CHAPTER ONE
IAN
White Mountain University
Graniton, New Hampshire
JANUARY
“Dude, hurry up!”
Nick needs to get his ass in gear, so I knock on his door for a third time. After an excruciating thirty-second wait, the lock clicks, and he lets me in with a yawn. He’s still in sweatpants and a loose tank top, which tells me he only woke up because I’m persistent.
Typical.
I check my phone for the time, and when my attention goes back to Nick, he’s lying on his couch, stretching his arms up like nothing in life matters.
“Not to be a douche or anything, but are you gonna get ready?” I ask. “You’re the one who asked me to walk to class with you in the first place.”
He groans, reaching for a hoodie and slipping it over his head. “Didn’t your first three semesters teach you that first classes don’t matter? It’s called syllabus week for a reason.”
“Yeah, but I want to get back into a good routine.”
“Whatever. I need coffee,” he mumbles, and I place a thermos on his dining table.
“Here. Remember our deal? I make you coffee, and you don’t make me late. Let’s go.”
“Okay, okay. I’m ready now.”
I point at his bare feet. “Are you?”
He looks down, grits his teeth, and proceeds to wrangle a pairof jeans, fresh underwear, and some socks from the laundry pile next to the dining table.
And then the shameless, not-so-little fucker gets changed right in front of me.
“Jeez, put your dick away—you know what? I don’t care. Just hurry up. I don’t want to miss the stupid surprise clicker question if the prof springs one on us.”
Nick finishes putting his socks on, slips into boots, and grabs the flask of coffee. “Course registration ends next week. Again, the first class doesn’t matter. Let’s roll.”
I follow him out of the apartment and onto the sidewalk. Nick is the kind of person who’s smart without even trying. As for me? While I’ve never come close to missing the GPA cutoff to stay on the baseball team here, it’s because I stay on top of myself.
But I’m only human, which is why I agree to sit in the back of the lecture hall when we arrive five minutes early for Human Movement II. The half-empty room fills up as we get closer to eleven, and it’s the usual group of familiar faces. Kinesiology is a tiny program here at WMU, and we all know each other, or at least knowofeach other. New people stand out.
And the new guy who walks into the lecture hall stands out for a lot of other reasons.
Hot fucking damn.
He'stall,too.
Jesus. It's like the energy in the room shifts with every sexy step he takes.
And besides his chiseled features, he’s built like an athlete, which isn’t uncommon given what we’re studying. Powerful legs clad in light-wash jeans bring the mystery man a few rows ahead of us where he sheds his faded parka, revealing a wide, flannel-clad back.
Whew. If the shirt he was wearing didn’t fit so well, I’d say it was one size too small, but with his broad shoulders sticking out the way they are, the whole outfitworks. I’m not complaining, notwith how the fabric clings to his muscles just right—revealing but not obnoxious.
Ugh, I need to focus on the lecture today, and the poor, unsuspecting stud muffin in my field of vision isn't gonna make it easy.
Nick elbows me, and I turn to face him. “Stop staring,” he says, his mouth curving up into a knowing smirk.
