Page 101 of Beautiful Sinners

“What happens in Texas, stays in Texas.”

“Texas? I thought you went to New York?”

Backtracking, I reply with a conciliatory shake of my head, “That’s what I meant. Brain fatigue.” I fake yawn to prove my point.

Thankfully, my phone vibrates in my hand. Another attached image from Constantine. The new poster says:Will you go out with me?

Butterflies, the good kind, come to life and flutter rapidly inside my chest. I’ve never been on a date or had a boyfriend. Pathetic, I know. If I were a romance trope right now, I’d be the nerdy and unpopular bookworm being asked out by the super hot bad boy at school. Or would it be grumpy-sunshine? Maybe friends to lovers.

Getting impatient, Raquelle elbows me again. “Will you tell the poor guy yes already?”

My thumbs fly across my screen as I reply,I would love to go out on a date with you.

Constantine: Come outside.

He’s here?

Raquelle nudges me to get me moving. “Don’t make him wait.”

“You are so bossy,” I tell her, but she just laughs and pushes me up the aisle and out of the auditorium.

The main hallway is jammed with people who have nothing better to do than to stand in everyone’s way and block the flow of traffic trying to get to the exit.

“Do you have work tonight? I’ve been meaning to drop by the Bierkeller.”

“I’m off for the rest of the week,” I reply as we push on the glass doors when they start to shut.

As soon as sunshine hits my face, I’m eagerly searching the crowd milling about for one in particular.

When dark eyes meet mine from across the way, I lose the ability to breathe. Standing under the red oak tree, holding his guitar by the neck in one hand and what looks like a picnic basket in the other, is a devastatingly handsome Constantine. Black shirt, black-washed jeans, and a ball cap pulled low over his eyes. He smiles as soon as he sees me, and my damn knees go weak.

“That man is so gone for you.”

“Other way around.”

She snickers at my use of what she said when I asked her if Drake ever tied her up.

Looping her bag strap over a shoulder, she hip-bumps me. “I’m off to art class. Call me later?”

“Will do.”

After a side hug goodbye, I’m skipping down the steps toward my boyfriend.

My boyfriend.

Constantine’s dark gaze never strays from me as I walk toward him. I don’t like being anyone’s focus of attention because it’s usually for the wrong reasons, like yesterday with Serena or when people ogle my scars. It’s different with Constantine. I enjoy how it feels when he watches me with feral-like intensity. It’s the same with Tristan and Hendrix. I’m not damaged in their eyes. I’m beautiful. Sexy. Strong.

High on giddiness, I stop in front of him, my smile as big and bright as the late morning sky.

“Hi.”

“Hey, sweet girl,” he says in his raspy voice that sends millions of goose bumps scuttling over me from head to toe.

Needing to touch him, I grab hold of the front belt loops of his jeans. I feel like an idiot to be acting this way, but tell that to my pounding, ecstatic heart.

“How was class?”

“I kept nodding off. Wonder why?”

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