Guy With a Tattooed Neck

My carer did not tell me they were coming.

I was out in the sad excuse for a garden out back of the run down orphanage. Tending to the untameable weeds that forever plagued the flower beds that I worked so hard and pointlessly on.

I had looked up at the sound of the rusty wrought iron door clanging shut and saw two people, a man and a woman, trailing behind my carer, Alison. Ali was pretty cool, she wasn’t stuck up and bitchy like the rest of the hags that looked after us.

Anyway, when they got close enough, I took a moment to study the strangers.

The woman looked disinterested, stuck-up and basically like an all-round bitch. I barely had a chance to glare at her stupid face before I noticed the man standing beside her. He was absolutely gorgeous. Bright hazel eyes gazed steadily at me while his shoulder length, black hair occasionally brushed the sides of his cheeks as the wind gently flowed past his face. His skin was so beautifully pale that he looked really out of place in the blazing sunlight.

His eyes traveled slowly down my body and then returned to my face. The features gracing the smooth skin of his face were carefully blank as if he were afraid to show his emotions to the world. I looked down at myself and noticed the mud soaked jeans and t-shirt with holes randomly covering the material that adorned my body. I didn’t dare look into his eyes again.

I wasn’t worth his attention.