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Rowan
My worst nightmare has come true, and now it’s a reality.
For a moment, I consider turning around and bolting from the room. Is it too late to drop the class? Find something else? Was it offered online? Could I feign ill and avoid the entire lab portion of the classroom?
No. I need this class for my major. I refuse to let these guys dictate my life anymore, and I won’t allow them to have control over me, either. Pulling my shoulders back and walking as confidently as I can, I make my way over to the empty seat right next to the leader of the pack, Matt Nelson.
I can feel all their eyes on me, studying my movements, gauging my reaction. I roll my shoulders back and take a deep breath, forcing my gaze to focus on the professor who is already talking about the lab work we’re about to do. I can only catch sight of the professor from between Dereck and Bryce’s shoulders, and both of them are staring at me, their own backs to our instructor. To the right of me, Matt is still staring as well, and when I gain the courage to look up and meet his eyes, a shiver of apprehension slides down my spine. But, not just apprehension …
Desire.
Lust.
Suddenly, I’m hot under the collar, and a tingling between my legs forces me to cross them and look away. But even when I force my gaze in another direction, Matt continues to stare, his dark, heavily-shadowed eyes reading the lines in my face like an open book.
“Welcome, class,” our professor is saying. “This unit is a third-year elective unit in Psychology. The unit focuses on understanding human sexual behavior and intimate relationships, and addresses the biological, cognitive, emotional, and socio-historical factors that contribute to the psychology of sex, sexuality, and intimate relationships.”
Sex. Sex. Sex.
The simple word rings over and over in my head, and I take a deep breath and close my eyes, wondering why they were even taking this class. Bryce, sure. He’s always been the scholar of the group. A straight-A student in high school. But it didn't make him less of an asshole bystander when I had my heart shattered to bits that night.
The night I tried to kill myself.
“Guys,” the professor calls out, cutting off his speech abruptly. “Is Ms. Bates currently more interesting than this lecture?” He narrows his eyes in our direction. A few of our classmates’ chuckle, and an itch rises under the heat of my skin. I clear my throat and force my eyes down again, wishing that Matt didn’t smell like spicy aftershave and fresh soap. Fuck them all.
“No offense, professor, but yes,” Matt says, finally looking away from me to face the old man at the front. A few more chuckles float through the air, and directly in front of me, a scowl falls over Dereck’s face when he finally turns away. Bryce flashes me a quick, boy-next-door kind of smile and follows suit. Fortunately for Matt, the professor cracks a smile at this and shakes his head.
“Eyes on me, please.”
I clear my throat and keep my eyes pinned on the professor, barely hearing the words he’s speaking to us, only really catching the most important phrases for the class. Just to distract myself, I take out a notepad and pen to jot things down.
Intimacy…
Relationships…
Sex…
None of the boys are staring at me now, but occasionally Matt looks over for a brave few seconds, that stupid, arrogant smirk playing on his features as the professor drones on. Even Dereck glances over his shoulder once or twice to look at me, and by the end of class, all I want to do is curl up in a ball and die. For the rest of the class, we don’t speak at all. And that’s how I like it.
I hope that I can get out of there before the other three have time to react, but no such luck. I’m speed-walking out the door while simultaneously shoving my notebook into my bag at the same time when Bryce catches up to me, jogging, a small smile playing at the edge of his lips.
“Rowan,” he calls. “Hey, wait up.”
I don’t stop. I can’t. Not for him, anyway, or either of the other two assholes. Bryce might flash a sweet smile and play the nice-guy game, but his high school words haunt me just as much as Matt and Dereck’s do.
“Row,” Bryce calls again, reaching out to take hold of my upper arm. He pulls me to a stop, and I stumble, furious, yanking my arm out of his grip to reel my fist back, ready to punch him. The old nickname rings uncomfortably in my ears. Only those close to me call me that anymore.
“Whoa,” he says, stopping short. Both hands shoot into the air, surrendering. “Sorry, didn’t mean to grab you.”
“Then don’t.” I say, but before I can reprimand him further, my gaze is lost in his eyes, a stunning cognac, colored like fine whiskey. He’s average in height, a few inches taller than me, and the way his dark hair falls into his eyes forces me to take notice. He looks exactly like he did in high school, but definitely more built.
“I’m sorry,” he says again, and his hands drop to his sides.
“Just … leave me alone,” I mutter, eyes peering anxiously over his shoulder to make sure Dereck and Matt aren’t about to take up his flank. I can barely handle one of them, let alone all three. When I look at Bryce again, there’s a softness in his eyes, but I know I must power through it.
“Look,” he says, dropping his hands to his side. There are paint stains on his jeans, small dabs of beautiful pastels. He’s an artsy guy, like I remembered in the bar–he was like that in high school, too. “I’m really sorry,” he continues. Now it’s him that can’t seem to meet my gaze, almost like he actually feels bad and isn’t just here to hit on me. “I know we were cruel to you in high school, and I just wanted to say that I’m sorry. We all are.”
I swallow the thick lump in my throat and look away, at the wall, but I can’t find the will to move away. Something in the way he speaks to me, a true, earnest kindness, forces me to stay put and hear him out. He’s far less intimidating without the other two backing him up.
