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| Ian Somerhalder | Park Yoochun |
Chapter 11 PT 2 has been posted: Cup of Hotness Cafe.
Here is a excerpt . . . this chapter features Ian Somerhalder and Park Yoochun.
Here is a excerpt . . . this chapter features Ian Somerhalder and Park Yoochun.
Saffron craned her neck, picking up on mother’s livid, infuriated, tone, saying ‘they won’t listen’. Listen to what? Her huffing about them noticing an Idol? That was just plain stupid. This wasn’t the ‘Waldorf Astoria’, and she wasn’t sitting here in the shadow of Mr. Big . . . afraid to breathe, afraid to speak, hell . . . afraid to be alive. She and Saffire were young and single. Well, she was the last time she looked. Hot guys were just that. Hot guys. And she would gawk, and stare at every one she came in contact with if she damned well pleased. Mother and Mr. Big didn’t rule her world any longer.
And thus, in the middle of her eves-dropping, the devil came knocking, when seemingly from out of nowhere a tall, dark and handsome American stepped up beside them, drink in hand . . . eyes locked on an unsuspecting Saffron.
Saffire saw him first, rising up for a well-needed potty break. Gulping uncontrollably, she followed him as his eyes darted from Saffron to hers, one eye-brow raised teasingly.
Elbowing her sister she forced out a gurgled, “Who’s that? Do we know him?” watching as shifting his weight, he cradled his coffee cup nonchalantly, with the ease of someone who knew he needed no introduction.
Beside her, Saffron stiffened . . . her face going blank with shock, mouth open slightly, remembering with clarity the smell of his cologne, arrogant swagger and taste of cigars on his breath when his lips pressed over hers.
“It’s Ian,” she growled, “my ticket to Hell, sister.”
And thus, in the middle of her eves-dropping, the devil came knocking, when seemingly from out of nowhere a tall, dark and handsome American stepped up beside them, drink in hand . . . eyes locked on an unsuspecting Saffron.
Saffire saw him first, rising up for a well-needed potty break. Gulping uncontrollably, she followed him as his eyes darted from Saffron to hers, one eye-brow raised teasingly.
Elbowing her sister she forced out a gurgled, “Who’s that? Do we know him?” watching as shifting his weight, he cradled his coffee cup nonchalantly, with the ease of someone who knew he needed no introduction.
Beside her, Saffron stiffened . . . her face going blank with shock, mouth open slightly, remembering with clarity the smell of his cologne, arrogant swagger and taste of cigars on his breath when his lips pressed over hers.
“It’s Ian,” she growled, “my ticket to Hell, sister.”
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