Good Looking Preview chapter 2

 Thanks everyone who has read and reviewed Good Looking so far! You guys are the best. 

Here is the second chapter, where we get the dev's point of view. 

Chapter 2

Abby

There’s this guy. I can’t take my eyes off him. 

The first day of my Brit lit class, I’m sitting there quietly, looking over the syllabus and thinking about how I’m going to manage all the assigned reading and writing with my rehearsal schedule when there’s a clattering along the side of the lecture hall. Somehow I just know what that sound is. A second later, I look up to see a white cane hitting the backs of the fixed chairs and my attention is drawn like a magnet to the guy holding the cane, the most arrestingly, strikingly handsome guy I have ever seen. I mean, most girls might look at him and see an average looking white guy with brown hair and brown eyes, but they would be so, so mistaken. His hair is slightly curly and he has that clean-cut, boyish look that I always go for. But it’s not only that. 

It’s because he’s blind. 

I watch him walk halfway down the lecture hall then whack his cane against the chair on the end of my row and sit down a few seats away from me. I feel a flush ripple over my entire body, and even while I’m enjoying it, I also feel a stab of resentment for how much I’m reacting to this guy I don’t know at all. 

Down at the front of the lecture hall, Professor Roesman introduces himself and starts lecturing, but I hardly hear a word. I’m watching this guy, but trying not to be too obvious about it. It’s rude to stare, even if the person you’re staring at can’t look back at you. Maybe even more so in that case. And anyway, I’m pretty sure this guy can see at least a little. His eyes are clear, no scarring, and he sometimes seems to be focusing on things, even though he doesn’t take out a notebook and start writing like everyone else, but sits with his hands in his lap, running them over and over his thighs.

Why is he here? It feels like a sign of something, although I’m not sure exactly what. Here I am, trying to get through my senior year, certainly not expecting anything from this lit class I’m taking as an elective, and this hottie sits down practically next to me. 

Just let him go, I tell myself. He probably has a girlfriend already. Or a boyfriend, who am I to judge? He doesn’t want to be bothered with some random girl in his class. But I already know that I’m going to find a way to talk to him after the lecture. I can’t let this opportunity pass me by. There are so few guys I’m attracted to like this.

I’m a devotee.

Hardly anyone even knows what that word means, or that people like me exist. I thought I was the only one until a very kind therapist talked me through it when I was eighteen. I’m attracted to people with disabilities. Blind guys most of all. I’m not a sadist; I don’t want to make anyone suffer or watch them struggle, but there’s something about a blind guy that is endlessly fascinating and oh so sexy. 

Professor Roesman reads through all the assignments for the class, including two essays. The guy at the end of the row gets more agitated listening to this, shifting around in his seat nervously. Where is his note taker? The CSD should have assigned someone to him for each of his classes. That’s what Ted had.

No, I can’t think about Ted. I try my best to banish all thoughts of him from my mind. Ok, so I will talk to Mr. Sexy sitting almost next to me, but I can’t let him know that I’m a devotee, and I absolutely can’t ever let him know that my ex-boyfriend is also blind. I’ll just say hello to be friendly, then let him go on his way. He probably doesn’t want to talk to me at all anyway.

At the end of class, though, he surprises me by getting up and walking down to the front of the lecture hall. By the time I’ve gathered up all my things and followed him down, he’s already in the middle of a conversation with the professor.

“…so the CSD should have contacted you…” I hear him say as I edge toward the lectern, pushing against the tide of other students leaving.

“The what?” Prof Roesman sounds impatient and irritated.

“The Center for Students with Disabilities. They were supposed to send you an email?”

 “I never read my email,” Roesman declares, as if that’s a sign of how important and smart he is. What an asshole. Would it kill him to be even slightly accommodating?

“Ok…well, um…they were supposed to order me the novels on tape but only the ones for the second half of the semester have come in, the ones for the first week aren’t here yet. And, uh, I was supposed to have a note taker in class with me but they’re not here, I don’t know why, and um, I don’t know what I should do.” 

“I don’t know, try talking to this ‘center’ or whatever again.” Roesman gathers up his papers and puts them in his bag.

“But I really need this course to graduate.”

“None of this is my problem. If you’ll excuse me, I see the next class is coming in, so we all have to leave now.”

I can’t believe Roesman is giving this guy the brush-off. What is he supposed to do? If the prof won’t help him, I have to do something. I step forward and put my hand on his arm. He startles slightly.

“Um, excuse me? I can share my notes with you, if you want.” 

“What?” He turns toward me, frowning in confusion. His eyes swim around and my stomach does a flip-flop.

“I mean, I’m taking this class too and I can help you out if you want. Let’s go in the hallway to talk about it. The next class is coming in. Here, take my arm.” I push my elbow into his hand and he follows me up the stairs out to the hallway. My heart is hammering wildly. No, I tell myself, this is not flirting. He needs help and I’m in a position to give it. I’m not going to be creepy or expect anything in return.

“This ok?” I ask when we reach the hallway. He shrugs. It’s noisy and crowded but there isn’t anywhere better nearby. “I can share my notes with you,” I say again.

“Sure, thanks.” He doesn’t sound too enthusiastic.

I plow on anyway. “And you said you’re missing the first few books? Do you want me to read them to you?”

“No, it’s ok, I couldn’t ask you to do that.” He slides his eyes around, and now I’m sure he has some vision. Is he trying to see me? I feel all fluttery being so close to him.

“I really don’t mind,” I insist. “I have to read it myself anyway. And I’m a theater major, so it’s good practice for me. I’m Abby, by the way.”

“Nick.” He sticks out his hand, waiting for me to take it. “Nice to meet you.” I give his hand a firm shake, holding just a second longer than usual. Does he feel that little spark too? Maybe, because for the first time he smiles, just the cutest grin. It nearly strikes me dead on the spot. I will never forgive myself if I don’t get to know this guy. Isn’t that what college is for? I have to shoot my shot.

“Hey, it’s almost lunchtime and I’m starving. Wanna go get something to eat?”

“I’m on the dining plan…” I know exactly what he means by this. His parents are paying a shit-ton of money for him to eat every meal in the dorm cafeteria. Eating at a restaurant means effectively paying twice for the same meal. 

“Which dorm?”

“Probus Hall.”

“Oh, cool! I lived there my first two years but now I’m off campus. Let’s eat there! I can pay for a single meal. It’ll be fun to go back. I’ve been missing it.” This is a bald-faced lie but only the last part. I really did love living there, even if the food is mediocre. I can’t think of any other way to keep this connection going, but Nick goes along with it.

“Ok, sure, if you don’t mind.” He smiles again and puts his hand out for my arm. “Let’s go.”

Oh lord, what am I getting myself into?