Falling For Dad's College Rival

That’s my dad.

Just as well he’s taken over driving really. The college is in a part of town I don’t know, and once inside the gates, it’s like a maze but dad seems to know the way as if he was here just yesterday.

Pulling up out front of a huge hall that looks like something out of a gothic novel, I get a shiver as we leave the car.

It’s coming in cold and will most likely rain.

Genius me forgot to bring or even think of a jacket or something to cover me.

“It’ll be warm inside,” my dad observes, noting how cold I look already as he puts his arm around me but I recoil.

Not because of his arm, but because his hands feel like ice.

“Dad, you’re freezing,” I almost shriek, but he keeps a hold of me as he steers us both towards the entrance, fishing his official looking invitation from his pocket and handing it to an old man in an equally old suit who could pass for Jeeves the butler from the last century.

“Very good, Sir,” he tones deeply. “Drinks and then dinner,” he continues, sounding like a gong as he signals one huge room full of people first and then another opposite, which I can already see is what must be an old ballroom converted to a dining hall.

“Pretty stiff looking reunion,” I mutter under my breath, noting how tense my dad is again.

“You okay?” I ask, aware of his pale look suddenly.

“I… I gotta use the bathroom,” he blurts out, shoving me towards the room full of people before darting for a set of doors nearest the huge wooden oak staircase.

Nerves, I guess. I tell myself, suddenly feeling a pair of eyes on me from the crowded room ahead.

There are a hundred eyes in there, but only one set that counts just now.

One set that’s giving me a very familiar feeling between my legs as I walk slowly, hearing my own breath catch with each step.

I glance from person to person, but nobody seems to be noticing me as I make my way in.

I’m feeling more than a little overdressed and just a little vulnerable in my low cut ‘look at how cold my chest is’ dress when I see him.

Trent Latham is across the room, his dark eyes ablaze with an intensity that I feel burning all the way inside me.

His jaw flexes as it sets with determination and despite the sound of hundreds of people chatting and mingling, I hear myself gasp.

Glued to the spot, it’s like he’s cast an invisible rope around me with his eyes and is slowly moving over towards me.

Before I know it, he’s kissing my hand and asking my name in his own special way.

Holy freaking—

Don’t say anything stupid. Don’t say anything stupid.

“I… I…” I hear myself stammering, my gaping mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for breath.

My name’s stupid.

Stupid girl who can’t even say her name.

Shit.

Chapter Four

Trent

Dean Chambers has left me high and dry after an effusive greeting, more interested in entertaining his overseas guests, which is fine by me.

I’ve sat through my share of winning and dining potential investors.

The event so far is as much as I expected, a ton of people I don’t recognize anymore, and the ones I do look like they’d rather see me in a casket than at a reunion.

I wasn’t always the nicest guy on campus, but I knew what I wanted and did what I had to do to get it.

It’s early on in the piece, but enough for me to realize this is maybe the best time to leave.

Before it even starts.

It looks like Wheatley’s a no show anyhow, no big surprise—

Turning to make my way out, I stop dead in my tracks. I spy Mike Wheatley, but it’s who he has on his arm that makes me swallow hard. My mouth suddenly dry.

I barely notice him disappearing into the men’s room in a hurry.

He never did have a strong stomach for this kind of thing.

At a glance, I could say the woman on his arm must be a paid date of some kind. No way a guy like Mike Wheatley is gonna have a girl like that on his arm by her own choosing.

But no.

I can see she’s way too clever for that, even at the highest end of the scale. Not that I’d know.

Plus she must be half his age. But I do notice a lot of people are half my age nowadays.

What strikes me most is her eyes.

Wide with something like wonder, but also a thrilled look of relief once her eyes meet mine. I can’t help but start to undress her with my eyes.

I never knew I had a ‘type’ before. I don’t.

I mean, I didn’t. Until now.

Without another thought, before I can even question what’s happening, all I know is she’s mine.