by Maura Pierlot
(YA fiction, unpublished)
Carter walks down
the aisle, nodding to everyone, in a friendly, gotcha kind of way, his peacock-blue eyes casting a spell upon
contact. There’s too much to take in as my eyes dart from one fine feature to
the next. His straight, well-proportioned nose, full lips and strong jaw
coexist harmoniously on his enviable face; his broad shoulders complement his
tall and lanky frame; and his tousled, sun-streaked locks give new respect to
blonds worldwide. Eden is salivating; she keeps wiping the sides of her mouth
like she can’t stop the drool from escaping. Talia smiles, having just spotted
the same thing. She holds out a tissue for Eden, like a bib, but Eden’s too
busy slobbering to notice.
It’s Carter’s walk
that reels me in: he moves without ego, effort or entitlement, seemingly
oblivious to Mother Nature’s many blessings. Nervous energy takes over. My
hands have a life of their own, like I’m having a fit, so I quickly sit on
them. My heart is racing, my chest feels tight, and there’s a weird tingling in
my arm. I think I’m having a stroke – I remember these signs from a medical
show Mum made me watch over the summer – but I quickly work out that my bum is
cutting off circulation to my hands. Target locked: Carter’s eyes meet mine and
his mouth is taken over by a wide grin, revealing killer dimples. Could this guy be any cuter?
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