once again. I'm a monster now. I'm not the good-looking man I once was, the man who could saunter up to any female and ask her out with complete confidence.

I drop my hand from the doorknob and hunch my shoulders as I turn back toward my desk, dejected.

There's a reason I keep myself sequestered away from the rest of society. The mirror starkly reminds me of that fact. I don't know what came over me that I momentarily forgot.

My eyes flick back up to the screen where Harper's beautiful face is displayed.Yes, I do. This little songbird with the voice and face of an angel. She's what came over me.I want her so bad it's a physical ache. My chest tightens, and I pull in panting breaths.

It can never be, I remind myself. She's beautiful and whole, whereas I'm half the man I used to be. She wouldn't give a poor sap like me the time of day.

I ball my hands into fists and lean on my desk, my jaw clenched so tightly I'm surprised I don't break the fucker. The hopelessness of my situation crashes over me until I roar in fury and swipe everything from my desk, knocking my laptop and everything onto the floor to shatter.

Nostrils flared, I grapple for control, my chest heaving like the beast I am. Shame washes over me at losing control like this. I'm no longer fit for polite society. This just proves it. I'm not worthy of an angel like her.

I look back at the screen, my heart breaking into a thousand pieces as I rewind the clip and watch it over and over and over again, torturing myself with the purity that I can never have.

I spend the next few days finding out everything about Harper Young. I have the best private investigator money can buy pull her file, and I study everything contained within it. I study her harder than I studied any course in college. She's twenty-one and waiting tables at a hole-in-the-wall diner—such a waste for a girl with her kind of talent.

I rewatch the clip of her singing like a man possessed. Her voice is ingrained in my head forever. I hear it when I sleep. I see her image every time I close my eyes. She's there all around me.

My world is irrevocably changed, and nothing will ever be the same again.

I have my man watch her all day while she's at work. Everywhere she goes, I have him following her and sending me a live feed of what's going on.It's obsessive and crazy and over the top, but I don’t give a damn.

Maybe I can't approach her on my own, but I'll make damn sure I keep my eyes on her. I can't explain it, but I have this insane need to know where she is at all times. I need to watch over her even though she has no clue I exist.

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