1. Rebecca

1

REBECCA

What was I doing? I turned a slow circle, my book bag banging my hip and catching on the corner of a desk and almost dragging it along behind me when I took a step. Heat infused my cheeks at the unholy screech of metal on laminate. For God's sake. Didn't they bolt these things down or something? Why did it all have to be so constricting?

Blowing my overly long bangs from my eyes, I hefted the bag higher and whisked it over the row of desks.

The door banged behind me. I whirled that way, my heart leaping into my throat, and my bag smacked into some dude's back.

"Ow." He hunched forward and shot me a disgusted look.

I took the high road–literally and figuratively–and shot him a winning smile, my one good attribute, while hustling up the steps and finding a chair near the top. My lungs burned from rushing up the stairs, and the burning in my cheeks meant my face was fire engine red. Thank God for makeup. If I could control my breathing, no one would notice me struggling to wedge myself in the narrow space. I pushed on the table/desk in front of me, but the damned thing didn't budge.

Fuck. So they didn't bother bolting the desks at floor level, but these they did? Figures. I'd have to make do. It wouldn't be the first time.

A few more students trickled into the lecture hall, their laughing voices filling the drab space with the first bit of joy I'd experienced today.

Sweat dampened my palms, and I rubbed them over my black- and white-striped skirt. I wouldn't be shaking anyone's hand, but the movement helped soothe my racing pulse and gave me a chance to tug my skirt down over my knees as I turned sideways. My stomach rolled together, my muffin top feeling more like a cinnamon roll busting out of the can when it pressed into the desktop and spilled over a bit.

Shame forced my head down. I pulled in a long breath through my nose and held it, closing my eyes at the same time.

The laughing voices no longer gave me joy but a wicked sense of deja vu. They were laughing at me. Even when I knew they never even saw me, every laugh, every word spoken in hushed tones behind cupped hands, felt directed at me and my weight.

"You're here to learn, Becca." I whispered the words to myself and forced my eyes open. A quick look around proved that no one looked my way. I'd once again become invisible. Just the way I liked it. I could be the funny fat friend when I wanted, but I'd come to college to learn.

"Did you see the class list?" A girl in front of me leaned forward, her shiny blonde hair spilling over her shoulder and exposing slim shoulders and a tiny waist. "I can't believe anyone is taking this class online. What a waste."

I'd almost chosen to do this entire year online. My throat turned dry and spasmed when the boy turned to look at the blonde. His eyes caught mine for a split second before he focused on the bombshell. Where he'd looked at me with no emotion, his eyes lit up at the sight of her. His mouth hitched up on one side in a slick smile, and he turned further, flexing his arms when he propped his elbow on the back of his chair.

Grabbing my notebook, I scribbled the action down on my list. The tattered notebook held all sorts of lists, but this one was my favorite. I added Brandon to the description and underlined it twice. I had no idea what the guy's name was, but he'd become Brandon in my mind, and that was how I'd see him in my future novel.

"I can't believe I even have to take this class." Brandon rolled his eyes, then slid his gaze up and down the blonde. "Who even uses English Lit anymore?"

Everyone. I rolled my eyes and added golden retriever to my list of Brandon's attributes. Cute. Funny. Possibly not very bright. He could be playing it down for his audience, hoping to gain her sympathy.

She leaned so far over the desk it was a wonder she didn't topple right off into his lap.

Oh, that would be a fun addition to a rom-com book. I jotted down the idea and covered a grin by ducking my chin when Brandon's gaze lingered on blondie's tits that she'd all but shoved in his face.

Their voices dropped to hushed whispers. Fine by me. I continued writing, imagining the conversation.

I'd gotten to the part where she climbed onto his lap and reached for his dick when a hushed silence fell over the room.

The back of my neck prickled, the atmosphere turning heated. I raised my head slowly, searching for what had changed.

It took less than a second to find him.

Hottie alert. I mean, damn.

Tall and broad-shouldered, he filled out his sport jacket and slacks without any damned trouble. Dark brown hair had been gelled into a sculpted wave that pushed the hair back from his forehead but kept it from having that tousled, just out of bed, look. Thick whiskers covered his cheeks in a full beard and mustache, and stern eyebrows remained in a flat line when he surveyed the room. "I'm professor Ethan Halstead. You may call me professor, or Mr. Halstead."

Blondie snapped upright so fast it was a wonder her spine stayed in her body.

I smothered a giggle that dried up in a heartbeat when hard brown eyes met mine. I swore one eyebrow quirked upward but blamed it on my exceptional imagination and hormones. No way a man like Ethan Halstead looked at me for more than a fraction of a second.

"Mr. Halstead?" Another girl closer to the front raised her hand. Like blondie in front of me, she boasted a lithe frame and perfect boobs that she used to her benefit, setting them atop her arms when she crossed them on the desk. "I forgot my syllabus. Will you be able to provide another one?"

"All class materials are available online. You'll find instructions on the college webpage." Hands swinging freely by his sides, he marched toward the front of the room where a curved wall framed in a wooden lectern. "I am not your friend, your confidant, or your parent. You're all old enough to be in this class. I expect you to act like it. Be prepared and keep up."

Woof. This man was not going to take it easy on any of us. Curious, I flipped my notebook closed and retrieved a blank one from my bag, along with my laptop. I loved the simplicity of handwritten notes, but when Professor Halstead clicked a button and a projector screen filled up an entire wall with the proposed reading list for this one class, I knew better than to risk leaving it all to my puny penmanship. I'd leave that for my midnight muses when I dreamed of becoming a famous romance author.

Famous might be stretching my abilities, but with the writing degree under my belt, I just knew I could finally finish the manuscript I'd been working on and break into the writing industry. All I needed was the clout of a degree and the willpower to finish my book.

Lily called me idealistic. But she was my best friend, and it was part of her job to keep me motivated to write.

Professor Halstead's voice rang out with a whiskeyed depth that burned even as it beckoned me for one more shot. His words washed over me with such swift potency that I barely managed to turn on my dictation app to record his lecture before I sank into the oblivion of a daydream where Ethan and I starred as the leading couple.

A sharp clap knocked me out of my reverie and startled me upright. My elbow skipped off the desk, and my chin cracked the firm surface when it fell from my open palm.

"Class is over." Professor Halstead stood over me, his face a mask of indifference. Hands slipped into his pockets, and my eyes followed the movement to his crotch… which I found at a perturbing eye level. He cleared his throat and moved down the steps, walking backward without breaking stride. "If I've put you to sleep in our first class, you should reconsider your major."

"Oh, no." I leaped to my feet and swept my laptop, notebook, and pen into my bag. "I can't do that. And I wasn't sleeping. Not really. It was your voice, you see. I?—"

"No excuses. Stay awake or don't bother showing up." Cold. Calculated. He reached the bottom step and finally turned around, giving me a view of his ass. And what an ass.

Stop it . I'd smack my cheeks and tell myself to knock it off if it would help, but that would only prove to the professor that I didn't belong.

There was just one thing to do. Prove to Mr. Grumpy Pants that I did belong, and that I'd ace his class.

"Have a good day, Professor." I gave him my smile and lifted my chin on the way out the door, pretending I had every right to toss my hair and sashay away. Once outside the building, I stopped and wilted. Where to next? I checked the schedule I'd downloaded on my phone and compared it to the campus map. Professor Cole Taylor, Statistics.

Shoot me now. I hated numbers with the fiery passion of seven suns. Why in the world did I need statistics for a degree in writing? I stuck my tongue out at my phone and made my way across the quad. Students lingered in the shade where a dozen or so trees created a nice pocket of peace. Picnic tables were arranged in a haphazard way, and I realized why when one dude grabbed a whole table and dragged it over to another so he could sit with the group already gathered around the first table.

Professor Taylor's class proved to be even more difficult to pay attention to, and not because he was also drop-dead gorgeous but because numbers made my head ache.

Professor Cole Taylor had a calm and controlled manner, but unlike Professor Halstead, he smiled. With his graying temples and smooth jawline, he reminded me of a movie star. Any minute now, the cameras would roll in, some producer would shout "action", and we'd be on our way. Another daydream threatened. I scratched out the rough idea for another plot line in my notebook, then doodled around the edges.

"You'll need to read the first three chapters by tomorrow. There will be a quiz." Professor Taylor held up his hands when the entire class groaned. "I'm joking. Read chapters one and two. Be ready to discuss."

Books slammed shut. Unlike most of our classes, this one had an honest to goodness hardback textbook that weighed a freaking ton. I dropped it into my bag and shouldered the load, grateful to have made it through my first day of classes unscathed. Well… mostly.

Professor Halstead's voice rang in my ear all the way to my car, then during the drive to Cafe Latte, the coffee shop where I worked part-time.

I dragged my bag in with me. "Hey, Lily, if things are slow tonight, I need to study."

Lily looked up from the espresso machine, gave me a once-over, and winced. "That bad?"

"Worse." I settled on a stool and crossed my arms on the counter, resting my chin on my forearms. "I'm pretty sure all my professors are either part of some movie franchise or older than the campus."

She finished the coffee order and handed it to the man waiting at the register. Cafe Latte wasn't what anyone would call high-class, but they served excellent coffee and the place was clean and quiet. A total of four people sat at the tables that lined the front window.

The man thanked Lily and dropped a tip in the jar on his way out the door.

Lily leaned over the counter, resting her weight on her elbows. She stood slightly taller than me, thinner, with this wild, curly hair that I loved and had tried for years to mimic. Her eyebrows waggled up and down. "Hotties, huh? Tell me about it." She wiped the counter with an imaginary towel, then mimed slinging it over her shoulder. "Need a drink to get you through your troubles?"

"Shut up." I pushed to my feet and tossed my book bag in the corner booth where we always left our stuff. No one ever bothered it, and if I did get a chance to study, it would be there. I tied on my apron, huffing when I struggled to get the strings together.

Somehow, I had to get my shit together and go back to class tomorrow. How was I supposed to pay attention to my classes when I had professors like Ethan and Cole distracting me all the time? Their lectures were torture to my brain and my hormones.