#p:reflections

Sawyer was used to it by now      the batting of lashes, the curling of hair strands around the index finger, the entire works of female flirtation directed towards him. From a young age, he grew immune to the toying females seemed to do with their fellow classmates. It was unfortunate for them, though, and their weak hearts because he was born with the personality of a realist. A pretty face was nothing special to him      it sat next to the other pretty faces in his scrapbook of girls he'd like to shag before he died. A hopeless romantic, in contrast, would see a face as captivating as Ingrid's and feel immediate attraction, as if she was put on the planet for them alone. That wasn't what Sawyer was about; his life was a business tactic. Generally, he would be considered a player and unsuitable for a relationship, which was partially accurate. The boy never committed himself to anything other than a stack of money and his career choice in the entertainment business. The ladies that surrounded him freely were there by choice, not by commitment. If Ingrid were looking for something serious, he would have to tilt his head to the side and smile with half of his mouth the way he does, and tell her, "Not from me." It was nothing personal      he knew there was someone out there for her, for all of the girls swooning when he spoke a word to them, but it wasn't ever going to be him. Sawyer naturally lived for himself, just like his dad had taught him to. "Women would only lie, cheat, and steal from you," Sawyer was told repeatedly as a child. This was no cliche every-man-for-himself story; the boy was not damaged in any sense of the word. It was simple      he was free.