Truth: You find what you’re looking for when you least expect it.
He’s so dreamy. Tall, dark, and handsome, with a side of smokin’ hot intellect. The individual concern he gives each student is commendable. He really cares whether we pass his class.
Sure, most students consider fall seminar a snooze fest, but I know better. These mandatory semester symposia are our gateways to success. What we glean from these weekly lectures can make or break us during our college careers. With so much helpful information at our disposal, it’s impossible to fail. So far, we’ve covered tutoring resources, anti-hazing policies, Title IX procedures, how to maximize our relationship with our student advisor, and navigating the potential pitfalls of social media as prospective grad student/job applicants.
Spoiler alert: medical schools and hospitals will not consider me a front-runner if they find Instagram photos of my drunken debauchery at a frat party.
It’s not like I attend those, anyway. Keggers are beneath Sigma Sigma Theta standards for member conduct.
I glance down at my green and white tie-dyed t-shirt. The Greek letters emblazoned across my chest feel like an invisible hug from my sisters, reminding me to be the best I can be.
The best version of myself would definitely not take Professor Lyttle up on his offer to see him during office hours for a more in-depth approach to using social media as a tool for curating content best suited for our post-undergraduate lives.
He glances around the room, pausing his lecture to await any potential questions. When his gaze lands on me, a soothing blanket of happiness caresses my body. His eyes are the most fascinating shade of green. They seem so sharp, so all-knowing.
Up close, I’ll bet they’d be flecked with a kaleidoscope of color. Having those windows of such a warm soul trained on you behind closed doors would make even the most virginal girls reconsider their purity. He probably smells like mint and coffee. Of course, only a tiny taste would confirm…
“Are you even paying attention?” Damp, hot breath dances across the skin of my neck, instantly quelling my chills.
“Yes.” I sigh out my fantasy, rejoining reality. “Why?”
“Because the guy two seats over has been fighting for it for twenty minutes. I think he’s starting to feel rejected.”
I glance to where Jason gestures. Nothing seems out of the ordinary. A good-looking guy goes about his day, paying attention and taking notes. He seems too somber for this bright New Hampshire day. It’s almost as if the sunlight streaming in through the windows physically pains him. Everything about him is dark—his hair, his eyes, his expression, even his clothes. Who pairs a black shirt with dark-rinse blue jeans?
My friend, and SST sister, Rosie, would have my head for such a fashion infraction.
“I think you’re mistaken,” I whisper back, not wanting to interrupt the lesson. “He must have been looking at you.”
Jason arches an eyebrow. “I’ve been getting stared at long enough to know when it’s me someone is focused on. This guy was checking you out like he was estimating your bra size.”
I roll my eyes. Trust Jason to make the lewdest possible analogy. My bra size is the only decent feature working in my favor. A 36D really helps offset the mousy brown hair, hazel eyes, and otherwise average looks I have to offer. Too bad my girls have never been enough to attract a man. This guy is no different.
“Believe me or don’t,” Jason huffs, slouching in his seat to stretch his long legs in front of him. “I know what I saw.”
“Someone’s particularly grouchy today,” I snicker.
“I’m never taking a class with you again.”
“You will, and you’ll love it.”
“I won’t, and I wouldn’t.”
I snort. He’s one of the few who hasn’t been able to resist my charms since the first day of freshman year. Sure, our friendship is strictly platonic, but he didn’t have to agree to be my friend at all. He certainly never had any friends before me that I know of. He’ll never admit it, but I’ve wormed my way into his heart. Or, at the very least, his schedule.
I used to fantasize maybe we could be more, but he shut down my only bumbling attempt at seduction quickly enough for me to realize my mistake. Jason Gould and I will never be anything more than friends. And that’s okay. I have plenty of other fantasies to tide me over until my Prince Charming arrives on his white horse.
Class is dismissed two minutes late. As I’m packing my bag, a shadow falls over my desk.
Only an elbow to my chest makes me look up from my task.
The guy Jason pointed out earlier is standing a few feet away, staring at me. He’s not smiling. I look over my shoulder, but no one’s there except Jason.
“Do you have a minute?”
I look around again. Unless he thinks Jason is gorgeous—highly unlikely scenario—he must be talking to me.
Jason shoulders his backpack. “See ya later, Emma.”
“What?” I panic. There’s no other explanation for my increased respiration rate, heartbeat, and undoubtedly dilated pupils. “We’re going to lunch. That’s our routine. You can’t abandon me!”
He shakes his head, then leans close enough to not be overheard. “Calm down, tiger. You’ll be fine.”
“Fine?” I hiss. “Do I seem fine to you? What does he want?”
Jason looks at me like I’m insane. “Let me put it you in layman’s terms: have dick, will work for pussy. You got this.”
With a pat delivered to my ass like we’re football players, Jason turns to carve a path through the stream of other students exiting the lecture hall.
The guy couldn’t blend in if he tried, but honestly…I don’t think he wants to.
I straighten up, hoping the brooding guy from class has abandoned me in favor of easier, more sophisticated prey.
He’s still here, waiting.
“So, are you doing anything later?”