I’m not sure because my brain has screeched to a halt. Shit, what does “aloof” look like? It doesn’t matter because our eyes meet again. Annoyed, I straighten my shoulders and force myself to look aloof. We stand facing each other in silence, me staring at his chest, and his gaze burning a hole through the top of my head. I don’t have to look up to know who it is. And nearly run into a solid wall of muscled chest instead. Easier said than done.Īs soon as class ends, I attempt to flee. Chest tight, I turn away and try to ignore him. I have zero interest in getting to know the star quarterback. I haven’t paid much attention to the members of our legendary football team, so I only know of him in that vague way one knows there’s a Student Union or that the library closes at 7pm on Sundays.ĭisappointment is swift and sharp. People snap out of their morning fog, turn, stare, and start whispering among themselves. Senior.” His voice is dark chocolate on a hot summer night.Īnd it causes a stir. I’m so addled it takes me a second to realize that he’s responding to Professor Lambert. Nor do I like the way something inside me gives a little happy squee, as if I’ve been mentally shopping for men and have just found the perfect one. I don’t know why I feel the connection, but I don’t like it. A guy this gorgeous isn’t easily forgotten. Even though he looks oddly familiar, I’d remember if I’d met him before. Stranger still, it feels as if I know him, have known him for years. Only, he’s staring at me too, and he doesn’t look away. So maybe it’s just that I’m staring at him. Which must be wrong no guy has ever gaped at me. Oddly, the guy gapes back at me, as if he too feels the strange kick. The sensation is so unnerving that I can only sit there, my hand fluttering to my chest where my heart struggles to break free. The second our gazes connect, hot tingles zap through me, making my breath catch and my ni**les harden. I’m saying my name and year when I hear a sharp intake of breath to my right. I don’t think I fool my professor, but she doesn’t say anything to me as she starts the introductory roll call. Keeping my head down, I pull out my notepad and try to look organized and ready for the lecture. I slide into a seat in the back just as a guy barrels down the aisle in the same hurried fashion and sits in the desk next to mine. Painfully aware of my professor’s stare, I berate myself as I scurry down one of the aisles between the rows of desks. Because I was hungry and some things can’t wait. The truth is, I stopped to down a Diet Coke and a bag of cashews before heading to class. I’m a senior, so I know where I’m going by now. I’d like to lay blame on something-car problems, couldn’t find my way to the room, got attacked by a swarm of bees while crossing the quad, anything. I’M LATE, AND it’s the first day of class.

The hookup game on