Fuck!”

Kristen flew out of bed.

What the hell happened?

Her brain was a dense fog for a moment before she realized instead of hitting the snooze button she’d turned the alarm off. She hopped on one foot and pulled her jeans on, then yanked a shirt over her head. She’d planned on getting up early and spending an hour in front of the mirror, fixing her hair and makeup for class. Staying out until one in the morning drinking hadn’t been the wisest decision the night before.

A few of the girls she’d met during orientation convinced her it was a good idea. She didn’t want to be known as the square, studious girl who lived her life in the library. She had to make a good first impression and turning potential friends down on the first day wouldn’t be the best way to start off.

One drink soon turned into ten. They’d promised Kristen they’d only be out for an hour or so, and before long it had morphed into an all-nighter. By the time she’d crawled into bed, she was seeing double and the ceiling danced around her head.

“Fuck me.”

She scolded herself in the mirror, grabbed her hair, and yanked it into a loose bun. Her hands were a blur as she lined her eyes and dabbed on some shadow, hoping it would disguise the hangover. When she bent over to tie her shoes, nausea slammed into her stomach, and her heart beat on her temples. It was going to be a rough first day.

Normally, she’d have chosen to pair her jeans with boots or sandals, but given her predicament, she didn’t have much time to think, let alone select a good outfit. She also wasn’t certain she had everything in her backpack, but it’d have to do. She sprinted out the door of her dorm room and into the hall.

Of course, if she’d been on time, there would’ve been far more students in the halls, but since she was already half an hour late, the building looked like a ghost town.

“Shit. Shit. Shit.” She mumbled her words as she dashed down the stairs and ran across the lawn. Each step was like someone pounding her skull with a sledgehammer. Crowds of other students hung in small packs, and some of them stopped and stared as she flashed past them. Others ignored her completely.

Kristen wasn’t in the mood to talk anyway, nor did she really give a shit what they thought about her. She’d made a mistake the night before. She quickly realized she didn’t want to be popular. She came to get her degree, and that was what she was going to do.

I’m never drinking again.

She stopped a guy who looked like a senior. Surely, he’d know where her class was.

“Journalism 101?” She bent over at the waist, panting while she waited for a reply. She knew the general direction of where she was supposed to go, but she didn’t want to waste any extra time. The guy looked her over from head to toe with a smirk. He clearly enjoyed the fact she was lost and wanted help. What was it about men that made them love a helpless female? His eyes roamed her chest before shifting back to her face.

Kristen crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. She let out an obvious sigh, making it a point to look unimpressed.

“First day?” He grinned. Apparently, he liked what he saw.

She tilted her head to the side. “Obviously.”

He laughed. “Go around the corner. First door on the left.” He pointed in the general direction.

She took off.

“Better hurry. Not cool to be late, freshman. Even if you’re hot.”

As she rounded the corner, she couldn’t help but think how annoying college guys would be. She had no intention of hooking up with any of the boys on campus, and that’s what they were—boys. Nothing would jeopardize her future. The last thing she needed was to get involved with some jock who might knock her up and vanish.

She intended to have fun, but she wasn’t about to fuck the first guy she saw in the hall to accomplish the goal. The dude was cute, but she shuddered a little at the fact he stared at her tits before answering her question.

Asshole.

She reached the door to her class and paused for a deep breath.

This is it.

She shoved the door open and walked into the room. Aspirations of being a journalist meant this would be one of her most important classes. That’s why she scheduled it first thing in the morning. Normally, she was a morning person and got most of her work done before lunch.

If things had gone according to plan, she’d have been there an hour early, not hauling ass at the last second.

Get your shit together, Kristen.

She kept her head down and hurried to a seat in the back. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe the professor wouldn’t even notice her. She was there now, and if he did catch her, she’d just apologize and tell him it wouldn’t happen again.

There was only one problem.

The door made a god-awful squeak that echoed off the walls, and it closed with a loud clank before suctioning shut. All of this before she’d even found her seat.

Shit.

Everyone in the damn class turned and stared. She didn’t care what her classmates thought. It was none of their damn business. At least she made it to class at all, which she was sure would be a chore for some students.

Fortunately, the professor had his back to her. She breathed a sigh of relief, until he stopped writing on the board. Kristen kept her eyes on the floor as she slinked through the back of the room. She took a seat in the last row and avoided all the stares as if nothing had happened.

The chair was like nails on a chalkboard against the tiled floor when she pulled it out. She winced.

Son of a bitch.

Everyone stopped what they were doing, even the professor, as if time had suddenly stood still and she was the only one moving. It wasn’t until the room was completely silent again that the professor resumed teaching.

His voice boomed when he spoke. “As I was saying, the most important thing you can know as a journalist—” He turned around and glared at Kristen, but her head was angled down toward the desk.

She could see him in her peripheral vision and practically feel the heat of his gaze on the top of her head.

“Is that you have to be on time.” He turned back and scribbled on a dry-erase board while he continued. “If there’s a story, the sooner you get it into the public’s hands, the better. Good journalists don’t just get a story, they get it first.”

Her cheeks burned and heat rushed into her face.

Maybe he’d been talking about being on time before she’d walked through the door, she thought. She could hope anyway.

“What does that have to do with those of us who aren’t going to be journalists?” another student asked.

“Punctuality will serve you well in life, regardless of your field of practice. You will learn plenty of principles in this class that will prepare you for the world. Keep an open mind, and you may be surprised where you end up.”

Kristen kept her eyes trained on the syllabus someone had passed her. She was uncertain how much of the lecture had to do with her or if she was being paranoid.

Even though she’d shown up to the class late, she still felt it dragged on for the rest of the period. Maybe it was the fact she wanted to speak with the professor about being late—set things straight—or maybe she didn’t find Intro to Journalism as interesting as she’d thought it’d be.

Either way, seconds turned into minutes, and minutes turned into an hour. She just wanted out of the class and back to her dorm room. She silently prayed that interaction would be minimal the first day, and she could start over new tomorrow.

Finally, class came to an end, and the professor dismissed them. Kristen had stared down the entire time and pretended to take notes, afraid to look up again, worried her professor would notice her bloodshot eyes. Now that it’d ended, Kristen decided she’d face her fear. Walk up and apologize for being late and assure him it wouldn’t happen again. It was the adult thing to do, and she was in college now.

After a few stragglers made their way to the door, she headed up to his desk.

“Excuse me, professor.”

Her heart thumped in her chest, and she could still feel it beating in her head. Kristen had always dealt with anxiety to some extent, and now that she stood in front of her professor, she worried he might take off points for being late.

“I just wanted to apologize. I didn’t mean to be late. My alarm didn’t go off. I got here as soon as I could.” Her chest constricted, and she thought she might be having a heart attack.

“I’m not interested in excuses.”

She looked away. She hadn’t meant to make excuses. In fact, in her mind it wasn’t an excuse, just a reason. How did he not understand that? It was the first day. She’d never been there before. She could’ve been lost. Maybe she misjudged the distance to the building. It wasn’t true, but he didn’t know that.

“Well, I just wanted you to know it won’t happen again.” She forced a smile.

He still hadn’t looked at her, and she worried he wasn’t listening.

“This class is absolutely a priority for me. You don’t have to worry about this again.”

God, you already said that. Just go. You sound like an idiot.

“It’s not me who has to worry. And if it’s a priority, where were you this morning?” He finally looked up from his desk.

She started to speak, but the words caught in her throat. Her breath hitched. She noticed his eyes first—icy blues that seared into her. Her mind went blank, and words refused to form in her brain.

He was by far the most attractive man she’d ever seen.

He let out an exasperated sigh. “You won’t be penalized this time. Don’t let it happen again.”