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He blinks, his eyes and expression still unreadable.
After a couple more beats of silence, he finally speaks. “I don’t eat sugar.”
My chest deflates. “Oh,” I say.
There are all kinds of reasons people wouldn’t want to eat sugar. Dietary restrictions, simple preference, whatever. People have turned down my beginning of the semester treats before. Obviously, I’ve never taken it personally.
But something about his reaction has me fighting a frown, feeling like there are two tiny weights tied to the edges of my mouth trying to pull them down.
I open my mouth to ask him his name so we can at least be introduced, but he turns back to the front of the room as the professor enters and starts class.
I let out a quiet sigh, setting the bagged brownie down by my feet and trying to focus on the professor.
Maybe I’ll only have one seat buddy in this class after all.
2
HUDSON
Holy shit. I’m sitting next to Summer Andrews.
She’s so beautiful in person that my chest got tight just looking at her. Knowing that she’s still sitting right next to me has my brain scrambled, making it impossible to focus on what the professor is saying at the front of the room.
As my brain slowly settles, I find myself realizing one thing: what a fucking jerk I was.
I don’t eat sugar.
That’s all I can say to someone who’s just trying to be nice and break the ice by giving me something most people like?
My chest pulses. She seriously just carries around little treats with her to offer to the people who sit next to her in class?
That’s so adorable that I feel even worse now.
I try to pay attention to the professor’s lecture, but it’s futile. Catching notes of Summer’s sweet and citrusy scent on my nose, seeing the flash of her blonde hair in my peripheral vision, and thinking about what I jerk I just was all monopolize my thoughts.
It was about a year ago that I first came across a YouTube video of Summer playing a violin concerto. I like to listen to classical music sometimes to relax, and after a particularly shitty phone call with my dad, I really needed to relax that day.
Her playing was stunning, and I was mesmerized by how beautiful she looked on the stage. I could’ve sworn she was a professional violinist. I was shocked when I scrolled down to see that the video was uploaded by Brumehill College’s music department.
I clicked on the profile and found that they regularly upload student performances. I’ve listened to dozens of Summer’s performances since.
Ever since I put in my transfer application to Brumehill from Boston College, I’ve been wondering if I’ll run into her. Catch a glimpse of her across campus one day, maybe.
It turns out, I’m sitting right next to her in my very first class.
When class ends, I’ll apologize for being a jerk. Maybe even tell her I’ve seen some of her performances online and like them a lot. Try not to come off like an asshole for the first time in my life.
After the professor dismisses us, I pack up and rise from my seat, turning to face Summer.
Suddenly, everything I was planning to say vanishes from my brain. I can’t think of anything but how fucking gorgeous she is.
Her sleek blonde hair almost glistens, tied back in a ponytail. Her eyes are a deep, rich green. She has a golden, tanned complexion that so perfectly fits her name. Everything about her feels warm, sunny, energetic.
And what she’s wearing. Fucking hell. She has on a pair of cut-off jean shorts that show off her long, luscious legs. My mouth waters, and it feels like my eyes are going to pop out of their sockets as they drink in the sight of her smooth, tanned thighs.
She wears a patterned cami top that shows off her bare arms and shoulders, and gives just the slightest, most tantalizing peek of her cleavage.
Shit, I’m downright ogling her. I need to snap out of it before I look like a creep—and before my cock gets so hard that it rips through my pants.
