The last time I was standing this close was in the cafeteria line at the start of the school year. It had been raining, and I’d watched as drops of water slid down his neck to dampen the collar of his shirt. He wore that same shirt now, as did all the guys at school, but I was willing to bet it was a size larger, judging by the broader expanse of his shoulders and upper arms. The black cotton was only half-buttoned, exposing a gray T-shirt beneath. Lean with muscles that shifted in his beautiful arms and a face sculpted from stone, he was an Adonis. An eighteen-year-old god.
