The Freshman (College Years 1)

Proving my point, yet again, that he’s one of the good guys.

Turning him down probably ruined my chances at keeping him as a friend. It’s already Wednesday. I haven’t heard from him since the Uber dropped me off at my father’s house. We hugged, me withdrawing quickly for fear I might’ve clung to him a second too long, before I climbed out of the car and ran up to the front door of the house, never once turning back. Trying my best to act like I didn’t care.

Truth? I did care. I cared a lot. He still lingers in my brain. And while I’m a modern woman who could reach out first since I have his number, I’m reluctant. What’s the point? His unspoken message is clear.

He has zero interest in ever seeing me again and has already forgotten I even exist.

With a sigh, I refocus on writing my paper, putting down a bunch of nonsense because having words to work with is better than no words at all. I have no idea what I’m really trying to say so I just let myself ramble on the page and then I’ll fix it later. It’s become my process in college and so far, it’s really working for me.

God, at least something is.

I put my AirPods in and fire up my study playlist to help my concentration even further and get to work, ignoring the text notifications that keep coming through. Every single one of them is from Gracie. I adore her, but sometimes she’s a complete pain in the ass.

It’s when I’m almost finished with the rough draft of my paper that I get a text from an unfamiliar number. Curiosity fills me and I check the message.

I see you.

Glancing up, I scan the area, but see no one. Another notification comes through.

You don’t see me?

Unease slips down my spine when I realize just how alone I am, tucked back in this corner of the library, with no one else around. I’m near a giant wall of windows and there are so many people still wandering around campus. I can see the crowded sidewalks, people sitting at picnic tables or lingering in the quad in clusters, chatting with each other. While I’m all alone up here with my creeper texter. I can imagine him lunging for me. I run toward the windows and beat on them with my fists, screaming for someone to notice me, but no one does—

I shake myself out of the thought, mildly concerned by my overactive imagination.

Grabbing my phone, I send the anonymous someone a reply.

Who the hell is this?

I wait a few minutes, but there’s no response. So frustrating. It’s not like I give out my number a lot, but I do on occasion when I meet a cute boy. They’re usually not so creepy though.

Giving up on the paper, I shut my laptop and start gathering my things, putting them all away in my backpack. My phone buzzes, but I ignore it, eager to get out of here and amongst people versus being back here all by myself.

I sling my backpack over my shoulder and rise to my feet, clutching the strap tightly as I make my way toward the front of the library. My phone buzzes again, a reminder that I have a text, but I’m not checking it until I get around other people.

For some weird reason, I don’t feel safe.

“You’re ignoring me,” says a voice from behind me and I shriek.

Literally shriek.

In the middle of the Fresno State library. The place goes dead silent, and the few people I can now see swivel their heads in my direction, glaring at me.

I whirl on him, ready to give this guy hell when I find Tony Sorrento standing there, a giant grin on his beautiful face, looking very, very pleased with himself.

“Gotcha,” he says softly.

“Ugh, you’re the worst!” I come for him, smacking his chest and he grabs my wrist, holding my hand in place, so I can feel the warmth of his skin beneath the soft fabric of his blue T-shirt. His chest is actually very firm and muscular, and I can even feel his heart beating.

It starts to beat even faster, and I’m just arrogant enough to believe it’s because we’re standing so close.

“Did I scare you?” he asks, his thumb rubbing the inside of my wrist slowly.

A shiver threatens to steal over me, but I keep myself in check. “Yes, you did,” I say breathlessly.

“Not my fault you forgot to put my number in your contacts.” He slowly releases his hold on my wrist and it takes me a second to realize that. I drop my hand from his chest, feeling stupid.

Mr. Safe and Respectful from Saturday night is long gone, replaced by a dark-eyed devil who is purposely trying to aggravate me.