Adam was staring at Aimee again. And Aimee hated it when Adam stared. She knew Adam wanted her feel special that he would even give her the time of day, but she refused to give him that satisfaction.

A loner by nature, Aimee sat by herself at lunch, idly sketching the perfection that was Nate Anderson. She was always attracted to the popular ones, though she never figured why.

A solid body blocked her light, throwing the table in shadow.

Adam.

He stood over her, smirking, his dark jeans riding suggestively low on his hips. He reminded Aimee of Ville Valo. That is, if Ville Valo was the spawn of satan.

Adam found her gaze held it. He had big, girly looking blue eyes, that had this weird psychic, hypnotic thing about them. Aimee always felt naked when he looked at her. The bad part was that he knew it.

And Adam used this knowledge to make her life hell.

“Hullo, Aimee…” he drawled in his low, English accent. Adam had moved from Essex to Oregon last summer.

Aimee wished he hadn’t.