As I was staring he suddenly jerked his head to move his hair; it caught the light and the golden gleam nearly blinded me. His hair itself was like spun gold, each thread falling perfectly, weaving together into curls that framed his tanned face. He paused for a moment, tapping his pen quietly on the desk before he continued writing. I watched his hand as he wrote. His fingers were long but strong looking, his fingernails pink and smooth, with half moons near the cuticles. My eyes wandered up his arm, to his strong forearm disapearing into the sleeve of his cross country jacket, pushed up to below his elbow to free his hands. I watched his hand as it moved up to rub some unknown irritant from his eye. His nose was straight and acquiline, his lips (his lips!) perfectly formed, parted slightly, his breath, I imagined, moving in and out in steady streams of air. Suddenly, he looked up and I caught a flash of his emerald eyes framed by tangled golden lashes before ducking my head and pretending to work on my test.
