Frantic Reader #47901

Fate laid out your life for you like a dress on a bed, and you could either wear it or go naked....

I go naked.



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The Bookmaidens

MILA 2.0 - Debra Driza this are part of MILA 2.0 blog tour

I slowed to a walk just before I reached the dirt road. Headlights arched in a quarter turn onto our street, and within fifteen seconds, a Jeep rumbled to a stop beside me.
The window slid open, and Hunter's head popped out. "Sneaking out?" He smiled, that amazing, silly, blue-eyed smile that melted away any second thoughts. Now we just needed to get out of here. Before Mom found out.
* (you can find the original post on Mundie Moms book blog!)

I ignored the typical Kaylee drama and pulled a pen from my backpack. “Who are you talking about?”
I heard rather than saw Kaylee stiffen. “Oh my god, Mila, look!” she hissed, knocking my arm as she whirled in her chair. The pen flew out of my hand…. and headed straight for the instigator of the “oh my god, Mila, look” comments’ gray-swathed chest.
In a reflexive motion, my hand whipped out, snagging the pen-missile midair. Great save, until the hand connected to the gray shirt knocked into mine as it sought to do the same. The pen sprang loose and clattered to the floor.
Shaggy dark hair. Lean. face. Faded blue eyes-the color of Haylee’s favorite old jeans- that widened briefly. I had just enough time to register the images before the boy from Dairy Queen dropped into a crouch behind my chair.
He didn’t say anything as he extended the pen to me. Kaylee cleared her throat in a totally obvious um-hum, but I ignored her. I was too busy shaking my hair forward to hide what had to be a brilliant display of red spreading across my cheeks.
So I was correct-the Dairy Queen boy didn’t go to Annandale. And, in spectacular display of idiocy equaled only by my booth dive yesterday, I’d just assaulted him with a writing utensils. Well played.
“Here you go,” he said, in a surprisingly deep voice.
* (you can find the original on The Perpetual Page-Turner book blog!)

After an unproductive three minutes, Hunter’s comic book crinkled. “You’re Maya, right?” he asked.
An unexpected disappointment stabbed me. I opened my eyes. “Close. Mila.”
“Sorry. Mi-la.” The way he carefully drew my name out gave it a mellifluous quality I’d never heard before.
He nodded absently, his fingers drumming away on his left knee. I waited for a follow-up question. Instead, he hunched his shoulders and stopped tapping to turn the page on his comic.
I tried to shift my attention back to the courtyard, my shoes, anything beside Hunter, but the six-foot figure of damp, mussed, and brooding boy prove just a little too potent to ignore. I had a sudden craving to hear him say my name again, with that same melodic ton.
* (you can find the original on Fiktshun book blog!)