Present Day

“Well, that pretty much seals my fate.” Vanessa flashes her test, showing off the red F at the top of the paper. “Wanna come with me to get a drop slip?”

“No. Don’t leave me alone in here, V. It’s only the first test. We can do this.” My attempt at a pep talk fails miserably. Probably because I’m simultaneously suppressing a groan at my own hostile red letter. Circled and underlined for emphasis. As if I needed more than the large D staring up at me as an indication I hadn’t done well on our first statistics test.

We wait for our classmates to filter out of the large auditorium, and judging by the grim expressions and mutterings about the evil professor, we aren’t the only ones who did poorly. A small comfort, I suppose.

So much for my perfect GPA, and so much for winning over Professor O’Sean. He’s the program coordinator for the accelerated MBA track that I’m applying to next year. It’s just a hunch, but I don’t think failing his class will help me get in. College hasn’t been exactly what I envisioned when Gabby and I planned our futures all those years ago. Actually, that’s too bland a statement. It hasn’t been all bad, but so far, this semester royally sucks. I feel guilty for even thinking those words. It’ll all work out. I just need to buckle down and study harder. Think positive.

Vanessa nudges me while we trudge up the stairs. She leans in to whisper, “My last chance to ogle the man candy.”

I follow her slight head nod to the back row, which is occupied by three members of the university’s basketball team. I’d like to think I would have noticed the trio, built like the nationally ranked athletes they are, even if Vanessa hadn’t pointed them out each and every class. But the last month has been a haze of homework and studying. I'm not sure I would have noticed them even if they'd sat beside me. If it doesn't involve classes, caffeine, or sleep, I don't have time for it.

Their skin tone varies from light to dark, as does their hair color, but each one is tall and muscular. Decked out in athletic gear, they look like they walked off the set of a Nike commercial.

The one on the end closest to the aisle has his foot propped up on the seat in front of him, a black walking boot covering it completely from just below the knee on the right leg. His arms are crossed over his chest, and the blue Valley basketball shirt he’s wearing is bunched up around his muscular arms and pecs. A baseball cap is pulled low so it’s covering his eyes, but it doesn’t matter—it’s obvious whatever lurks below is as good as the rest.

"Why is the line moving so slow?" I step to the right to see what the holdup is. I have places to be, and it’s lunchtime. What’s the hold up?

"Slow down and appreciate the view with the rest of us," Vanessa retorts.

I glance ahead and behind, seeing nothing but necks careening and eyes darting to the back row. The line out of the class moves at rubberneck speed. Has this been going on since classes started three weeks ago? How had I not noticed the ovary explosion they caused? I’d assumed it was just Vanessa being well, Vanessa. Apparently, no one was immune to their beefy muscles and chiseled jaw lines. Except me.

I would be proud of that fact if my grade backed up the time I’d spent not noticing hot guys. I’ve actually been paying attention to the professor. I need this class. Correction. I need an A in this class. Now, I wish I’d used my time more wisely like V.

“Everyone is staring at them.”

“Duh, look at them. They’re the best part of this class,” Vanessa says loud enough that the girl behind us snickers.

She’s right about that. Each one of them is stop-and-stare worthy, but my eyes are pulled back to the guy on the end. The top half of his face is a mystery – always covered by a white university hat. But his lips are fantastic and full in a way that no lip injections could replicate.

I’m still starting at him when his teammate, the one sitting closest to him, reaches over and flips up the baseball hat, revealing a pair of heavy lids. He rights his hat and then reaches for the paper on his desk. My eyes follow his long fingers and bulge at the big red letter A that is underlined and circled just like mine. The underline and circle treatment of my D seems a lot less hostile now, so that’s something.

But what the hell? This guy is sleeping during class and still gets an A?

“Why does he even bother coming to class if he’s going to sleep through it? There’s no way he earned that grade without help. How are the rest of us supposed to compete with the private tutors and special treatment that’s afforded the student athletes?” The words spill from my mouth before I can censor and spin them in a more positive way.

We push out of Stanley Hall and join the rest of the students bustling between classes at Valley University.

“Bitter much? What happened to your peppy optimism and we-can-do-it attitude?”

I wear my positivity like armor. Smile on and words of wisdom on deck, I’m always the first person to look at the bright side to hide the insecurities and fears I don’t dare speak.

“It just had a heavy dose of reality. Even the jocks did better than we did,” I say as I stare down at my yellow chucks.

When I look up, she gives me a sympathetic half-smile and shrugs. “I don’t know about the basketball team, but Mario says the baseball guys get ridden pretty hard about grades.”

“I’m sure they get ridden hard, all right.”

Vanessa’s eyebrows disappear under her long bangs. “That is the weirdest thing you’ve ever said. Never repeat it.”

She’s effectively lightened my mood, and I hip check her playfully. “Speaking of riding them hard. Where is Mario? He’s usually waiting like a puppy out here.”

On cue, Mario comes into view. He’s jogging to get to V as quickly as possible, as if it’s been days since he’s seen her instead of fifty minutes.

“We’re going to lunch at University Hall after I stop by the registration office. Come with?”

Not even a full month into the semester and my roommate has already managed to snag a boyfriend. Mario may be a jock, but he seems different. He doesn’t have any of the asshole, holier-than-thou narcissism I’d expected. He’s pursuing V hard, walking her to and from every class, bringing her flowers, and taking her out on date nights, the works. I’d knock his adoration and classify him as a stage-five clinger if he weren’t so handsome and sweet.

Wearing his practice clothes—a cutoff T-shirt and baseball pants—accentuates the whole all-American, tan, blond-hair, blue-eyed, good-guy thing he has going for him. Bonus points that Vanessa is completely smitten. I know this because she’s trying way too hard to convince me otherwise. Case in point, inviting me to tag along on their lunch date.

“Can’t save you from love today. I’m heading to the library to study.”

“That sounds positively boring,” she says over her shoulder as she skips off to meet him halfway. They come together, hugging and kissing, completely oblivious to the people shoving around them.

Gross.

Except it isn’t. It’s actually really sweet.

As skittish as I am about the opposite sex these days thanks to the last guy I trusted, Mario has given me no reason to doubt his intentions. And I refuse to let one asshole taint my view on every other guy for the rest of my life.

Speak of the devil.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I fight back the urge to press Ignore.

“Hello?” I answer cheerfully as if the man on the other end isn’t the absolute worst.

“Where are you?” He wastes no such effort on niceties.

“I’m on my way,” is the only thing I say before I hear the line disconnect.

With a heavy sigh, I head to the library. David paces the front entrance. His dark hair is tousled perfectly and emphasizes the crisp white dress shirt. He stands out among the other students who are dressed more casually. I used to like that about him, how he stood out amongst the crowd. Now, it’s just another thing I despise.

“You have it?” he asks before the double doors have even closed behind me.

I bite back every mean and awful thing I’ve thought about the man in front of me. Polished and handsome on the outside. Horrible and ugly where it matters.

I hand over the folder, keeping my mouth closed.

He opens it, absolutely no regard for its contents. He can’t fathom his actions having consequences, and he’s made me all too aware of the ramifications of every single action I’ve made.

“Jesus, David, you could wait to inspect it until you get back to your room. It’s all there. I wrote the answers on a blank piece of paper, so you can fill the worksheet in with your handwriting.”

“We aren’t in fucking high school, Blair. The librarians aren’t sitting around looking for suspicious activity. As long as you keep your mouth shut, no one will ever know.”

I grind my back teeth.

He snaps the folder shut and holds it in one hand at his side. “Professor Shoel assigned a five-page paper on a classical music composer. It’s due next Monday, but I need it Friday so I can go over it and make sure it sounds like me. The last one you wrote sounded too girly.”

Because a girl wrote it.

“How much longer are you going to do this to me? I'm failing my own classes, I can't keep up.”

Desperation clings to my voice as if I could be anything but desperate.

He sneers, turning his handsome features cold and sinister until the outside matches the inside. “Would you rather I share your nude selfies with the world? Maybe that’s what you wanted all along, for me to pass them around and give everyone a little taste.”

My stomach twists with shame and regret. “Those pictures were for you, my boyfriend. You know I never meant for anyone else to see them.”

“I’m sure you tell that to all the guys, but I’m not buying it.” He leans in close, and I hold my breath as if not breathing in the scent of his expensive cologne and mint gum could take back everything. “When I feel like you’ve learned your lesson, then we’re done. You got a problem with that, Blair?”

I hate that I'm in this position. Hate that he put me here. But, mostly, I hate that I don’t have the balls to knee him and tell him to go to hell.

“No problem,” I mumble.