She startled violently, her drink sloshing in its cup, her free hand flying to her chest. She gave me the most disgusted look I’d seen yet—nose wrinkled, lips curled, hazel eyes flashing with genuine irritation.
“You couldn’t wait in the dorms like a normal fuck boy?”
“And miss out on your delightful reaction?” I brushed bark from my jeans, noting the dark stains the sap had left. My white shirt stuck to my skin. “Never.”
She pushed past me with her shoulder—a solid hit that would have moved a smaller man—and I followed, falling into step beside her with ease.
“You can go home. I have tests this afternoon, so I’m going to be studying for the next several hours.” She didn’t look at me as she spoke, her gaze fixed forward like she could will me out of existence through sheer determination.
“Why not study in your dorm, then?”
“Because I wanted a change of scenery, Rowan. Is that okay with you?”
“Of course it is. I, too, would like a change of scenery. This way, I can even help you study,” I offered.
She said nothing, but I heard her teeth grind together.
We walked through the halls of the humanities building—old stone and dark wood, the architecture reminiscent of Gothic revival with its pointed arches and heavy timber beams. Eventually, we emerged into an open courtyard where wooden picnic tables were scattered across close-cropped grass bearing the dawn’s speckled light. Some tables were occupied by students already deep in study, others sat empty in the shade of ornamental cherry trees.
“Are students normally up this early studying?” I asked.
“Yeah, why wouldn’t they be? You’d probably be surprised how early and late some study groups will meet up. It’s going to be even more packed when we get close to midterms and finals.”
“It is no small wonder that boy was killed, then. If I were a killer, this campus would make for the perfect hunting ground.”
“Because?” she inquired as we continued our trek across the courtyard, weaving through old cobbled paths.
Her question reminded me that she did not see the world the same way I did. “Small groups. Some solo. Everyone in their own little world and not paying attention to where they are going, much less who is around them.”
Violet stopped at that, glancing my way. “When you put it that way, it sounds kinda obvious what happened, doesn’t it?”
I nodded.
Violet found a table isolated from the others, tucked into a corner where stone walls met on two sides, and set down her belongings with more force than necessary. Her bag hit the table with a heavy thud.
“Psychology 101 has a quiz coming up on Friday.” She pulled out her textbook, the thick, glossy cover proclaiming Introduction to Psychology in bold letters, and flipped it open with aggressive efficiency. “I need to memorize symptoms and tie them to possible diagnoses.”
It sounded interesting enough. Psychology had never been accessible to me in my previous life—survival consumed too much energy to contemplate the mechanics of human behavior when understanding it instinctively meant the difference between living and dying.
But in this life, Charlie had made it a point in my homeschooling to ensure I was well-rounded. Psychology and Philosophy had been some of my favorite topics.
“Well, anything related to dependency disorders, you have locked down.” I kept my tone light, teasing.
She threw me a glare that could have melted steel. “And anything possessive or obnoxiously controlling is very clearly you.”
“That does not sound particularly scientific when you phrase it like that.” I settled onto the bench across from her, stretching my legs out beneath the table.
She mumbled something obscene under her breath—I caught “asshole” and possibly “smug bastard”—before she pulled out notebooks and highlighters with color-coded caps.
“Psychology is the scientific study of the mind and behavior,” she recited, her voice taking on the particular cadence of memorized information.
“What is the specific topic for this quiz?”
“Emotion and motivation across cultures.” She listed it off while flipping to the relevant chapter, her finger scanning the page.
“Hmm.” I leaned back, considering the topic as my foot casually brushed against hers. I could feel the heat of her skin against my dark jeans, sending a jolt of pleasure up my leg. “I am partial to arousal theory myself.”
She looked up sharply, and I watched color creep into her cheeks, highlighting her sharp beauty. “Too bad. That’s next week’s lesson.” She paused, her eyes scanning ahead in the textbook. Then an audible, “shit” escaped her lips.
