If I’m being honest, I’m jealous. I wish I had the luxury of having more fun, but school has never come as easily to me as it has to her. Where she’s always barely had to study for a test, I was that kid who was up cramming all night and the morning before. The only subject I never had to try so hard in was science, and I’m pretty sure that was because my parents shoved it down my throat since I could barely walk.
Sometimes I wonder if that’s why I’m planning to major in biology instead of pushing back against my parents’ wishes and fighting to get a creative arts degree—it’s easier to give in.
“Does that mean things between you and Stan are fizzling out?”
“His name is Dan, and eh. He’s so-so. But”—she sighs dreamily, then fans herself—“the things that man can do with his hands more than make up for it.”
“Talia!” I chide, looking around to make sure we’re not being listened to, but nobody pays us any attention.
She giggles. “What? I’m just saying, Chlo. You’re missing out with your wholeno boysrule you’ve imposed.”
I know she’s teasing, but she doesn’t understand that if I want to succeed—and I really do, even if I’m not excited aboutmy degree—I need to cut out all distractions. That means no boys, no parties, and no fun until I can make my parents proud so they stop giving me those looks, the ones that sayWe want more for you, Chloe.Since they’re both big names in their fields, I’m sure they do, and I want to give them that.
“I’m just trying to focus on my studies, that’s all,” I counter.
She rolls her baby-blue eyes, blowing out a puff of air and pushing her tousled bangs off her forehead. She’s done nothing but mess with them since she got them this past summer—another big change for her—and I want to say the wordsI knew you’d hate themso dang badly, but I keep my thoughts to myself.
“Besides,” I say, “we don’t all have a job with Daddy Warbucks to go home to.”
I bump my shoulder against hers with a grin, which she returns, but I see how shaky it is. There’s a legacy to uphold for the Stevenson family, and when Talia is finished with school, she’s expected to dive right into working for her father.
We waltz into class with ten minutes to spare and take our usual spots in the back.
“Oh shit. It’s him, it’s him, it’s him,” my best friend hisses, sitting up straighter in her chair and tossing her long, honey hair behind her shoulder. She elbows me. “Sit up, Chlo!”
I know exactly who Talia is freaking out about before I even look, and though I tell myself I have no interest in him, I can’t deny the way my heart rate picks up. I ignore it and her as I continue pulling my laptop, notebook, and pens from my bag, then a pair of black boots comes into my line of sight.
“Well, well, well,” a deep voice says from the right of me. “If it isn’t my favorite seatmate.” A backpack drops to the floor, and the scent of cedar bodywash and just a bit too much cologne tickles my nose. “How are you, Clover?”
I huff, annoyed by the name he gave me during the second week of classes. I can only assume it was because I was wearingthe clover-shaped necklace my dad got me. “An actual lucky charm,” he said when I opened it for my birthday, which falls on St. Patrick’s Day.
Or maybe this guy gave me the nickname just because he likes annoying me. Who knows?
My tormentor laughs, and it unnerves something inside me that I don’t quite understand. Or maybe it’s that I don’twantto try to understand it.
I don’t have time to analyze it before he says, “That excited to see me, huh, Clover?”
I clench my teeth, meeting the amber stare I’ve come to loathe head-on. “For the hundredth time, it’sChloe. Chlo-e. It’s not that hard of a name to remember.”
He lets out another deep, hearty laugh. “Sure it is,Clover.”
“I think I know my own name,Callum.”
Those eyes—the same ones I’ve spent far too much time daydreaming about instead of taking notes—narrow at the use of his first name. Nobody calls him that, not even the professors. That’s the kind of special treatment you get when you’re a talented hockey player like him. I’m pretty sure everyone—even the custodial crew—knows who he is. Callum Keller is a god around campus, and everyone treats him like one.
Well,almosteveryone. Not me. I am completely immune to his charms.
As if on cue, my stomach does a flip as he runs a hand through his camel-colored hair that sometimes looks blond when the light hits it just right.
Okay, I’mmostlyimmune to them.
I swallow the lump that’s formed in my throat as he slides into the chair next to me and spreads his legs wide until his thigh is pressed against mine. I act like it doesn’t make my palms sweat as I tighten my grip on the pencil in my hand and roll my eyes skyward.
“Aw, now come on. What was that for?”
“Because I find you annoying.”
He mock gasps, then points at himself. “Moi? Are you sure?”
