I slide back into my seat and pull out my phone, genuinely trying not to look over at Taylor, but as always, he’s like a gravitational constant pulling me in, and I can’t help it. The minute my eyes find him, I feel my mouth go dry. His denim jacket is gone, and a loose black tank top hangs from his shoulders. There are holes cut into the fabric on the sides, the tattooed skin of his ribs playing peek-a-boo as he racks up the pool balls, his inked biceps flexing, and the pink tips of his hair fall across his face. Fuck, he’s hot.
