It was spring in Portland, and I was studying for yet another test when Morgan showed up.
He was exotic, gorgeous, and sexy as hell, but he wouldn't tell me where he was from.
Four seasons went by, and I still knew almost nothing about him. But I was about to find out.
Morgan is a short story.
It was the first day of Spring. I’d taken on a heavy class load in my junior year at OSU, and I was in one of my favorite spots—the base of a little hill on campus with my back against an oak tree, studying for my physics exam the next day.
“Hey”, someone said, and I looked up to see him standing there above me. Tall, thin, blond, I couldn’t see much more with the sun shining from behind him on the late afternoon day. The hill was crested with a ring of mushrooms and wild flowers, and their perfume only enhanced the promise of the unnaturally warm spring day.
“Hi.” I shielded my eyes and he sank down into the grass in front of me. His eyes were hazel, almost golden, and his high cheekbones gave him an exotic look. I couldn’t place it, but it was clear that he wasn’t from around here.READ MORE
“I’m Morgan.” He offered his hand, and as I took it, something electric passed between us. He had a yellow yarn bracelet tied around his wrists, the significance of which I would only come to understand much later.COLLAPSE