There she was again. If I didn’t know any better I would think she was stalking me since the night I’d run into her outside the Chemistry lab two days ago. Suddenly, she’d started popping up everywhere, making me wonder how I’d missed seeing her around all this time. At first, I thought it was my alcohol-induced brain that had made me so aware of her. When she’d walked right into me and her body connected with mine, a jolt of electricity shot through me. She was so small and soft. At least her breasts grazing my arm had been soft.

I stared at her sitting two rows down, scribbling what the professor was explaining, and I was curious as to who she was. If she was a party girl, I would have known her. I hardly ever missed a party on and off campus. Booze, girls, and parties. I was determined to enjoy the college experience to the fullest. That accounted for some of my failed courses, such as this one—Project Appraisal. And if I didn’t get my mind off her and on the lecturer, I would fail again.

I pulled my gaze away from her and to the boring man who was about the same age as my father. Not that my father could be compared to this guy. Last time I checked, he was in Malibu with the latest Mrs. Caine, soon-to-be-ex-wife number five. Or was it number six? I didn’t care to keep up these days.

Focus, Lucas, or ten years from now, you’ll still be in college. I blocked my father and his hot young wife from my mind. How she’d come on to me the last time we’d all been together over summer. I’d wanted to tap her, too, but I refrained out of respect to my father. She was only a couple years older than me and had a body that screamed nirvana.

The professor asked a question I missed but I became focused when she raised her hand.

“Once again, Miss Hoskins saves the day,” the professor remarked. I couldn’t remember his name though he’d taught me this same course last semester.

The girl stood to answer the question and I noticed the way she commanded the ‘stage.’ She kept her head straight, looking directly at the professor, but her gentle tones pleasantly wafted over the room.

“Well, there are certain risks and inherent uncertainty implicit in projects,” she started. I noted the professor nodded while she continued. “There are physical risks such as climate, weather, and natural disasters which, to great extent, cannot be predicted. Then there are financial risks involved, some due to foreign exchange movement—”

Enthralled by her voice, I listened to her going into great detail and I learned more from what she said than from the entire semester. I disliked this class, mainly because it was boring. Sometimes, I slept through it or didn’t show up at all.

I felt guilty that she knew so much and I knew so little. When was this exam again? Two days. Was that enough time to cram?

She eventually took her seat and for some inexplicable reason, I felt proud of her when the professor clapped and remarked that with an answer like that, she’d get an A on her final exam. He then turned to the rest of us and berated us for not paying attention. Other classes had already ended for the term since exams were in progress, but because of our poor performance in the coursework, the professor had decided to keep a make-up class and run through the highlights of the course. More than half the class was absent, but I was here because when teachers called for make-up class just before exams, they usually brought up some questions that would be appearing on the exam paper.

“Well, that’s it for the semester,” the professor announced at two. “Hopefully, I won’t see any of you next semester. Though I don’t doubt I will. There’s a useful text in the library—Cost Analysis Concepts and Practice by Bordman, Greenburg, et al.”

Half the students were already out the door and didn’t hear a word about the text. The title slipped my mind as I watched her. What did the professor call her? Miss Hoskins? She gathered her books and dumped them into her Messenger bag, checking her watch at the same time she slipped the bag across her shoulders so the strap rested between her breasts. The strap strained against her chest from her bag, heavy with books, and showed up the sweet curves of her breasts.

I checked my tongue wasn’t lolling from my head. Not quite but almost.

Dressed in faded jeans, a t-shirt, and tennis shoes that had seen better days, she moved up the aisle. I remained seated and watched her. She was even more striking in my sobriety than in my inebriation. She had an oval face framed by the loose tendrils of her plait. Her eyes were bright green—not that I could see them now, but I remembered from last night. To be exact, bright green with flecks of gold. She was petite, no more than five-two, and at my height of six feet, two inches, that was small. Her compact body displayed curvy hips and slender legs in her tight jeans. When she walked by me, not even giving me a cursory glance in her haste to get out the lecture room, I stopped short of whistling at her nicely shaped, firm round bottom. When it came to women, the song ‘I like big butts and I cannot lie,” pretty much described me and damn, did she have a fine ass.

My first instinct was to go after her and f out who she was. Maybe we could go for coffee or something. Anything that would keep me in her presence a little while longer.

“Hi, Lucas!”

I swung my eyes away from the girl who haunted my thoughts and groaned in dismay at Rozanne who blocked my path. She was a leggy and busty blonde I’d had sex with at the back of some club I couldn’t remember. We’d both been drunk and horny. I could barely remember the full details of that night, but she seemed to because she was always coming around for more. I’d obliged her for a while but she wanted a relationship and I couldn’t give that to her, so I’d tried breaking up with her gently. I was beginning to think, short of bellowing that I had nothing more than a sexual interest in her which had waned, she wasn’t going to get it.

“Rozanne, I can’t talk right now.”

“But I wanted to see if I could come over tonight?” she asked hopefully but I moved her to the side so I could pass by her.

“I’m busy tonight,” I answered and before she could ask doing what, I dashed from the lecture hall, my eyes roaming every direction for her. Left, right, up the corridor…there! I could just make out her form going towards the library.

A group of guys called to me, asking something about a party, but I waved to them and went after her, bumping into people because I kept my eyes on her. I didn’t want to lose her.

Given the length of my legs, I was behind her in a few strides. I followed her into the library and stayed out of sight, feeling like a stalker. She checked the computer, locating a book, and scribbled on a piece of paper before heading up the stairs. I checked the computer she hadn’t logged out of and noted she was looking for the text the professor had suggested we read for the test.

So that’s the type of girl she is, I thought. I could hardly be shocked by this, though. The way she had answered that question in class today showed she was a bright spark and spent a lot of time in books. No wonder I’d never noticed her before.

I didn’t bother to trail her upstairs, knowing she’d have to return to the first floor to check the book out anyway. I occupied one of the computer stations in the library and logged into my Twitter account. I could at least check up on the latest happenings while she searched for her book—as long as I kept an eye out for her return.

With nearly a million Twitter followers, I had a considerable number of notifications. I’d done some modeling during my freshman and sophomore years, mostly because it had been fun and it was something to do to break the cycle of studying. Nothing big. Just a few shows, but I’d made the runway in Milan. I’d gained most of my followers then, three-quarters being women trying to get my attention.

One notification stood out as I skipped through them. Last winter party for the school term. Club Bullseye, a new club on Larimer Square catering mostly to wealthy college kids. The place was pricey but its décor and the atmosphere was worth it if one could afford it. I had been there thrice and enjoyed myself each time. The ultraviolet lights, euro-style lounges, and silky curtains, which enabled adventurous couples to have a quickie, all made for a fun experience.

I groaned low in my throat as a picture of her came to my mind, of us slipping behind one of those silky curtains…