“Hey. You’re the girl from the other night. The one who ran out on me.”

Slowly I look up to find Rhett Montgomery standing in front of the table I’m sitting at, my eyes going wide with surprise when they land on his too-handsome face. Though I’m not really shocked to find him here. I’ve followed him long enough to know he’d be at the library. He meets with his study group every Thursday night at seven, and they’re usually here for an hour or so. I deliberately planted myself at the table closest to the front door of the library and patiently waited for him to pass by.

I tilt my head to the side and narrow my eyes, contemplating him. Like I don’t quite remember him. He takes a step back, seemingly affronted that I could possibly forget him—hard eye roll—and before he takes off, I snap my fingers like I just had a revelation.

“The guy who insulted me for being too cool at the bar,” I tell him as I slowly close my Intro to Communications textbook.

His mouth pops open like I just punched him in the stomach. “I didn’t insult you.”

“From what I vaguely remember, it sounded like you did.” I flash him a sweet smile to counterbalance the venom in my words.

“If you thought I was being rude, I apologize.” He actually sounds sincere, which surprises me. But he’s constantly surprising me so…

“You’re forgiven,” I murmur. I need to remember myself and stop being so rude to him.

He gestures toward the empty chair across from me. “Can I sit down?”

“Um, sure?” Oh God. I do not want him to sit down. I don’t want to make small talk with Rhett Montgomery, not yet. I just wanted him to see me, catch a fleeting glimpse or maybe say something quick and then go about his night. Doesn’t he have a party to go to or a girl to bang?

“You said it like a question.” His brows are lowered, and he’s frowning at me. “If you want me to leave you alone, I will.”

Again with the serious tone. I believed him just now when he said that, even though I know I shouldn’t.

“No, you can stay.” I watch as he pulls the chair out and settles in, dropping his backpack at his feet.

“Why’d you leave the other night?” Rhett asks.

My gaze meets his once more, noting the sincerity in his gaze. He appears genuinely confused. I’m tempted to confess everything to him, but I keep my mouth shut.

“I didn’t want to stay there anymore,” I say with a little shrug.

“You got ditched, huh?” He lifts his brows, his handsome face now full of sympathy.

The very last thing I want is for him to feel sorry for me. “No, I didn’t get ditched,” I snap. I immediately regret how mean I sound.

“But the person you were supposed to meet that night never showed up. Right?” He’s almost scowling at me, he’s frowning so hard. I suddenly remember what I said to him that night. “Hot date that didn’t pan out, huh?”

“No,” I say quickly. Too quickly. God, just talking to him makes me feel defensive, and that’s not a good thing. Not at all. “I met him somewhere else.”

“Oh, really?”

His questions are making me uncomfortable. So are his good looks. His thick, dark brown hair, his brown eyes, his perfect face and perfect body and sexy voice and the way he’s watching me, leaning toward me like he might actually be interested.

I remind myself this is what I want. This is how I’m going to worm my way inside, by using Rhett. I should be okay with his attention, should be thrilled that it’s all happening so quickly.

But I’m not. I don’t know why. Maybe because this scares me. He scares me. You can plot and plan and think your way through all the scenarios, but when reality hits and you’re actually dealing with the person you’re going to use, it’s terrifying.

What if I screw up? What if he finds out my secret? What if he exposes me and ruins me forever?

I push those negative thoughts out of my mind and focus on the lie I’m about to tell him instead.

“I left the bar because I got tired of dealing with douchey frat guys,” I finally tell him, with as much disdain as I can muster. Which is a lot, by the offended expression on his face.

“So now I’m a douchey frat guy.”

I say nothing for a moment, and the wounded look on his face breaks me. “I’m not meaning you.”

“Good to know,” he says with a slight nod. He looks pleased with himself. “What’s your name?”

I’ve been waiting for this moment for months. I’ve even rehearsed saying it out loud to him, just to get used to hearing me say it. Though I’ve become desensitized, since I legally changed my name just before enrolling here and all my professors call me by my new name.

Yet I’m still not used to it. Besides, I chose this name for Rhett. Figured he might like it, that it sounds rich girl enough to appeal to him.

“Jensen.” My voice is small, smaller than I meant it to be. Just being in his presence makes me nervous.

The faint smile curving his full lips is irritatingly appealing. “Jensen,” he repeats, like he’s testing it out. “I knew a Jensen once.”

“You did?” Great. Some girl who probably blew his mind and blew his dick. I should’ve come up with a better name. But it was the closest to my actual name, and no way could I use that when I met him.

“Yeah, he was on the football team with me in high school. Jensen Graham. Big ol’ lineman, probably weighed close to two-twenty-five, maybe even two-fifty.” Rhett laughs, shakes his head. “We always called him Jenny just to piss him off.”

Relief floods me. It was a guy named Jensen, not some hot girl with glossy pink lips from his past.

“Did it?” When Rhett sends me a questioning look, I continue, “Piss him off?”

“Oh, yeah. He seriously hated it when we called him that.” The faraway look on Rhett’s face tells me he’s shifted into nostalgic mode.

“Sounds like you guys were kind of mean.”

“You know how it is. Locker room talk.” Rhett chuckles, but I don’t say anything and when he realizes I’m not laughing, he stops. “You didn’t ask what my name is.”

I probably just bruised his massive ego and I didn’t even mean to. “What’s your name?”

“Rhett.”

“Oh. Like Gone with the Wind?” I make a tiny face, as if I’m offended.

He winces. “Yeah. Tell me you’ve never watched that movie.”

“I’ve never watched that movie,” I say, my voice monotone. I’m lying. I’ve totally watched that movie. When I was a little girl, my father made me watch it, calling it a classic. I thought Scarlett O’Hara was a total bitch and Rhett Butler was funny-looking.

“Good.” He smiles again, his cheeks the faintest pink. He’s blushing? Damn it, I don’t want him to be appealing or cute. “My mother is from the south.”

“She named you?” We’re already talking about family and we barely know each other. I thought this guy was a jerk. King douche of the douches. But he’s being so nice right now. So…sincere.

I don’t get it.

“Yeah.” His tone is wistful, and I know why. His mother is dead, though I don’t want him to tell me that. I don’t want to feel sorry for him, but maybe he doesn’t want me to feel sorry for him either so he’s keeping that bit of information to himself.

“I should go.” Before he can say anything else, I grab my backpack from the floor and set it on the table, unzipping it and shoving my textbook inside. He stands when I stand, as if he’s going to walk me out of the library like some sort of gentleman, and I’m not prepared for that. Nice, handsome, seemingly wholesome boys who want to do right by me. It’s ridiculous, a myth, a fairytale in this harsh, cruel world. I know Rhett isn’t nice or wholesome.

There’s no way he can be.

“You live on campus?” he asks as we exit the library together. He even holds the door open for me, and I have to thank him because I’m not a complete bitch.

“No, I have my own place.” It’s a total shit-hole that’s drafty and cold and in a scary part of town, but it’s all mine.

“You parked out in the south lot?” When I glance up at him, he shrugs. “You probably shouldn’t be on campus this late at night by yourself. I’ll walk you to your car.”

There’s campus security who will escort you wherever you need to go—you just have to call or text. I guess Rhett wants to be my campus security tonight. “I don’t have a car.”

My dad’s car finally broke down for good right before he died, and I haven’t had one since.

“Do you walk home?” He asks way too many questions. Why can’t he just say good night and we go our separate ways?

“I take the bus.”

“I’ll walk you to the bus stop then,” he says, his words final, like I can’t argue with him.

So I don’t.

We walk side by side, him chatting me up, asking endless questions about school, what courses I take, how long have I been there. I give him vague answers, not asking anything in return. I pretty much already know everything about him, and any of those small, secret details he might reveal? He won’t share those yet.

Finding out his flaws, his worries, his fears, will only make him more human. That’s the last thing I want. I need to treat him like the bridge that will lead me to what I’m really looking for.

When I come to a pause at the bus stop, he glances around, his expression serious before his gaze meets mine. “It’s dark here.”

“I’ll be fine.” I shrug then smile, because I want him to leave. “Thanks for walking me.”

“I’m staying here until the bus arrives.”

“You really don’t have to—”

“I’m staying,” he says firmly, his gaze dark. “It’s not safe here.”

“I wait for the bus here pretty much every night.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“I don’t have a choice.”

“You don’t have a friend to give you a lift? Or to at least ride the bus with you?”

I shake my head, sending him a fierce look that says don’t you dare give me a bunch of sympathy because I have no friends.

He doesn’t. Instead he says, “You should take Uber. Or Lyft.”

I scoff. Literally scoff. “I can’t afford to take an Uber everywhere. I’m not rich like you.”

He tilts his head to the side, contemplating me. “How do you know I’m rich?”

Panic races through my brain and I stand up straight, contemplating him right back. “Look at how you’re dressed.” I wave a hand at him, at his expensive Nike sweatshirt, at the track pants, the very expensive Nikes on his feet. “You’re like a walking billboard for Nike. And that watch you’re wearing.” I point at his wrist and he shakes his sleeve down so it covers the thick silver watch. “Probably worth one year of tuition.”

“Not quite,” he mutters, looking irritated.

I almost want to laugh. “Close enough.”

“You don’t know me.” His gaze locks with mine again, practically daring me to say something in return.

“You don’t know me either,” I say with a lift of my chin.

The bus chooses that moment to rumble up the street, stopping in front of us with a screech of brakes and the stench of exhaust. The doors whine as they swing open and a few people disembark. The driver—his name is Stan—looks at me, waves me on with a weary waggle of his fingers. “Don’t got all night,” he calls.

Without a word, I climb onto the bus and settle into my usual seat at the very back, staring straight ahead. I can feel Rhett watching me and I want to look at him, but I don’t. Not until the bus pulls away from the curb and we’re inching our way to the stoplight do I glance over my right shoulder to see him still standing there.

Watching me.