Will

                                    

                                          
I finally got to the front of the line. I got checked in and was handed my room key and a map of the huge building in front of me with a highlighted trail from the front door to my room. Easy. Maybe too easy?
                          
I was thanking the girl at the desk for her help and was about to look around for Chelly to assign me ‘some muscle’ to help with my trunk, when I was hit from behind, shoving me into the table and completely knocking the wind out of me.
                          
“Oof,” is the involuntary sound I made as all the air was pushed out of my lungs.
                          
“Shoot, sorry!” came from behind me as I gasped for air and then turned, ready to give whoever had come plowing into me a few choice words.
                          
But when I saw who had run into me, words and the sudden anger dissolved in my throat. Because the guy standing in front of me, breathing hard from, I guessed, running a marathon that didn’t stop until my body got in the way, was gorgeous.
                          
Like, movie star gorgeous. Zac Efron gorgeous.
                          
And the sheepish smile and pleading raised eyebrows just made him that much more so. And then I wondered if he was a movie star, on campus at Westwood in between shoots or something. He didn’t look familiar, but he sure had that look about him. He had messy brown hair that was a lot longer than the military cuts I was used to seeing on most of the guys in my life. Maybe it wasn’t always messy, but it looked like it was suffering the effects of the aforesaid marathon. Honestly, in that second my fingers tingled, wanting to run through it or fix it or just feel it. Something; I was dying to touch it.
                          
His mouth, turned up on the right in that killer smile which was obviously begging my forgiveness, was full and lush and made for kissing. And as I took in the shape of his lips, I realized in horror that I’d just licked my own.
                          
I quickly lifted my eyes to his, which darted up to mine a half a second later. Busted, he’d been looking at my mouth, too.
                          
Awkward.  My face got hotter and redder and I kind of wanted to crawl under the check in table. But then I realized, unless I was having a stroke, impairing my vision, he was blushing, too. Which was pretty adorable in one of those high school teen movie moments.
                          
But still, I stood there paralyzed, trying to get my brain with the program, because deep down somewhere, I knew social protocol dictated I say something.
                          
Luckily, he came to the same conclusion. “I’m really sorry,” he repeated. “I’m totally late; I was supposed to be here like an hour ago, but I was helping this freshman get himself moved in and as I was running up, I tripped and…” he gestured toward me and took a deep breath, still huffing a little from his run.
                          
“You ran into me,” I said. Like it wasn’t obvious what had happened. But I said it with a smile, like he hadn’t knocked the wind out of me. Although even if he hadn’t, I had a feeling just meeting him would have rendered me breathless. As it was, my heart was racing and not just from the physical contact.
                          
“Right. Like I said, sorry about that.”
                          
I waved him off.  “So you’re here to help with luggage?” I asked, holding my breath as I waited for his answer.
                          
Suddenly, he did a big flourish with his right hand, bowed in front of me and said, in a very stiff and British voice, “Willmont Leander Gareth Davidson at your service, ma’am.”
                          
I couldn’t help the smile. “That’s your name?” It sounded like a stuffy old man’s name. Not that I would have said that out loud, but all he was missing was “The thiiiiiiird” drawled at the end.