Nothing But Wild (Malibu University 2)

“You c-can’t judge people based on as-s-sumptions.”

“Yeah, Zo,” Blake chimes in. “Don’t we personally know the dangers of dragging people based on false assumptions?”

Zoe rolls her eyes. “You two bore me.”

Out of habit, I tug my phone halfway out of my backpack to check my emails. The small kernel of hope residing somewhere in my childhood dreams refuses to die.

I’ve sent Katherine Hamilton, the woman who gave birth to me, two more emails since that first one. I scroll down and that’s when I see it…a response.

The blood rushing in my ears drowns out everything else. With my heart punching my breast bone and my hand shaking, I click on it. Five words.

Please don’t contact me again.

Chapter Three

Dallas

The redhead seated in the second row is looking at me again. She’s cute as fuck too. Perfect rack. Nice lips. Fantastic ass. Not all dudes like a nice round ass and to that I say their loss is my gain. Go ahead and send them my way, guys. The only strike against her is that she seems to think I haven’t noticed her little game.

She glances over her shoulder again. That’s three times since class started twenty minutes ago. To her credit, this time she’s more subtle. Last time she tried to conceal it by scratching her chin on her shoulder.

This classroom has stadium seating and plenty of empty seats. I’ve got a perfectly unobstructed view of the second row where she sits every single time. She’s definitely not a fan of variety like I am.

It’s kind of adorable that she thinks she’s being sly, but c’mon man, I pulled the same maneuver in the eighth grade to get an eyeful of Tammy Kellog’s nonexistent A cup that had suddenly––and without warning––exploded into a full C cup over the summer. I’ve got a PhD in that move.

No one’s faulting her for wanting to get a good look at me. Let’s face it, looks like mine are meant to be admired. It’s her assumption that I don’t notice what she’s up to that chafes my balls.

There she goes again. Her head turns, her eyes lift. Nice eyes, by the way; tilted up at the corners. Except this time I don’t let her off easy. Nah, I stare back, pucker up, and send her a kiss. She blinks, her eyes get as big as fists, then her head whips back around to face forward.

Which, of course, makes me chuckle. I’ll take all the amusement I can get these days.

“Who are you air kissing?” the girl seated to my right asks, her tone managing to sound both hurt and possessive at the same time, neither of which she has any right to.

Kelly. Speedo chaser. Hot but on the dangerous side of a stage four clinger. We hooked up once and that’s all it took for me to figure out I never want to do it again. To some chicks we are all interchangeable. Not my crew. We have a hard and fast rule that none of us share. Unless, you know, extenuating circumstances like true love.

Ignoring Kelly, my attention drifts back to the redhead. Speaking of perfection. Want tangible proof that God’s a dude? Look no further than this girl because those curves were meant for a man to hug.

“Mr. Van Zant––” Professor Larsen calls out.

My head jerks in his direction in time to witness a slow smile grow on his bearded face. Larsen is a smug motherfucker. Young. With a head full of real hair, a hipster beard, and an attitude that comes from getting a lot of tail. Competes in decathlons and whatnot. I only know this because the chicks in this class gush about it out loud.

He crosses his arms, puffs up his chest. “You seem distracted.”

Self-righteous bastard. I know he doesn’t like me. Probably thinks I’m just another rich, good-looking asshole, and he’s completely right about that, but I’m not stupid and he needs to be disabused of that notion. Can I help it that I’m smoking hot? No. Can he help it that he’s a judgmental prick? Yes.

“Not at all.”

“Care to share with the rest of the class your thoughts on what Lewis was getting at in The Monk?”

He thinks he’s putting me on the spot. Sit tight, bro, I got this one. I initially took this class for giggles but I’m really feeling it now. “Thematically?”

His brow twitches in surprise. “It’s a start.”

The chick sitting on my left––Hailey, I think her name is––pats my thigh. For what, reassurance? I shoot her a glare. Babe, you got a C– on your last paper. You’re the last person who should be doing any reassuring.

Sitting up straighter, I push her hand off. “It’s a tale of morality. Ambrosio’s a pretty dark, twisted dude and definitely got what he deserved in the end.”

Chuckles sweep through the classroom.