Page 29 of Top Shelf

I’m half zoned out, listening to the chatter of voices around me while I wait for class to begin, when a familiar predatory form registers in my periphery. My spine stiffens, even as my gaze involuntarily snaps his way, and every bone in my body locks down.

Lucian fucking Caulfield has just walked into the room.

I haven’t seen him since he cornered me in the equipment room, and now I find myself simultaneously unable to look away from him and outraged that we share a class.

Sinking lower in my seat, I duck my head, attempting tohide behind my laptop screen as he makes his way up the auditorium steps. I still don’t understand what happened the other night in the equipment room, his parting cryptic words, or his disturbing insight from the team meeting, but that doesn’t mean I have any desire to be anywhere near him. Unfortunately, I have a sixth sense that if he spotted me, he’d make a beeline for where I’m sitting.

I’ve already had more than enough run-ins with both him and Ronan, and I am keen to avoid any others. Simply crossing paths with Ronan on Friday night was a test of my willpower. And the problem was, after I got over the shock of seeing him at the gala, it wasn’t my willpower to slap him across the face and stomp on his balls that I was resisting. There was this strange chemistry between us when we danced. This staticky-tension in the air that didn’t feel entirely like hate or disgust.

It was like my body felt some sort of recognition of his… From that night? And yet, it wasn’t revulsion or fear I felt at his touch. It was something softer, warmer. Something I can’t place and am too terrified to look at too closely.

Flicking my gaze over the top of the laptop, I watch as Lucian climbs higher, closer to where I’m sitting. He moves with a steady gait. Hair artfully tousled, sleeves rolled to the elbow, jaw set like he’s five seconds away from inciting violence.

I only breathe again when he slides into a row several down and over to my left—thankfully without noticing my presence. I have no idea what Lucian would do if I were stuck sitting beside him for the next hour. Back here, he could do anything, and the professor wouldn’t even notice.

Ronan was perfectly nice to me at the charity gala, but then he had to be. Even then, I could sense how slippery he was. Could see how he puts on that charming falsetto smile for the older ladies, how he knows the right words to say when sucking up to self-absorbed men. Ronan knows how to reel you in. He’sall polished edges and practiced warmth. The kind of guy who makes you feel seen before he weaponizes what he’s learned.

A throat clears in an authoritative gesture, bringing me back to the present. With one last glance in Lucian’s direction, content to see him facing forward and paying me no attention, I focus on the front of the room.

“Welcome to Sports Media and Communication. I’m Professor Cartwright. All course material is available online. If you haven’t already familiarized yourself with it, I suggest you do.” The professor’s sharp gaze scans the room. “This class is project-based, and your first major assignment starts today.”

A ripple of murmurs travels through the auditorium before he continues. “You’ll be working in assigned pairs. The project will make up forty percent of your grade, and before you even think of trying to swap partners, the answer is no. I won’t respond to any pleas for why you absolutely must partner with your best friend or why the partner you’ve been assigned is incompatible. Part of growing up is learning to work with people you don’t know or don’t get along with. So, suck it up.”

Instantly, my pulse picks up.Please don’t pair me with Lucian. Literally anyone but him.My luck can’t be that bad, right?

“Your job,” Cartwright presses on, “will be to research, pitch, and present a full cross-platform campaign based on a current figure or issue in collegiate sports.”

Lifting a sheet of paper, he begins reading off names.

“Miller and Watkins.”

“Hernandez and Lo.”

“Winslow and…” I brace. Please not Lucian. Please not?—

“…Jameson.”

“Oh, thank God.” I exhale in relief, shoulders sagging. I don’t even know who this Jameson is, and I don’t care.

However, my relief is short-lived as the penetrating weight of eyes on me presses painfully against my skin.

I already know who I will find staring at me, but I look anyway, my gaze drawn to him like a magnet.

Lucian.

Those storm-colored eyes lock on mine with the force of a loaded gun. His face is entirely blank. Not a single emotion is written there for me to read, and that makes me even more anxious. My insides twist with unease, but I keep my expression neutral, mirroring him in his antipathy.

Some distant part of my brain is aware of the professor’s voice, of class moving forward around us as he continues to assign partners, but I’m no longer paying attention. I can’t.

Because Lucian is looking at me like…

… like he knows I’m broken.

Like he’s seen it before.

Felt it in his own bones.

And now he’s waiting to see how it lives in mine.