Page 1 of Yolo

Part One

My flabber gets gasted daily.

—Garrett to Gable

GARRETT

2 1/2 years ago

I spotted her from across the hotel lobby.

She was following a man in a business suit, trying in vain to keep up with his quick feet while also lugging two huge suitcases behind her.

She was beautiful.

Beyond beautiful.

She wasn’t tall, but she wasn’t short. She was perfectly in the middle at around five-three or four. She had a slim, wild beauty about her. Her dark brown, almost black, hair was a riot of curls, and every few seconds, she would tuck that wild hair behind her ear to keep it out of her face. But it was a futile effort.

Nothing she could do could tame those wild curls, especially in the Texas heat.

She was wearing a black slip of a dress that hugged each of her curves, and boy, did she have a lot of them. Perfectly shaped hips, slightly rounded belly, a small handful of breasts.

Her olive skin tone was beautiful against the shiny black material of her dress.

But it was her face that held me the most captivated.

She had a smattering of freckles over her cheeks and nose, plump lips that begged for a kiss, and straight white teeth.

She wasn’t wearing a stitch of makeup, either.

At least, not that I could tell.

Her eyes, though.

Her eyelashes were long and probably didn’t need the mascara to help their length. And the dark blue irises reminded me of a lake my family liked to hike to when we had a spare two weeks to play with. Not quite green, not quite blue, but a striking combination of both.

It was like a shock straight to the heart when she looked over and our eyes met.

She smiled softly and dipped her chin, causing my stomach to flutter.

Our eyes held for the longest of times until we were rudely interrupted.

“Would you fucking hurry up, Lea? Jesus.”

The woman I’d been staring at finally looked away, and I felt like I’d lost something important.

Her shoulders slumped, and she hurried, despite the high heels she was wearing that looked like she wasn’t used to wearing them.

Lea. She didn’t look like a Lea to me.

And the tone of the woman’s voice who’d called out to her made me want to snap.

My head turned to face the front of the hotel lobby to find four people—I’d, of course, spotted their pompous asses as soon as they’d arrived down from the elevator—dressed much the same as the man that was in the business suit with the knockout, waiting at the door with harried looks on their faces.

They looked like they bathed in their money.

Jerks.

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