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The thing is, I’m not done. “Sure, I fucked up this semester. I had a lot of shit going on that you’re not privy to, but I worked hard on that paper. I did it to prove that I’m not just my name.” Lowering my voice, I add, “For the record, I didn’t ask anyone to call in any favors for me.”
“Does it matter if you did? My job was threatened over a spoiled twenty-one-year-old who thinks we’re all here to serve at his whim.”
“What do you mean? I’ve never asked you for anything other than a fair shot. Are you saying you can’t give me a grade based on what I’ve earned?”
She takes my paper from the pile and sets it aside. Grabbing a red pen from her desk drawer, she shoots me a glare, then scribbles an A across the top of my paper. Handing it back to me, she says, “Professor Daubry is teaching the same course next semester. Do me a favor and sign up for his instead.”
When she stands, I step out of her way. She follows the last student out the door, leaving me there with my paper already graded after not reading one fucking word.
I leave pissed when I should be celebrating. This class has been a pain in my ass all semester. She made me feel like I couldn’t do anything right by calling me out over the dumbest shit, making me give impromptu speeches from an informative on a topic that she knew I’d fail to a persuasive, which to her dismay, I excelled and had the class cheering. “Fuck her.” I push through the auditorium door and start down the hall to go home.
Walking outside the building, I look across campus at Haywood Hall gleaming high on the hill. I should be in that building instead of pursuing philosophy, economics, communications, and whatever else my dad thinks makes a well-rounded attorney.
I trot down the steps but spy Eliza and veer right . . . into a little brunette with hazel eyes I’ve been lost in for two days. “Hey,” I say.
“Hi,” Story says with a big smile that’s starting to feel a lot like one that’s just for me.
Glancing behind me, Eliza is busy caught up in her coven of friends and hasn’t spotted me yet. “Where are you headed? I need to go this way.” I take Story by the wrist and start walking in the opposite direction.
She puts on her brakes. “I’m not going in this direction.” When she stops altogether, I put my back to the others. “What class do you have next?”
“None. I’m done.”
Disbelief covers her expression. “For the day?”
“The semester,” I reply, sounding short. Fuck.
Her eyes brighten. “Really? That’s so awesome. I just finished for the day, but I still have two finals tomorrow.”
“Why don’t we head to your place?” I try to start walking again, but she stands and looks back at me.
“Cooper?”
Looking past her, I see Eliza’s eyes homing in on me. Shit. I grab Story’s hand and say, “Run with me.”
“What?” I gotta give it to her. The girl takes off running with me. “Why are we running?”
We duck into an alcove at the psychology building. Story’s laughing, and seeing her happy has me walking on cloud nine. Out of breath, she tugs on the straps of her backpack. “Why exactly are we running?”
Wrapping an arm around her waist, I hold her closer, our bodies melding together. I cup her face with my hand, and whisper, “Just wanted to be alone with you.” I kiss her, stealing the breath she’d managed to catch.
She falls back against the stone wall, bringing me with her as our lips lock and our tongues greet each other again like the lovers we’ve become. I lean against her as she breathes life into me again. What I thought was an escape from one situation quickly turns heated, and suddenly, we’re becoming another type altogether.
Fuck, she makes me hard. If I knew we wouldn’t be interrupted, I might be willing to take a chance in the corner of this alcove. Story deserves better than the cold stone as a backdrop and an audience if anyone saw us.
Forcing myself away from her, I push off the wall, and my back hits the other side of the doorway. We’re left panting and staring at each other.
The door opens, and I stop it from hitting me. Some guy mumbles an apology as he looks at us but never stops and keeps walking.
Story licks her lips, then tilts her head against the stone and closes her eyes. Looking at me, she says, “I have to go to work.”
“Can I see you tonight?” She’s becoming a habit that’s actually good for me.
We may be in the shadows of the building, but her smile brightens even the darkest corners. She takes a step closer, but the door swings open again. An older woman in a trench coat looks at Story and then me when I hold the door open for her. “Excuse me,” she says as she carries on her way.
