Page 12 of The Casanova Complex

Apparently, I’m going to put the fate of my future in the hands of a guy who has never taken a single thing seriously in his entire life.

CHAPTER THREE

BENNETT

I’m so fucking late.

Which is not entirely my fault. I mean, mostly it is, but not entirely.

Probably not the greatest first impression to make on whoever this girl is that I’m supposed to be meeting at the library for our newly assigned Creative Writing project, but it is what it is.

I just ran from the other side of campus to get here, and I’m a fucking goalie, okay?

We’re not exactly known for long-distance running. I’ve got stamina for days, but fuck, it’s nearly a hundred degrees outside, and it feels like my balls are superglued to the insides of my thighs.

I’m jogging through the library, ignoring the ancient librarian’s stern look of disapproval, toward the back where the study rooms are located.

I glance down at my phone again, double-checking which one I’m supposed to meet her in.

7A.

I scan the signs along the rows of doors until I find the one in question.

Bingo.

I quickly throw the door open and slip inside, shoving my phone back into the pocket of my athletic shorts with my apology already prepped before I’ve even pulled the door closed behind me.

“Sorry I’m late. I⁠—”

“No,” a soft yet sharp voice cuts me off.

No? What does she mean, no?

I turn toward her, and whatever thought I had in my brain melts, and words?

What even are words?

Holy motherfucking shit.

She’s hot as fuck.

In an edgy, might tie you to the bed, might fuck around and suffocate you while she fucks you kind of way.

And I am so into it.

Soooo fucking into it.

She might be glaring at me like she’s contemplating choking the life out of me, and it probably isn’t helping that I’m just standing here like an idiot, staring back at her with my mouth hanging open, but it’s not like I can help it.

I wasn’t expecting to walk into the study room and find… her.

Obviously, I knew I was meeting a girl named Merritt St. Pierre in study room 7A, per her email.

But I had not a single fucking clue that she may be the hottest thing I’ve ever laid eyes on, and it’s me we’re talking about.

That says a lot in itself.

Despite the fact that she’s pinning me with the world’s most lethal glare, her brown eyes narrowed into slits, I can still see how beautiful they are, even from across the room.