Switched: Flirt New Adult Romance

(And that target is, like, sexy defined!)

I love my best friend’s boyfriend. But I swear, I saw him first.

Gravel was digging into my butt as I sat on the asphalt of the elementary school playground, my bike like five feet away in a big heap of twisted metal. I cursed that bike. And my pants because I’d been trying to yank them up as I was pedaling so I didn’t moon half our neighborhood. I’d squeezed the brake a little too hard and gone flying.

My knee was gushing rivers, but it didn’t really hurt. I think it was at that point when it was just numb. I sat in the gravel and stared at the swings, wishing I had the energy to get off my butt and ride home.

That’s when I was first introduced to that oh-so-cute boy who lived a few streets away. He sat down next to me, looked at my knee, and said, “Awesome!” Then he showed me his own scar from falling off his bike. I couldn’t keep my eyes off him. He was the cutest boy I’d ever seen, with his blue eyes, football jersey, and spiky black hair. He shook my hand and helped me back on my bike, and I watched him jog away.

It probably goes down as the best moment in the history of Kayla.

After Talon Gregory told me his name, I didn’t speak to him again until he smacked my best friend, Reagan, in the back of the head with a football our senior year. And yay for me, I’ve been a fumbling mess around him ever since they started dating a year ago.

I sort of lose my grip on my pen when he walks into our econ class. He gives a few of his college football buds fist bumps and high fives as he passes them. I love how big his hands are. And no, it’s not because of that stupid saying about the bigger the hands, the larger the package or penis or whatever. (Though, that does give him bonus points.) But because they’re strong and callused and oh so manly. I bet he could squish the life out of me if he wanted to, but he wouldn’t.

His gaze turns to me and I do a mental checklist of my facial expression. No drool, I don’t think … but my mouth is definitely open and that’s not good, so I snap it shut. I’m sure my cheeks are bright red, but there’s nothing I can do about that.

He waves, and I wiggle my shaking fingers back, internally sighing at this little tradition
we have every day. He comes in, says hi to all his teammates, then chooses to wave to me, smile, and slide into the seat next to mine. This is college, so we’re not assigned desks. This is significant.

There’s only one small—I mean, seriously minuscule—problem in this routine, which is that before Talon sits down, he settles his hand on top of the desk behind him, moves his amazing smile, eyes, and lips away from me, and turns them on Reagan. When their lips meet, even for the smallest of seconds some days, I want to leap over my desk, shove Reagan out of the way, and fight to the death for the affection of this perfect, perfect specimen.

I had my eyes trained to Talon Vision ever since that day at the park. Then, of course, I was too chicken to actually talk to the piece of sexy till he became my best friend’s boyfriend. Since then, I’m sure I’m known as the space case idiot who’d be the third wheel if it wasn’t for—

“Hey, wipe the drool from your chin. You have an audience.” Wesley kicks my foot with his Vans, and I quickly wipe my mouth. Okay, he has a point. I was a little wet.

I still kick him back, knocking his shin harder than I meant to.

“Ouch! I was just trying to keep you from looking like a water fountain.”

I lean over and drop my voice so Talon—or Reagan—won’t hear. “You could’ve been quieter about it.”

He rolls his hazel eyes, then starts drumming his pencil on his book. Just like I’m part of the “dating Reagan” deal, Wesley came with Talon. The tag-along best friend who is hopelessly in love with someone who’s unavailable. He makes up the fourth side to this love triangle we’ve got going on here. I know that makes no sense, but it’s complicated. Let’s see if I can put it in one sentence.

Talon likes Reagan, Reagan likes Talon, I like Talon, Wesley likes Reagan. Notice how many Reagans and Talons are in that grammatically incorrect sentence? Because it’s complicated! We’re the two who are in love with our best friends’ significant others. But apparently he’s a lot less obvious about it, since he’s not wiping any drool from his lips when he sees Reagan walk in the classroom.

“Kayla?”

I zap my eyes from Wesley to Talon and his deep guttural voice, which screams
I’m a good boy who wants to be bad
. But I have to keep myself under control because Reagan is
right there
.

“Yeah?” Okay, sighing is not “under control.” Wesley chuckles next to me, and I want to sock him one.

“Did you finish the last essay question? It’s the only one I didn’t get.”

I glance back at Reagan, who’s spinning her gum on her finger, listening to her iPod with
one earphone in. Gross. I love the girl, she’s my best friend, but how does she have both guys in our triangle/square relationship wanting her?

“Weren’t you and Reagan doing homework last night?” I ask, trying to sound innocent, but really I’m wondering if Reagan lied to me when I called to see where my roomie was and she said she was with Talon finishing up a paper.

Talon flashes his muscle-melting smile and scratches under his semi-scruffy chin. “Well, we, uh, got distracted.”

Reagan smacks his buff arm like she’s mad he’s being too vocal about them making out or kissing or whatever, but her smile when she leans back and plays with her gum tells me she’s anything but mad.

“Oh, uh …” My face is totally red, I know it. I’m not going to verify any story when it comes to them ever again. “I finished it. Here.” I hand over my notebook and ignore the way my skin prickles when he touches it.

“Thanks.” He smiles, and I sigh. It’s totally involuntary.

Wesley starts hacking something nasty, and I shoot him an evil glance because he’s completely faking it just to make fun. Then Reagan leans over and says, “Hey, Wes, you okay there?”

I know she’s pouring the full force of her smile on him. It causes his Adam’s apple to move up and down with a large gulp, and he
actually
starts coughing. I give him one good smack on the back, and when he composes himself, I immediately start our note passing for the day.

Not so smooth yourself, huh?

He grunts when he reads it and scribbles over the already crumpled paper right as the professor walks in.

At least I’m not letting her copy my paper
.

Since I can’t think of a witty response, I whisper, “You ass,” and shove the note in my bag. I won’t spend my only class with Talon arguing with Wesley. I’ll sit here and stare at perfection instead.

His fingers grasp the football, settling between the threads as the tendons in his wrist ripple. He’s saying something to me, but all I can think about are those sexy man hands. Delicious!

“You got it?”

“Um, what?”

He laughs, and it sets my body ablaze. Oh, his laugh. It’s like the second-best sound in
the world, the first being when he says my name.

“You see the way I’ve got my hand positioned?”

Definitely
.

“Pull back to right below your ear, and then when you let go, the football will spiral. Takes practice, but your fingers need to be right here.”

I nod again, and without any real warning he tosses the football into my shaky hands.

“Okay, show me what you got.”

He jogs a few feet out, and holy hot butt! He’s wearing these gym shorts that hang a little low on his hips, but not enough for me to see anything. His tight T-shirt hugs his back muscles, and I think it should be illegal for someone to be so freaking hot
and
nice. I should write him a ticket, or book him. In my room. Handcuff him to my bed and—