He was never indecisive. What was wrong with him? A head injury was too convenient to blame. Embarrassment over his suspension was whiney. Overwhelmed by a beautiful woman’s kiss was damned humiliating. That left regret. But his DNA didn’t include contrition. His personal motto was trudge on and forward and forget the crappy past that couldn’t be changed. Her touch and scent lingered on his skin. Weak and dizzy, he longed to give into the comfort she’d offered. To bury himself in her body, hold her against him beneath cool sheets, feel her breath heave, her pulse gather speed. But she was too pure and perfect for him. He’d taint her somehow. He came from bad stock and had no doubt of a golden upbringing for her that included luxuries like regular meals and consistent lighting and heat. He imagined her dad as some big guy with a Stetson, a firm hand, but broad smile for his beauty queen daughter.
