“I’m heading out to the party at Beta Kappa Pi. Sure you don’t wanna come?” Molly gave her shoulder a playful shove.
“I’m good, thanks.”
Molly giggled. “You’ve reached your fill of excitement for one day. You know where I am if you change your mind.”
“Be safe!”
“Always.” Molly waved her rape whistle attached to her keychain and a foil-wrapped condom at Cleo before slipping them into the shallow pockets of her jeans. She left, mumbling to herself about how the patriarchy screwed women over at every turn, even when it came to their clothes.
Cleo rolled her neck and a heaviness settled on her chest. Molly was a straight-A student who loved partying. She hadn’t failed a single class in her first year. She had plenty of friends, a fun dating life, and still managed to maintain high grades. She had it all.
How was it possible for Molly to keep all of the plates spinning, while Cleo had to focus all her energies on succeeding in school? Studying English Literature in the University of Minnesota had been Cleo’s goal for as long as she could remember. She pursued it with fervor, but the occasional ache in the pit of her stomach made her wonder.
Chapter 2
Cleo
Something about the intoxicating smell of knowledge in a library made Cleo giddy. While other college students were out having keg parties or pep rallies, Cleo hunkered down in her favorite quiet space and focused on what she did best. She’d eaten an early dinner in the cafeteria with Molly hours ago, but her BFF had then abandoned her, excited about a date with an über hot dude who, she said, must have been born from a line of Greek Gods.
Cleo’s back ached, and the words on the page were blurring together.Call time. Go home, sleep, and start over in the morning.She reached heavy arms over her head, linked her stiff fingers, and pressed her palms toward the ceiling before packing her books and pens into her backpack.
Her parents had sent her a good night message in their group chat, and Molly had texted her the address of her date and a picture of his driving license – just in case – but that was it. A pang of something she couldn’t quite place volleyed to her heart at the sad state of her social life. She shook it off. School was more important.
She sent a text to tell Molly she was homeward bound, said goodnight to the janitor who was already mopping the floor, and started the twenty minute walk home. They lived together in a shared apartment with two girls from Molly’s class, Nicola and Kasia. After a year in the dorms, Cleo jumped at the chance to have a little more privacy and a little less chaos and noise around as she studied. The extra space didn’t hurt either.
Despite the late hour, a group of students lingered around the social sciences building, scrolling through social media on their phones at full volume. They shoved their screens in front of each other’s faces when they found something of note to share.
Her cheeks seared as she passed Lincoln Scott, who stood chatting to one of his jock friends outside the art history building. She snorted at the irony. Guys like Lincoln weren’t art history kinda guys. She was glad it was dark so he couldn’t see the embarrassment stamped across her hot cheeks. Clenching her teeth, she forced the mortifying flashbacks of the day they met out of her mind.
It was all Molly’s fault. Wasn’t everything? She’d dragged Cleo to the local sex shop, ‘Good Vibes’, to buy something for her birthday. As if that wasn’t embarrassing enough, Cleo had attempted to flee the scene the second she completed her purchase, running – at warp speed – into a solid wall of abs.
Lincoln Scott’s abs, to be precise. Hockey player extraordinaire. Well, player of all kinds if the rumor mill was to be believed.
She’d wound up flat on her back. The bag containing her shiny, new, hot pink vibrator had tumbled from her clutched fist and landed on his foot. Yup,onhis foot. And because the universe was out to get her, the box didn’t even have the decency to stay inside the bag. The jock-knight in hockey armor helped her to her feet before picking up her night stick. She still had nightmares. And, if she was honest with herself, fantasies.
She scrunched her eyes closed. The amused look on his face as he’d lifted the box and held it out to her was so burned into her brain that she was pretty sure not even a dousing with acid could have erased it.
Guys like him didn’t date girls like her, and it was just as well. She had no time for hot, popular, hockey boyfriends who went to frat parties and spent most of their time at the rink. Lincoln Scott was out of her league. And even if he wasn’t, she needed someone with something more than a hockey puck between his ears to fall in love with.
Lincoln Scott wasnotrelationship material. But he sure was nice to look at. At least six feet tall, with broad, strong shoulders, baby blue eyes, and a strong jaw. She had no doubts that he could walk right up to the front door of an agency and bag a modelling contract for whatever company made hockey gear. And those washboard abs? Even through a loose-fitting shirt… Hot. Freakin’. Damn. Glasses-wearing book nerd she might be, but Cleopatra Isabella Martinez was not blind. The man wasfine.
The snap of a twig broke her thoughts. She pulled her head up, and a shiver bolted down her spine. She never wore headphones when she walked at night, always kept her hands empty in case she was attacked, and stayed focused enough on her surroundings to get home without issue. Thinking about Lincoln ‘Abs’ Scott had taken her somewhere else, somewhere dangerous. She hadn’t been aware of the tall guy with wide shoulders and his hood up, walking far enough behind her to seem innocent. But she’d heard enough horror stories of women getting attacked for her survival instincts to kick in. Slipping her arm through the loop of her backpack so it rested on both shoulders, she reached into her back pocket to pull out her phone.
She unlocked it and scrolled through her meagre list of contacts. Her parents were asleep, her best friend was busy with Mr. Right Now, and her eye doctor and OBGYN’s offices were both closed. Sure, there were some friends she hadn’t spoken to since high school on the list, but what would she say? “Hi, I know it’s been three years, but there’s a guy wearing a hoody walking behind me on the street, and I’m paranoid AF that he’s going to rape and kill me. Could you keep me company for the fifteen minute walk home, please?” Right. Like that wouldn’t sound at all insane. She put her phone in her front pocket and kept going.
She worried her lips between her teeth as she walked, crossing the street in a bid to put more distance between her and the North Face hoodie. He didn’t cross at first, but her stomach clenched when heavy footsteps thudded across the pavement, and he joined her on her side of the street.Text Molly.She opened her inbox, but instead of sending Molly a text, she clicked on the unknown number of Prince Bra-ming from the night before.What the hell?
Cleo: Hi, so I know we don’t know each other, but as it turns out I don’t have all that many friends. I know, sad, right? Anyway, not the point. I’m walking home, it’s dark and kinda creepy, and there’s this guy behind me who may – or very well may not – be following me home. I was wondering if you could pretend to text me a bit, just until I get home.
Cleo: Unless of course you’re busy, in which case, never mind. But if a dead body turns up on the news tomorrow, you can brag to all your friends that you knew me before I was famous.
Unknown number: Wow. That got dark kinda fast. How will the stalker dude know if I’m pretending to text you, rather than actually texting you? Do you need me to call you?
Unknown number: I could come walk you home?
Unknown number: Okay, wait. I don’t even know what state you’re in so you could be waiting quite a while for an escort home.
Cleo giggled despite herself, casting another glance at the man over her shoulder.
