Natasha ~ Past
I MOVED THE STRAP OF my backpack up more securely on my shoulder, then let out a short breath as I fought for the courage to open the door.
I’d only been on campus for three days, and today was the first day of class.
I was terrified, felt completely awkward, and I missed my sisters.
“C’mon, Tash,” I muttered, then lifted my hand and pushed.
Voices chattered happily as I entered the lecture hall and glanced up, checking the wall clock to make sure I wasn’t late when I saw all the people that were already inside.
Nope, I was five minutes early.
I’d planned to be fifteen minutes early, but I’d spent five outside of the Math Complex, urging myself to enter, and another five in front of the classroom.
Not wanting to bring any sort of attention to myself, I moved to the right and started scooting past the chairs in the back row, with the intention of getting to the middle as quickly as possible, getting everything out of my bag, and sitting before anyone noticed me.
My head was down as I shuffled, my long chestnut hair falling around me, obscuring my face. Which was why I didn’t realize anyone else was in the row until large boots came into sight, just as I was tripping over them.
“Oh,” a male voice grunted, then I was being steadied by a pair of strong hands. “I’ve got you.”
I looked up, struggling to contain my mortification, then froze as lightning struck me on the spot.
He was tall, so very much taller than me, with dark hair and striking features. His hands on my arms felt like brands, and his eyes seemed to consume me with their intensity.
“You okay?” my dark stranger asked, his voice deep and thrilling to my ears.
“Uh, yeah, sorry,” I managed, although I’m not sure how.
I was captivated, mesmerized, staring up at him as he grinned slightly down at me.
He was obviously older, and a lot more confident than I was, and there was something about him that exuded strength. He had a sureness about him . . . I wasn’t sure how else to explain it.
“Take your seats,” I heard ordered from the front of the room, and knew our professor had arrived and was ready to start class.
Yet, I found it almost impossible to move.
Luckily, the deep-voiced man who was still holding me upright was still able to function, and he moved me to the side and turned me, then slid my backpack off of my shoulder and urged me to sit in the seat.
The seat next to his.
I sat with a thud, accepted my backpack, and opened it quickly, avoiding all eye contact with my neighbor as I pulled out my notebook, accounting book, and the bag that held my pens and pencils.
Once I had everything laid out, I shifted in my seat and tried to focus on what the professor was saying. It was extremely difficult though, because I was hyper aware of the long, jean-clad leg that kept brushing innocently against my bare leg.
Sparks flashed with each touch, and I fought to control my breathing and keep my gaze straight as I felt him watching me.
When I didn’t give him the attention he sought, although I did notice that the table in front of him was empty, no book, paper, or any sort of writing utensil, my stranger reached in front of me, zipped my pouch open slowly, and took a pen from inside.
I waited, unsure of what he was going to do but desperate to find out, then flinched slightly when his fingers brushed against my wrist as he turned it on the table. I felt the whisper of the pen on my flesh, then glanced down when my wrist was released.
Jericho.
That’s what he wrote on my wrist, his name. It felt like he’d written it on my soul, and I swear, I could still feel the heat of his fingers on my flesh.
Tap, tap, tap.
I glanced over to see my pen tapping on the table as he waited.
I gave one last glance at the professor, to make sure we weren’t about to be called out for not paying attention, then took the pen from Jericho’s hand and reached for his arm.
He turned it for me, so the underside of his forearm was facing up, and I braced myself as my hand made contact with his tanned skin. His forearm was strong, muscular, although not overly so. It was also soft and warm, and I found myself wondering what the rest of him would feel like.
Hoping my hair concealed the blush on my cheeks, I put the tip of the pen to his forearm and wrote, Natasha.
Before I could pull away, Jericho captured my hand in his, turned it, and wrote in my palm.
Coffee?
He’s asking me out? Is this real life?
I glanced around the room, sure that this was some sort of freshman hazing, where the mysteriously hot upperclassman found a naïve underclassman to mess with. It had to be a joke. Why else would a guy like Jericho be interested in taking a girl like me for coffee?
I’d grown up with my sisters as best friends, our father had left us when we were little, and our mother had raised us. The town I came from was small. So small that we knew we couldn’t get away with anything without our mother finding out, so we never tried.
That was part of the reason why I’d left home to go to school. Not just to get out on my own, but to actually live a little. To make decisions, good and bad, and to handle the consequences of those decisions on my own.
So, even though I was sure it was a joke, and I knew I might end up getting hurt or humiliated, I took the pen from his hand and wrote, yes, on his palm.
I dropped the pen then, turned away, and focused completely on what the professor was saying. I opened my book and took notes, all the time aware of Jericho next to me, and the fact that after class, I was going on my first college date with the hottest guy I’d ever seen.
It took all I had not to squeal out loud, but you can bet your bottom I was screaming on the inside.
It was time to start living.