So Damn Beautiful (A New Adult Romance) Read Free Page A

and I’m trying to stay ahead of the game
on this one.”
    It had been about three weeks since Scott had
warned me that Elsie meant business. Unfortunately, that was also
the day that I got my first grade from Professor Claremont: a
dripping, scarlet C plus.
    At office hours after class, I’d told her, “I
just don’t understand. I thought the paper wasn’t supposed to be
academic, just a response to the question of what kind of art we
love and why. How could I possibly get a C plus for that? I mean .
. . art is my entire life.” I had felt feel tears welling in my
throat as I spoke.
    She’d looked at me carefully. “Annie, it’s
clear that you have immense talent and drive. But if you want to
enter the art world and be successful, you need to have a much
broader perspective than van Gogh and the impressionists.” That had
just about confined me to the library for days, but Kendra had
finally convinced me to come out of hiding and peruse the streets,
rather than just my textbooks, for inspiration. I was reluctant,
but if it meant improving my track record, I was up for
anything.
    “If you wanna do research for any internships
you’re applying for, you’ll have to learn more about the local
scene. I mean, hello !” She paused for a moment, her eyes
drifting heavenward, dreamily. “You know, Annie, I’ve always wanted
to hook up with an artist, but I never seem to meet talented
guys—just ones with pretty faces and dreams of becoming rock stars,
even though they can’t carry a tune. Keeping a straight face while
watching them geek out on air guitar is getting to be kind of old.
I think it’s time to meet a man of substance, don’t you?”
    “I guess so—” Before I could finish my
sentence, Kendra squeezed my arm really hard.
    “Ouch! What the hell is wrong with you?” I
said, wrenching my arm out of her grasp.
    Oblivious to my outburst, Kendra stared and
pointed ahead. “O . . . M . . . G . . . Annie, it’s him!”
    “Who?” I looked in the direction she was
pointing. A boxy-looking warehouse marked where the Meatpacking
District began. Amid its massive gray buildings and quaint
cobblestone streets, I felt as if I were watching the streetscapes
of yesterday collide headfirst with the present. I had no idea why
people found this area of town so appealing. Sure, the jazz wafting
out of some unseen corridor was kind of nice, but the surrounding
area—littered with garbage and the kinds of people my mother
usually referred to as “bad elements”—left a lot to be desired. God
forbid I ever became one of those bridge-and-tunnel weekend
visitors who frequented trendy bars in questionable areas of town
and made crappy places like these more fashionable than they
deserved to be.
    “It’s him , Annie! Chase Adams!” Kendra
practically squealed in my ear.
    “Chase who ?” I glared and rubbed the
still-sore spot above my elbow as I followed her gaze. And then . .
. my heart began to thud like crazy at what I saw.
    “Chase Adams. One of New York magazine’s Thirty Hottest New Yorkers Under Thirty!”
    I would’ve recognized him anywhere, but I’d
never thought I’d actually see him again. The boy Kendra was
pointing at was arguably one of the most gorgeous people I’d ever
laid eyes on. And, as it so happened, he was the same guy I’d seen
sauntering outside on Stuyvesant Street just weeks before. Down to
the washboard abs, I might add.
    Surrounded by a haze of cigarette smoke, he
looked almost like an angel encircled by a halo. Although he was
squatting on the ground with a bunch of aerosol cans, his
concentration completely on the piece he was creating, I could tell
by the way his jeans hugged his legs and his wifebeater accentuated
his rippling muscles that he was built like a Greek god. He pushed
a lock of dark hair out of his face and puffed on his cigarette
some more, before he turned and looked in our direction.
    “Annie, he sees us!” Kendra gleefully sang
out. I wanted to hit her, I