Tara Taylor Quinn

There you had it. Right up front. I wasn’t one of the popular girls. I read books. All the time. In between classes. During study hall. After school, before dinner, after work and studying, before bed, I read. On weekends, I read. I went babysitting. And I read. Romances. Always romances.

I looked around. After having been in class with the same kids for four long years, it was still a little weird to me being in a classroom where I didn’t know a single soul.

The room buzzed with energy. Freshman energy. After all life was just beginning. The future was more question than answer—resting largely on the success or failure of the next four years in classrooms just like that one.

Did I stand out?

I didn’t have to be there to obtain a future.

I had my future planned. I knew what I wanted and I wasn’t going to be swayed.

It was the fall of 1977. I had my whole world lying before me

all I could think about was running my fingers through that hair. I

Or, maybe, you’re the first real, flesh and blood breathing guy I’ve ever seen who made me feel ‘things?’

Of course not, I was Tara Gumser. Walt Gumser’s girl child. I lived with my nose in books. And furthermore, why would I think for one second that a guy as gorgeous as that would have any interest in me when not one of the four hundred boys I’d graduated with had ever asked me out?

I wasn’t like other girls.

I didn’t meet guys.

I read books.

I was a writer. And that was exactly what I wanted to be. What I had to be. I was seventeen when I got my first job as a professional writer. Seventeen when I received my first paycheck for writing.

I wasn’t like other girls.

I didn’t meet guys.

I read books.

I was a writer. And that was exactly what I wanted to be. What I had to be. I was seventeen when I got my first job as a professional writer. Seventeen when I received my first paycheck for writing.

I couldn’t concentrate. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t help glancing toward the door every two seconds.

That was it. I was over him.