Page 1 of He Is Jensen: Part One

Prologue

Layla

I’m sitting behind ascuffed wooden table in a Killeen, Texas, library whenhe saunters by, and every nerve ending in my body tingles. “He” being Jensen Prescott, the hot blond hunk of a guy who’d graduated a year ahead of me. And try as I might to keep my attention on Allen Moore, the second-year high school quarterback I’m tutoring for his SAT, I fail pitifully. While Allen works through an algebra problem, I remain spellbound by Jensen’s sexy, loose-legged swagger as he crosses to the computer terminals he’s been frequenting the past few weeks. It had been on week two that I’d walked out of the bathroom, rounded the corner, and crashed into a hard body. I’d looked up, intending to apologize, but instead I’d somehow forgotten how to speak. Wordswould notcome out of my mouth. He’d been in his normal jeans and cowboy boots, his T-shirt snug, hugging hard muscles, oh so well.

I’d all but jumped back when I’d realized how inappropriately I’d been pressed against him.

He'd been visibly amused and sweet about it, but the amusement is what had gotten to me. I’d felt silly. My cheekshad heated, and I’d run away as fast as possible. I’d claimed my table just in time for a tutoring session, not daring to look about the library to see if Jensen was near, but I felt him there. I’d known he was watching me.

An hour later, my student had left, and Jensen had appeared at my table to introduce himself and ensure I was okay. It had been a short encounter, but a memorable one, at least for me. I’d become infatuated.

A feeling that didn’t go away as he started making a point of waving when he saw me, even stopping by my table to chat at times. Rarely did he offer me much about himself, but he was extremely interested in me. I think. I don’t know. I’m a little obsessed with the man, so objectivity isn’t easy to pinpoint.

Jensen yanks a chair out from behind a desk, facing this direction, and I quickly cut my gaze back to Allen, who’s struggling through the worksheet I’ve given him. I point out a misstep Allen is making that’s hanging him up, and as he goes back to his work, I dare another glimpse at Jensen to find him looking right back at me. He grins and winks, holding up a Snickers bar. I blush with the realization that he brought it for me after I’d confessed an undying love for the peanut-y goodness just the afternoon before.

“I just don’t get why I need to know algebra on the football field,” Allen grumbles.

This draws my attention back to him, who, at six-foot-two with brown hair and green eyes, is undeniably good-looking but not enough to bypass the fact that his only grand dictionary of knowledge id football.

“Either you meet the required SAT score for the University of Texas,” I remind him, “or you won’t be playing ball, at least not for them.”

He shoves the paper away and scrubs his hand through his hair. “This is bull. I don’t want some fancy NASA-sponsoredscholarship like you got, so I don’t see why I have to be some geeky bookworm like you either.”

I stiffen at his harsh remark, and I remind myself that what is an insult to him is a compliment to me. No, I’m not his gorgeous blonde beauty queen of a cheerleader girlfriend. I’m just the basic brunette who lives next door to him, with a military officer as a father and schoolteacher for a mother, who knows discipline as the root of life. And who has a dream of making a difference in the world. As my mother often tells me, what feels important now to most people in my young life won’t matter at all a few years down the road.

Unwilling to allow defeat for me or him, I push the paper in front of him. “Let’s try again.”

“I’m done,” he says. “I’m going to talk to Coach. He has to get me out of the SAT.”

I gape at him. “Get you out of the SAT? You can’t be serious.”

“As a touchdown.” And with that smart remark, he pushes to his feet and heads toward the door.

I toss my pencil on the desk and sigh. Please let the summer end. I can’t get to Houston and my new school soon enough.

The chair in front of me scrapes, and the Snickers bar slides in front of me. “You look like you have an urgent need for chocolate.” Jensen sits down across from me, his teal green eyes a bright contrast to his spiky blond hair. I decide right then that my summer goal is to run my fingers through that hair just one time before I leave for Houston.

And kiss him. I’d really like to know what it’s like to kiss him.

“Per my grandmother,” he adds, “bringing a woman under duress a chocolate bar is the wisest move ever. She swears it’s a better survival technique than anything they learn in basic training.”

I already know from our brief chats that he lives with his grandmother and uses his contract work to take care of her,which is incredibly sweet. As is the fact that I can tell he both loves and respects her. His father was military at some point as well, but he shuts down if I try to talk about him. Of course, we’ve only had casual chats in a “quiet” environment, too. I smile and reach for the candy bar. “Thank you, Jensen. And your grandmother sounds like a smart lady.”

He slides the worksheet Allen had abandoned in front of him and starts working an algebra problem with such ease that, at first, I think he’s just doodling. “Feisty old wench, but yes, a smart one, too. She makes a hell of a chocolate chip cookie, too. She bribes me with them. Do you bake?”

“Not even a little. My mother does. She’d try to claim cookie fame over your grandmother.”

“We should get her and my grandmother together and have a bake-off. We win no matter who loses.”

I laugh and the librarian shhs me.

“I should go,” Jensen says. “I have to pick up some meds for my grandmother.”

“Okay,” I say, not even trying to hide my disappointment. I don’t want him to go.

He doesn’t go. He sits there, staring at me, the air thick with something—I don’t know what—but it sets my stomach aflutter.

“You want to catch a movie or something Friday night?”

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