One Hundred and Fifty

Aubrey

Connor got on his laptop, and I ignored the way his hands flew effortlessly on the keyboard keys and the way his brows furrowed in concentration.

His pouted lips twitched and I had to fight the urge to massage his shoulders and feel the muscles tensing underneath. Why did he have to have such good genes and body? Why couldn't he be like Patrick the star instead?

Why did I try over and over again to hate him, and just keep failing?

His eyes flickered to me and he caught me staring. One, I could blush and look away, or two, I could own my stare, maybe turn it to a glare. I was a bitch, afterall.

He gave a wink, pushing me straight into number one and I groaned inwardly. I'm supposed to be mad at him, not blushing because he set the butterflies in my belly free.

He pressed the last keys and waited for the laptop to provide answers, his eyes trained on me as he waited. I looked everywhere bit him, and I heard him give a little chuckle as he turned his gaze to the laptop.

His brows