Page 12 of Bookworm

That was just ridiculous.

But as much as I hated to admit it, what Bo said had some merit.

Maybe I should begin actively looking for my HEA.

I'd been putting it off for a while, waiting for something to happen, a meet-cute that gave new meaning to the word swoon, but there were a few problems with that.

1) Anxiety.

I got anxious and tongue-tied around guys, especially ones I found attractive—well, except my grumpy-yet-hot next-door-neighbor, who I couldn't seem toshut up around. I'd have to examine that later. Maybe it was because Boannoyed me so much I forgot to be nervous.

2) Fear of the unknown.

It may have sounded like the title of a Tom Clancy novel. But seriously, I was afraid of what I didn't know—which was basically everything. First base, second base, all the bases were an as-yet-unlivedmystery to me. My cluelessness plus the guy-induced anxiety made every interaction feel like a minefield.

3) Readerly expectations.

This one went without saying. All romance readers had high expectations based on fictional worlds, and I was no different. I had imagined how my first kiss would go a million different ways. All of themwere amazing—even though I knew from the girls at work, typically,first kisses were awkward. Still, romance novels had set the bar higher than high. I knewit could never be Julie Anne Long-novel good, but maybe my first kiss could at least be memorable?

4) Fate.

Waiting on fate to make a move was how I ended up here: 17, about to graduate, and never been kissed. Hmmm…maybe fate wasn't my biggest fan—or maybe she was just waiting for me to be ready.

5) Mixed feelings.

Honestly, I wasn't sure if Iwasready—or if I everwould be. Books really gave me all the romance I could ever need. Love in real life wastoocomplicated. Inbooks, you always got a guaranteed HEA.In life, I knew that rule didn't apply.My motherdidn't teach me much before she left, but she had taught me that.Was I willing to riskit? Riskmy heart?

I'd already made a list of possible love interests.

Whether or not I would approach any of them was still in question.

I chewed on the Twizzler in my mouth, debating.

I'd just swallowed the last of the red sugary goodness when movement outside my window drew my eye.

Bo.

I checked my watch, and yep. He was right on time.

The fact that I couldn't look awaygrated on my nerves—as did the fact that I knew his routine at all. Ugh. But it never changed. He appeared like clockwork, every day, 24/7. Ireached for another Twizzler.

The guy did all his exercises in the driveway.

Which was in public.

And also just happened to be directly across from my bedroom window.

I knew I shouldn't look—but gah, it was impossible to ignore.

First came the warm-up.

He'd roll his shoulders, crack his neck from side to side, jog a bit, then he'd move onto the soccer ball. It traveledeffortlessly between his feet, changing directionsas if it were a part of him. He'd do this for a good five minutes.

Then he did some high knees.

Running in place was never my thing. Actually, running in general wasn't either,but Bo must've enjoyed it.

Next up, punches (four of them) and a kick, multiple reps.

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