Despite how hard I try, I can’t get the girl out of my head. Maybe it’s because I’ve had her shoe sitting on my nightstand for the past week, begging me to find its owner, like a freaking Cinderella story.

But this is no fairy tale. And even though I’ve cashed in on my nickname, I’m sure as hell no Prince Charming. I’m the antithesis of a hero. The guy who fucks everything up. The deadbeat who’ll never be able to fill his older brother’s shoes.

At least according to my dad.

The man likes to remind me whenever he’s had too many bourbons that it should have been me who drove that car over the cliff and not Ethan.

Fucked up? Yeah. But hearing shit like that screws with a person’s mind. Which is why when my phone vibrates and I see my mom’s number pop up on the screen, I groan inwardly.

But ignoring the woman isn’t an option. She’ll just keep calling, or worse, hop in her private jet and fly to see me.

“Hey, Mom.” I lean against my dresser and pick up the shoe -- Charlie’s shoe. I can’t help but smile thinking that I still have a piece of her. Even if that piece can be replicated at any big box store for less than ten dollars.

My mother’s voice is raised an octave and I can hear the outrage seething through her words. “Janice just called me—”

“Janice?”

“The event organizer for last weekend's Gala. She was apologizing profusely, said one of her waitresses attacked you—”

“Charlie didn’t attack me.”

There’s a short pause. “You know the girl?”

No. But I want to. More than I care to admit. “Everything is fine.”

“Everything is not fine if one of the staff humiliated you.”

“She didn’t—”

“I’ve made sure she’s fired, and she won’t be getting a job anywhere—”

“Mom.” Frustration seeps into my words. “It was me who was out of line.”

Her words come out slow, filled with suspicion when she asks, “Out of line how?”

“Charlie...” I catch my reflection in the mirror and wince at the man who stares back at me. A man who falls into all the categories the girl tagged me in. Privileged. Arrogant. Selfish. Asshole. “She thought I propositioned her.”

My mom sucks in an outraged breath. “My God, Spencer. How could you?”

“I didn’t. It was a misunderstanding.”

“You can’t afford those kinds of misunderstandings. If the girl knows who you are, and she brings this forward, she could ruin your reputation.”

“You mean Dad’s reputation. That’s what you’re really worried about.”

“Spencer Thomason Beckett, how dare you speak to me like that?”

“Sorry.” I rub my forehead. “I’ll deal with it. The girl won’t be a problem.”

There’s a short pause before my mother sighs, and her voice returns to its normal sweet cadence which she’s perfected over the years being a politician’s wife. “Don’t you think it’s time you settled down? I was talking with the Harringtons yesterday and they told me that Winslow—”

“Mom.”

“You care about her, I know you do.”

Of course I do. We’ve known each other since we were still in diapers, she’s like family. But I have no intention of making the woman my wife, no matter how happy it would make my mom.

“At some point, you’re going to have to settle down.”

Not likely.

“If I ever do, Mom. It’ll be my choice.”

“You were always such a stubborn child. Why can’t you be more like...”

I hear her unspoken word - Ethan.

There are moments when I know she forgets he’s gone. And I hear it now. The small gasp on the other line as his loss hits her. Grief infuses the silence between us.

“Mom?”

She sniffs, and says softly, “Yes?”

“I love you.”

More silence, and when she speaks again, her tone is cold, callous. “Just remember who you are, Spencer. You’re a Beckett. Act like one.”

She ends the call, and I shove my phone back in my pocket, wishing that my name didn’t feel like a noose around my neck or a damn curse.

I know she’s right though. I am a Beckett. Even if my family is dysfunctional, they’re still my family. And after everything we’ve gone through in losing Ethan, I refuse to give my parents another reason to mourn.

Besides being reminded of my familial duty, talking to my mom gave me an idea. I call Janice, the event coordinator, and after several minutes of smooth talking, I’m able to convince her to open Charlie’s file for me. Phone number, address, and even a last name, completely confidential and illegal, but I guess there are some benefits to being a Beckett.

One thing I’m not able to do is get her her job back.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Beckett, but your mother insisted—”

“Yeah, I get it.” I may have the name, but it’s my parents who have the power.

Even over me.

They still have power over my finances, and while I have some of my own money that my grandfather left me, it’s barely a drop in the ocean of the Beckett fortune.

“Thank you for your help, Janice,” I say. “And I’d appreciate if you’d keep this call between us.”

“Of course.” I can hear the nerves in her voice before she hangs up. My mother must have laid into her good.

I’ve been on the receiving end of the woman’s lectures enough times that I know how intimidating she can be.

Both my parents thrive on control. Especially over their children. Ethan and Ava were always better at accepting it. Me? There’s always been an itch inside me wanting to rebel.

I shouldn’t complain. What my mother and father lacked in parental love, they made up for in things.

Gifts. Toys. Anything I want, I always got.

Even this place.

I live in a townhouse in Palmer Square. After living on campus for my freshman year, my needs required more than the typical college experience. I needed a proper bedroom to bring home my conquests.

A bedroom that to my aching cock’s dismay hasn’t seen any action lately. Even before I couldn’t get Charlie out of my head. The whole one-night stand, meaningless sex thing has just gotten old. Not that I’m looking for anything serious.

Shit, I don’t even know what I’m looking for. I just know I’m tired of feeling numb. And the only thing that’s made me feel alive in a long time is the girl with the eyes too big for her head, and a tongue sharper than an obsidian blade.

Charlie lives on campus, so that’s exactly where I head after tucking her shoe in my messenger bag.

After parking my Mercedes-AMG, I turn toward the senior dorms, more than ready to find the girl I’ve been thinking about for days.

It’s the end of fall and the leaves have already changed color. I inhale a deep breath of the crisp air as I walk through the old buildings. God, I love this place. The old stonework, the mature trees, it’s like you can feel the history surrounding you, like it’s a life force of its own.

To be honest, it’s the first place I ever felt at home.

Growing up in boarding schools, traveling summers around Europe, I never felt like I had roots. Sure, the Becketts owned homes. Many of them. Most scattered along the east coast. Washington. The Hamptons. Hilton Head Island. But they’re just houses.

The first year here, I knew this was where I wanted to be. Didn’t even matter that I was dubbed the Little Prince by my brother’s frat friends. I took the jabs, proved myself with the jocks, the geeks, the Delta Phis, and each of the sororities, eventually getting re-nicknamed Princeton Charming.

“Hi, Spencer.” A pretty blonde waves at me as she walks by, giggling to her friends when I smile back.

I’m a bit of a legend on campus. Sounds cocky, sure, but it’s the truth. And I’d be lying if I said I minded the attention. It’s a flattering ego boost and some days, like today when I’ve talked to my mother on the phone, it feels good to be doing something right. Even if that something is walking around campus with a cocky grin.

I find Charlie’s door and knock, but it’s not big hazel eyes that greet me when it opens, it’s a pair of blue ones that go wide when the girl sees me.

“Spencer Beckett,” she says, brushing her platinum blonde hair down nervously. “I...uh...hi.”

I give her a forced smile and glance over her shoulder, hoping I have the right room.

“I just came to return this.” I pull out the shoe. “Is Char—”

“My shoe?” She takes it from me, frowning. “How did you get it?”

“I kinda borrowed them,” a familiar voice says behind me.

I turn to meet the eyes I came here for, the ones that I’ve been fantasizing about for the past few days. And they were worth the wait. Today, they look more amber than hazel, the sunlight that streams through a window hits her face, and I see the splattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose and cheeks.

“How did you find me?” Her pouty lips tug down.

“I have my ways.”

Her frown deepens. “So you’re a stalker now?”

“Charlotte.” Her friend sounds almost panicked, like she can’t believe she’d talk to me that way.

And I chuckle, because most people don’t.

“I just came here to return your shoe.”

“My shoe,” her friend reminds me, dangling it on one finger and frowning between me and Charlie, but focusing on me more than I’d like.

“Can you give us a minute?” I ask the blonde, pulling out one of my dimpled smiles, then winking. “I’d appreciate it.”

With a sigh, she steps back into the room and shuts the door.

“Well, that takes the whole fun out of the shoe fitting,” I joke, turning back to Charlie, and meeting the suspicion in her gaze.

“Another innuendo?” she asks, then adds quickly before I can answer, “Thank you for bringing it back. And thank you for...” She grimaces. “For saving me the other night. It doesn’t make up for what you said or for getting me fired, but—”

“I didn’t mean to offend you. I’d had too much to drink and I didn’t mean to imply I was paying you for sex.”

A couple girls walk by when I say the words and start to giggle and whisper as they walk away.

“Great,” Charlie rolls her eyes. “Any other damage you’d like to do while you’re here?”

I’m messing things up, again.

“I talked with Janice, explained to her that it was my fault what happened.”

“You did?” Her arms drop to her sides, and she chews on her bottom lip. “So I have my job back?”

I wince. “Not exactly, my mother found out about it, and—”

Charlie groans. “Great. So I’m probably blacklisted from every job on campus now.”

“Let me help you.”

“I don’t want your help.”

“But you need it. And it would make me feel better.”

“Well, if it’ll make you feel better,” she says, sarcasm dripping from her words. “Then I wouldn’t want to stand in the way of the great Princeton Charming.”

“You’ve got a mouth on you.”

“You’re observant. Most humans do. And last I checked I am one.” Her words are quick, but I’m starting to think they’re a defense mechanism. I know I have enough of them.

I take a step toward her, see her fidget and the small shaky breath she takes in. “Do I make you nervous?”

“Cocky and delusional,” she says, taking another step back when I move forward.

“It’s okay if I do.” I place a palm on the wall beside her head when she’s backed against it.

“You don’t.” She juts her chin up at me, but the small tremble of her bottom lip gives her away.

“Okay.” I lean down so that I’m practically eye to eye with her. It’d be so damn easy to steal a kiss, and I know she wants it, I can feel the pull between us, but I have no doubt I’d end up with a hot, red palm print on my cheek. “So what do I make you, Charlie?”

She shrugs. “Infuriated. Annoyed. Frustrated.” Each word is shaky, and despite the way she’s trying to hide it, I see the need in her eyes. She wants me, she’s just too stubborn to admit it.

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you,” I say.

“Not used to women turning you down?”

“No. And not used to getting champagne thrown in my face.”

Her cheeks turn red. “I doubt that’s the first time—”

“It was.” I chuckle. “Most people tend to like me.”

“Sorry, I’m not dazzled by your sparkling good looks and money.”

“Sparkling good looks?” I raise a brow at her.

She moans. “Yes, Spencer, you’re hot. But that doesn’t mean every girl on campus wants to...to...” More color returns to her cheeks and she looks away.

“Wants to what?” I’m probably enjoying this way too much. “Fuck me?’

“Nice.” She starts to move away, but I take her hand, and when my skin meets hers, hell if the whole world doesn’t stop spinning.

It’s just me and her and a primal need that I’ve never felt before. A desire that’s so intense it scares the shit out of me. And in a heartbeat, I have her back against the wall, this time my body pressed against hers, my fingers in her hair, thigh budged between hers, my breathing ragged as I try to use every last ounce of my self-control from crushing my mouth against hers, and probably destroying any chance I have with this girl.

“I want to kiss you, Charlie.”

She whimpers. A sound that makes my already aching cock harder than granite.

“Say yes, Charlie. Let me taste your lips.” I’m not past the point of begging with her. I don’t kiss. It’s one of my rules. But I want, no need to possess her mouth. I lean closer. “Just say yes.”

Her bottom lip trembles and she says, “Ye—”

“Charlotte?” a gruff voice says behind me, and I don’t need to turn to hear the jealousy in that one word.

Flustered, she places her palms on my chest and pushes me away.

“You okay, Char?” The guy, who I recognize as Tatum Madden, Princeton’s top wide receiver for three years straight, is glaring at me like he’s ready to use his hands for more than just catching footballs.

“Yeah...yes.” She runs her hands over her torn jeans. “Fine. This is...uh...”

“Spencer Beckett,” I say, holding out a hand to him, and wondering if I didn’t just make an ass of myself by almost kissing the dude’s girlfriend. I have certain rules, no kissing, no stealing another man’s girl. But hell, with Charlie, I’d break both of them.

“Yeah, I know who you are.” Nostrils flare and muscles tense as he continues to stare daggers at me.

“I should...uh...” Charlie opens her dorm door, not looking at either of us now. “I’ll get your laundry, Tatum.”

Why the hell does she have his laundry?

Tatum’s gaze never falters, he keeps glaring at me. “How do you know Charlotte?”

“We met at a party.”

“She doesn't go to parties unless she’s with me.” There’s the jealousy again. She might not be his girlfriend, but it’s clear he wants her.

I shrug just as Charlie returns with a basket of neatly folded laundry.

“Thanks Charlotte,” Tatum says taking it from her. “I’d be screwed without my special t-shirt for tonight's game.”

She smiles up at him. “I know. I used the fabric softener you like too.”

I watch the exchange, see the warmth in Charlie’s eyes, the lust in Tatum’s.

“You’ll be at the game?” he asks.

“Of course, I even bought face paint. I’m going all out.”

“You’re the best.” Then he reaches in his back pocket and pulls out an envelope. “Oh, this is for you.”

Heat rises to Charlie’s cheeks and I’m dying to know what’s in that letter. God, since when did I let a jock get under my skin? I’m above all that shit, aren’t I?

Tatum squeezes Charlie’s shoulder before walking away. I run a hand over my jaw, wondering when I got so damn jealous. But I saw the way Tatum looked at her and it sends some primal signal to my brain. Make her yours.