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    Pink
    Pink
    Pink
    Ebook75 pages1 hour

    Pink

    By Suzanne D. Williams

    4/5

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    About this ebook

    She looked up and paused in her stirring, the same disbelief surfacing on her face. "What? I've grown horns?" He shook his head. Curves. She'd grown curves and soft skin and a rosy tint to her cheeks.

    Nelson Trader's after-school tutoring with fellow senior, Brigitte Pink, is a mutual secret. No one can know he's spending time with her or the reason why. He has to protect his reputation. Something she says she's willing to go along with at first. Yet so much time together changes everything. Her adoration and his growing feelings require him to surrender the one thing he can't seem to let go of. His pride.

    A sweet short story of teen romance by best-selling author, SUZANNE D. WILLIAMS.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherSuzanne D. Williams
    Release dateApr 8, 2015
    ISBN9781507029718
    Pink
    Author

    Suzanne D. Williams

    Best-selling author, Suzanne D. Williams, is a native Floridian, wife, mother, and photographer. She is the author of both nonfiction and fiction books. She writes a monthly column for Steves-Digicams.com on the subject of digital photography, as well as devotionals and instructional articles for various blogs. She also does graphic design for self-publishing authors. She is co-founder of THE EDGE. To learn more about what she’s doing and check out her extensive catalogue of stories, visit http://suzanne-williams-photography.blogspot.com/ or link with her on Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/suzannedwilliamsauthor.

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      Book preview

      Pink - Suzanne D. Williams

      SUZANNE D. WILLIAMS

      www.feelgoodromance.com

      © 2015 PINK by Suzanne D. Williams

      www.feelgoodromance.com

      www.suzannedwilliams.com

      All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission from the publisher.

      This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.

      CHAPTER 1

      Twelfth grade. My final year at Sterling Senior High and I meant to live every minute of it. I, Brigitte Pink, would approach every moment as if it were there to serve me. I’d not only be in fashion; I’d set the fashion. I’d have dozens of friends, go to all the big social events, be invited to the best parties. I’d be the girl every boy wanted.

      At least, that was my dream until standing in the hallway staring at the back of Nelson Trader. Suddenly, I didn’t want every boy. I wanted that boy. And I no longer cared how many friends I had or what parties I went to. All of those wishes were vapors anyhow. I had only one goal – to get his attention.

      My book bag hooked over my left shoulder, I watched him laugh with his friends, saw Tiffany Schaefer, perky pep-squad leader, give him a hug, and in that instant, knew everything wrong with me in great detail.

      I was neither short and cute nor tall and graceful. I didn’t have golden, blonde locks, a flawless complexion, and bow-shaped lips. My breasts were too small, my feet too big. I had a crooked little finger, the result of an accident when I was five, and a serious allergy to peanuts. There was nothing ... nothing ... that a guy as great as Nelson would notice. He was six feet of lean, well-packed testosterone with amber eyes and a sexy shock of hair that fell over his forehead just so. He exhaled and every girl for two hundred yards turned her head.

      Move Punk.

      I jostled awake at the deliberate bump of Terry Rosado’s arm, and set my feet toward my locker. Punk, a nickname I hadn’t minded until now as it implied rebellion I didn’t really participate in. It gave me an identity. I wasn’t just Brigitte, the girl who lived on Westhouse Lane, or Brigitte, the A-student in Mrs. Palmer’s English class. I was Punk, the girl with an edge to her, worth talking to, worth associating with.

      My mood dived. What a joke. The only edge I had was a pair of worn sneakers with a hole in the toe. I turned my back on Nelson and switched my books in my locker. Then, the heels of my shoes squeaking on the tile, I moved snail-like up the stairs to class.

      Third desk, second row, I took a seat between Martin Edwards and Dante White, who smelled like cabbage for some reason. Sliding down in my chair until my spine was bent in a u, I willed myself invisible from the rest of the class. Three minutes later, the bell rang and those not already in place, made their way to their chairs. Handshakes and back slaps were exchanged. Samuel Evans threw a wad of paper at Delana Prescott’s head. Then, Mrs. Palmer appeared from somewhere deep in the supply closet, a smile on her face.

      Good morning, class, she said, her floral skirt swishing around her legs. This will be another great year. Some of you had me for literature last year, so you’ll be familiar with the rules. Just the same, we have to go over them for those who don’t.

      A chorus of groans erupted from the other students. Personally, I didn’t mind reading the rules because I had great respect for doing what I was told. Yet another reason why I was ordinary.

      Mrs. Palmer made her way to the front of the line of desks, depositing exactly the right number for each student in the row, and we handed them backwards, over our heads. I went to pass mine to Martin and discovered he’d moved closer to Alana. I guess they had a thing going. Annoyed, I got up and toted them further back. I was about to sit down again when the classroom door opened.

      Nelson Trader. His weight on one hip, his book bag slung over his shoulder, he paused in the entrance, scanning the room, then, spotting the only empty desk, made his way my direction as if he wasn’t late and no one cared.

      I stared at him, twisting around, open-mouthed, when he took his seat, and a crooked smile formed on his lips. Keep looking. I might do a trick, he said.

      I snapped my mouth shut and faced forward, his eyes burning the back of my head. An entire school year with Nelson behind me? That had to be a sign of something,

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