Campus Player

I’ve heard tales of students having to retake his class three or four times to eke out a passing grade. That would be seriously soul-sucking. Luckily, I’ve always been advanced in mathematics and took statistics in high school. So far, we’re a couple of weeks in, and I haven’t found this class to be a challenge. I’ve got an A.

By the time Professor Peters dismisses us for the day, I’ve packed up my belongings and am ready to bolt from the room. I need to escape from Rowan’s presence. I was ridiculously aware of him the entire period.

What makes no sense is that there’s a group of girls in this class who constantly fight for his attention. If the guy is looking to get laid, he needs to explore other options. Instead, he ignores them and sits next to me every day.

It’s maddening.

Without a word, I haul my backpack onto my shoulder and wiggle past him. As I make it to the aisle, a puff of relief escapes from my lungs, and I take the carpeted staircase two at a time. A few people say hello as I fly through the double doors and into the already crowded hallway. The more space I’m able to put between myself and Rowan, the sooner I can find my equilibrium. Rowan Michaels has the nasty habit of throwing it off every single time. I’m unwilling to examine the reason for that.

The guy is totally annoying.

Case closed.

Midway down the corridor, my shoulders loosen from around my ears. The rest of the day should run smoothly from here on out. As soon as that thought pops into my head, a muscular arm is thrown around my shoulders, and I’m hauled against a hard body. A clean fresh scent, which is a strange concoction of sunshine and the ocean, is a dead giveaway as to who has a firm hold on me. It’s one that is purely Rowan Michaels.

Damn.

Damn.

Damn.

This guy will seriously be the death of me. Just like he taunted an hour earlier, I should have realized he wouldn’t let me escape that easily.

“Hey, you took off before I could ask if you needed a ride to dinner.”

A kernel of dread fills my belly and I’m not sure why. It’s not like we’re going out, and we’re certainly not friends. Not really. I can barely tolerate the guy. So, what does it matter if I tell him about Justin joining our threesome tonight?

I wince. That just sounded plain wrong.

I suck my lower lip into my mouth and gnaw on it. Rowan is going to find out sooner or later, so what does it matter if it turns out to be sooner? Already I know that he won’t be thrilled with the slight deviation from our normally set plans.

“That’s not necessary.” I clear my throat and brace myself for his reaction. “Justin is going to pick me up.”

Uncomfortable silence rains down on us as he digests that bit of news. It goes over exactly the way I suspected.

Like a lead balloon.

“Wait a minute,” the smile disappears only to be replaced by a scowl, “you invited Justin to dinner?”

“Yeah,” I mutter, unwilling to add that it’s an offer I now regret, “I did.”

“Why would you do that?”

Good question. Clearly it was an error in judgment on my part. But I won’t be admitting that to Rowan.

“He hasn’t met Dad yet.” The thought of that occurring makes me queasy. My father has the tendency to go into over-protective mode, which is precisely why he isn’t introduced to most of the guys I go out with.

Now I’m having second thoughts.

More like third and fourth thoughts.

Unfortunately, the wheels have already been set in motion, and it’s too late to cancel our plans.

“So...this thing between you two is pretty serious?” He sounds decidedly unhappy about the predicament.

I remain silent, reluctant to confess the truth. It’s none of Rowan’s business who I date. Just like it’s none of mine who he bangs. In the three years we’ve been at Western, not once have I heard of Rowan settling down with a girl. But I’ve heard a shit ton of gossip regarding his sexual conquests. Every Monday morning, there’s a new set of salacious stories floating around campus.

That thought makes me as nauseous as introducing Justin to Dad. Maybe a little more.

Needing to distance myself from Rowan, I shrug in hopes of dislodging his arm. It doesn’t work. If anything, he only tightens his hold. Most girls would be thrilled by his attention. They would be burrowing against the solid strength of his chest. Admittedly, I have to fight my own body’s natural inclination to do exactly that.

He turns his face until his warm breath can feather across the delicate shell of my ear. I have to steel myself against the shivers that attempt to skitter down my spine. “You didn’t answer the question.”