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Professor Stevenson, a tall, middle-aged man with dark, shaggy hair that curls behind his ears, stands behind the podium, shuffling papers in his hands. He checks his watch as the door slams shut, and then he loosens his tie and lowers the microphone to his mouth. “Welcome, everyone. The test will begin in five minutes. Please check your name off on the sign-in sheet making its way around the room and pass it forward.”
For a few minutes, I flip through my notes to study them, wishing I had spent more time studying and less time get reacquainted with Bash’s body. But I don’t regret any of it because Bash is a fucking god in the bedroom. I sink lower into my chair, so my head rests on the wooden back and prop my elbow on the table attached to the right arm.
My eyes shut for a second, and I catch myself falling asleep by the time I hear shoes hitting the tile floor in my row, coming closer. I look up to see Bash with a paper in his hand. My jaw just about hits the floor as he slides into the desk next to me.
Bash winks at me and places his arm on my chair. “Don’t look so surprised. You might drop the classes I’m in, but that doesn’t mean I can’t enroll in yours.”
“You didn’t,” I say, smiling and happy to see him.
He returns my expression. “Oh, but I did. You’re stuck with me. Every class from now until the end of the semester we have together.”
“How did you pull that off?”
Bash flashes a wicked smirk. “I’m Sebastian Prince,” he says as if that means something. And on this campus it does. “All it took was one phone call.”
“Of course it did,” I deadpan.
I tilt my head to get a whiff of his scent, musk mixed with laundry detergent, making me want to nuzzle my face in the crook of his neck. He flashes a panty-dropper smile that forces me to slap my thighs together. Just thinking about this morning makes my legs quiver in anticipation of more.
“People are going to gossip about us.”
He shrugs. “So what? Let them. You’re my girl. They’ll have to get used to it.”
“I’m yours,” I say, pointing at my chest. “How presumptuous.”
Disappointment registers on his face but only for a second. Bash glances down at the sign-in sheet in his hand and checks our names off with the pen on my desk.
“Mine.” With his face hard as stone, Bash leans over to kiss me on the lips and mutters, “I am not letting you go ever again.”
He cups his big hand over mine. His touch sends a ripple of electricity through my body. My cheeks flush, the warmth spreading down my neck.
“Wanna get something to eat with me after class?” Bash’s playful smile has a torturous effect on me.
I stare at him, slack-jawed, my brain working slower than my body, and nod. “Sounds good.”
When he looks at me, as though his world gravitates around me, I can’t breathe. My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth. I find it impossible to speak another word.
Now that we’re back together, Bash has been treating me like a queen—his queen. I want to believe him when he says this is real. He’s been keeping his distance from the football groupies, as promised. But I fear what will happen when we make our relationship known. As far as I know, Bash hasn’t dated anyone on campus other than me. I was the exception to his rule. I’m afraid now that I’ve given in to him that I am setting myself up for disappointment.
Bash gives my hand a quick squeeze that makes my heart race. How am I supposed to make it through this exam with him touching me? Our professor announces the test is about to begin, and Bash sets off down the aisle to hand in the attendance sheet.
All eyes are on me as he struts away from me, broad-shouldered and graceful in a pair of jeans that hang low from his waist and a black fitted Strickland Senators T-shirt. I hear a few girls whisper his name, their jealous stares aimed in my direction.
The first few days will be the hardest. I have to try my best not to crumple under the pressure of being Bash’s girlfriend. We will be the talk of the campus in no time. That part worries me. Last time, the rumors were so bad I almost left Strickland University.
On his way back down the aisle, he grins at me. Bash slides into the chair and moves the table in front of him, preparing for the test. The classroom erupts into chatter and dies down when the professor taps the microphone. I spend the remainder of class with my fingers threaded between Bash’s, all while scribbling down the answers to the questions.
Midway through class, I finish the test and so does Bash, who sees this as an opportunity to slide his hand between my legs, feeling me over my jean skirt. This is fucking torture.
I flash a warning glance in his direction. “Bash, stop it,” I whisper so low that I wonder if he can hear me.
“I’m not doing anything. Just keeping my hand warm,” he says, the corners of his mouth turning up into a smirk.
His hand travels up to the hem of my skirt, lingering there for a second. I’m wet for him. But as much as I want this, I do not want to draw unwanted attention. I glance over at him, wishing he’d
move his hand but too weak to make him. Bash just loves to torture me. And he does an excellent job. Pretending he doesn’t have this effect on me, I focus on my test and hope the answers I jot down are correct. I have to ace all of my classes to maintain a high enough GPA to keep my scholarship.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Bash grinning like an idiot. I want to kill him, or maybe even kiss him. At this point, I’d say kiss, but damn him for making me this wet in the middle of a crowded room.
