Let Me Be the One Read Online Free

the time.  I relived that moment of her walk across the field for days afterward in my mind.  She had that end-of-summer tan, long golden waves that hung half-way down her back, and that body.  In those short corduroy shorts, flip flops, and some loose, bohemian-looking tank top, Darcy Donovan was a natural beauty and sexy as all hell.  And it wasn’t just that I was daydreaming of what it would be like to be buried inside of her—I mean I did daydream about having her in my bed, up against a wall, in the shower, in my parents’ pool, pretty much everywhere—but I was also thinking about taking her places, holding her, talking to her, just being with her.  
    I knew Chris had a point, though.  I was diving right in.  I did need to slow down.
     
    Walking across the quad that first day of classes, I saw her.  Girls from New York just had an edgier way of wearing their clothes.  I wasn’t her only admirer; I watched as other guys fixed their gaze on her as she walked by them.
    Again, I actively reminded myself that I had to slow down.  Not because I felt any differently about her but because I didn’t trust myself.  I fell fast and hard for Morgan and what I felt for her paled in comparison to this.  I didn’t want to come on too strong with Darcy and I didn’t want to feel like road kill again if the feeling wasn’t mutual.  I hung back.  I just watched her.  The next day I found myself staring at her again, like a creeper, as she made her way to class.  At that moment I thought to myself that I was falling in love with her.  Yes, I knew that sounded fucking crazy and I knew that I needed to take a big step back in an attempt to regain some sanity.
     
     
    D arcy
    This semester I had a tough schedule.  I took heavy course loads freshman and sophomore years but last year abroad was mostly electives; literature, art history, a nd language immersion classes.  Now it was back to the grind.
    After being pre-med, gung-ho all the way, actually being able to relax and enjoy my classes last year was like an exquisite gift, a respite from the rat race I’d entered into willingly.  I was able to spend the year drifting through museums, lazing away afternoons sitting in outdoor cafes reading some of the most painfully romantic literature, drinking wine and sharing meals with people from every corner of the earth—all in the name of my education. 
    Being totally immersed in a forei gn culture wasn’t easy at first.  I had no close friends tagging along and I tended to get homesick, but by the third week I was dreaming in Spanish and knew that this was all meant to be.  Although I mostly felt resentment towards Nick, there were moments when I felt oddly thankful.  I wouldn’t change the past we’d shared because it was what had landed me there. 
     
    I always loved the first day of classes.  I’m a nerd at heart.  Even though I mostly relied on my laptop, I still loved picking out fresh, clean, new notebooks and was particular down to the kind of pens I wrote with.  I also always took my time getting ready, picking out my outfit for the first day.  But today was different because I wanted to look good for him .  I found myself looking around more than I normally would have as I made my way to class with no luck.
    As it turns out, I didn’t see Tom for that entire first week of Septemb er and I’m embarrassed to admit that out of desperation, I went to him.  Jenna never missed one of Dan’s home rugby matches and today I was happy to tag along.  When we got to the field I was surprised to see there were a lot more like me, girls who were willing to stand outside for a few hours to ogle these fine specimens.  I was reduced to a rugby groupie, no better than any one of them.  Ugh.
    Tom was fun to watch.  He was strong; he coul d lay people out on the pitch.  He was muscular but lean and fast; he broke away twice with one assist and a try in the first half.  Manly is such a lame word but it