Page 45 of Mitch

I swallowed nervously, turning to face him.

“I’m, uh, just hanging out with Mitchell.”

“The photographer?” My dad raised his eyebrow.

I nodded. “Yeah, we’re, uh, going to grab a bite to eat. I’ll be home late,so don’t wait up.”

My dad twisted his lips, and I thought he was going to throw a monkey wrench into my evening, call me out or something.

But he only said, “It’s nice to see you making friends, Penn. Have fun.”

Friends.

Why did that word cut me to the core like a ceramic knife?

I didn’t have time to process such things, so I just nodded and headed out the door to see Mitchell leaning against his car, looking absolutelysmokin’.

His dark hair was gelled back in his usual appearance, and I noted he’d expertly trimmed his facial hair, which made the dark color stand out all the more pronounced against his tanned skin.

He was wearing another one of his flashy shirts, this one bright pink with neon palm trees and aqua inner tubes. Coupled with his black ripped jeans, he looked like Surfer Ken, if Surfer Ken shopped at Hot Topic.

I looked at him, feeling more out of my league than ever.

Especially in my dark wash jeans, myblack converse, and anicepale blue polo.

God, I am such a freaking dork!

I knew I should have worn a button down!

Mitchell’s gaze roved over me from head to toe and back again, meeting mine.

“Well, aren’t you as pretty as a picture,” he said, flashing me a grin as he walked around to open my door.

Instantly, his words caused my blood to rush to my cheeks, but I didn’t turn away.

“Thanks,” I said with a soft smile, trying to ease my own nerves.

When I was buckled in, and Mitchell had started the car, I realized I was shaking with nerves. I only hoped he couldn’t tell.

“So, what did you have in mind tonight?” I asked as he pulled out of the driveway.

“If I told you, I’d have to kill you,” he retorted, his voice thick with sarcasm.

I leaned back in the passenger seat, taking a look at his profile.

His pronounced jawline, his sleek, shiny hair.

The fine hair he’d trimmed along said perfect jawline. His skin looked so smooth, and I felt an innate desire to run my fingertips along the freshly shaved surface.

God, he was so fucking hot.

Yup, totally out of my league here.

“I think I already died, so what’s the difference,” I mewled, trying to quiet my twitching cock.

A startling thought coursed through me as I adjusted myself.

What if...

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