1
SUMMER
“No, I’m telling you,I heard he ishot,” Sam insists.
I roll my eyes. “You think all of the professors are hot.”
“First of all, don’t kink shame me,” he says as he points a finger inmy face. I resist the urge to roll my eyes for a second time as I shift my stack of textbooks to my other arm while Sam continues. “Like, youknow how we felt about Ezra inPretty Little Liars?”
“You mean how you felt about Ezra.”
He scoffs, “Again with the kink-shaming, Summer?”
I dodge a girl who goes sprinting past us. “I get it, you have a thing for teachers, but you know what I have a thing for?”
“Graduating with my Master’s,” Sam says at the same time as me. “It’s okay, you can’t multitask. I, however, am a pro at juggling multiple things.” He gives me a knowing grin and waggles his eyebrows at me.
“Juggling men,” I mumble.
Sam is attractive in a cute boyish way. He has dark brown eyes that are almost black, giving him a mysterious air that other men seem to find irresistible. He has tan skin from hiking and takes Zumba classes three times a week to stay in shape. He has chocolate brown hair and matching eyelashes that I would kill for. I completely understand why he has a constant group of men lining up outside his door.
“So we’ve moved on to slut shaming now?”
“Oh, cry me a river, Sammy. We all know that you do whatever you want, no matter what anyone else thinks of you. Not that I ever give a shit about how many men you invite into your sex life.”
“Do you hear yourself speak sometimes? Who talks like that?” I do roll my eyes a second time at that comment.
“One day, your eyes are going to get stuck up there.”
“Look, I’m sure for a fifty-something-year-old man, Professor Stirling looks great. I heard he’s a hard-ass, though, and honestly, I’m trying to keep a perfect GPA. I’m almost done and don’t want anything to mess it up.”
“Your dedication is what’s going to make you the best therapist for children,” he sighs as he drapes his arm around my shoulders. “I’ll do enough ogling for the both of us.”
I laugh and shrug off his arm as we turn the corner into the classroom for our Counseling Theories class. I slam into what feels like a damn brick wall and am nearly knocked off my feet, except that someone grabs my upper arms in a viselike grip to keep me upright. My books topple out of my arms, and the heaviest book crushes my toe. I lurch forward further into the arms of the stranger. My chest presses against theirs, my cheek brushing a magnificent bicep.
“Fuck!” I let out, bouncing on my non-injured foot. “Holy fucking shit!”
Sam snickers, and I shoot him what I hope is my most murderous glare.
“Quite a mouth on you.”
The voice washes over me like warm honey. Deep and smug. Just the sound of it causes a low tug in my belly.
I look up, and my eyes trail up over a perfect chest, which I can tell is sculpted like the statue of David, even through the dark blue button-up currently covering it. Up, up over a jawline strong enough to cut glass, a perfect pair of smirking lips, and finally, I stop when I reach piercing green eyes.
I feel like I’ve been punched in the stomach and can’t breathe.
He is arguably the most attractive man I’ve ever seen. Judging by his face—his beautifully rugged, handsome face—he’s in his thirties.
He tilts his head to the side, his smirk turning into an amused smile.
My jaw is on the floor. I know it is because his eyes dip down to my mouth, and his smug grin gets impossibly larger.
“Fuck, sorry,” I mumble, finally pulling out of his arms.
“Like I said, quite a mouth on you,” he says, that smirk permanently plastered on his lips. He bends down and starts scooping up my books. I stand there, opening and closing my mouth like a gasping fish.
His eyes pause on my bare legs, and I can’t decide if I wish I had worn pants or if I’m glad I wore the tan skirt that hugs me in all the right places. Usually, I love this skirt—it’s my lucky skirt. I picked it up thrifting and always had such great luck whenever I wore it that it became my first-date skirt. But now I’m suddenly feeling self-conscious.
