Page 2 of Taming Georgia

I let out a quiet chuckle as I pull the homework from last night out of my folder and place it on the table.

“You’d better hurry. The bell’s about to ring,” I tell Wyatt as I watch the door for Mr. Williamson.

Fourth-hour biology class is my favorite part of the day.

Wyatt is my favorite part of the day.

He finishes scribbling down the last answer as our teacher walks into the room at the sound of the bell.

“Good afternoon,” Mr. Williamson says. “Please pass your homework up to the front.”

“Just in time,” I whisper to Wyatt as we hand our papers to the students sitting at the table in front of us.

“I wasn’t worried. I can always count on you to save me,” he says softly in my ear. His warm breath against my skin causes an epidemic of goose bumps to explode over my body.

Wyatt turns his attention to the front as Mr. Williamson starts his lecture, and I’m hoping he missed the reaction that his words had caused.

It’s a miracle that I retain enough from class to even complete my homework so that Wyatt can copy it daily, as I spend the entirety of fourth period stealing subtle glances of him. At least, I hope they aren’t obvious.

Truthfully, I’ve taken Biology before—in another city, at a different high school. This is one of the times in my life that the fact that we move a lot for my dad’s work has benefited me.

I doodle small daisies on my folder as Mr. Williamson talks about an upcoming project. I’m barely listening as I pretend each flower is a heart, one for each of Wyatt’s features that drives me crazy.

His hands. They’re tan and strong. The veins from his hands extend up the muscles of his arms, and that makes them irresistible to me somehow.

Since when do veins do it for me? I have issues.

He’s writing something in his notebook, now causing the firm muscles of his arms to flex. He must work out. I can’t imagine that forearm muscles are naturally so defined.

His voice breaks my stare.

My eyes meet his, and I blink. “What?” I ask.

Wyatt grins, and it’s magnificent. “I said, whatcha think? Want to be my partner?”

“What?” I say again. This time, the question comes out airier, as all the oxygen has left my lungs.

“For the project.” He eyes the information on the screen at the head of the classroom. “We need to pair up.”

“Oh.” I quickly glance at the project parameters on the screen. “Right, partners. Yes, sure.”

“We should plan to get together soon to outline our project. When are you free?” he asks.

“Anytime,” I answer.

“Do you have a few minutes today after school? We can meet in the library and just pound out the rough draft really quick.”

I swallow hard. My spit seems to stick in my throat. “That works.”

“Great. See ya then.” He taps my hand as he stands to leave.

The students file out of the classroom as I remain; my stare stays focused on my hand where Wyatt Gates touched me.

Because…O-M-G…he touched me.

After a quick stop to the girls’ restroom after last period to spritz on some body spray, check my hair, and touch up my lip gloss, I rush to the library and reserve a study room. Mrs. Jacoby, the librarian, has just unlocked the room when I feel Wyatt behind me.

“Thank you,” I tell her as she leaves us.

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