"Get out! Get out! Leave! Get out of my sight and out of my life," I say with one last thread of strength, because my whole body aches and trembles, and I'm about to drop to the floor of my room.
"Oh, I'm going. I was only with you because it was comfortable, but all I have to do is blink and ten others prettier and hotter than you land in my lap," he finishes cruelly, and I clench my jaw. I grab the first thing I see on my nightstand and hurl it at him. Unfortunately the bastard makes it through the door before I can hit him. When the object slams against the wood and drops to the floor already in pieces, I realize it was my favorite mug, but I'm so numb to everything else that I don't even care.
I know I follow him and throw even more things at him, but I barely register what I'm doing. I go back into my room and stare at the floor. The shards of the mug will be easy to clean up. What do I do with the shards of my heart, my trust, my self-esteem? I let myself slide to the floor and cry even harder.
I let out a long sigh at the memory and feel my throat tighten, the urge to cry reaching for me the way it always does, but I don't let it, because I promised myself I'd get past this crying phase.
Now it would be the hatred phase. And the revenge phase.
I refused to let this piece of shit named Jonathan Blakely keep me at rock bottom forever. My confidence and self-esteem might be shaken, and they weren't much to begin with, but I was determined to turn this game around.
My cousin repeated that speech to me practically every day, which was helping too.
But right now I really needed to kiss another mouth to forget the con artist's.
I'd actually already kissed one. The Kappa Nu fraternity threw a huge party last week and Maddie talked me into going. I ended up making out with a tall, really good-looking Black guy, but we got interrupted when a drunk girl threw up on my foot and I nearly died of disgust. I ran to wash my shoes in the bathroom and then left without even asking the guy's name.
Which was really a shame, because he had game and a really good kiss, but now I'm just counting on luck to run into him again. He might not even go to Lexington Crown, so I wasn't going to get my hopes up.
I needed to find new opportunities for romance. Or actually, not romance. Love and feelings only brought disappointment and cheating. What I needed was casual sex. Afriend with benefits, at most. Someone I trusted enough to open up to, but didn't run the risk of falling for.
But how do I find that? Just the thought of downloading a dating app gave me the creeps. Who knows what kind of weirdo I'd come across. So the only option left was to go to more parties...
I stop dwelling on my sad social, sexual, and love life when I finally reach the math and sciences building. Most of the support and tutoring rooms were in the basement, including Statistics, and that's where I head.
I liked my job as Professor Whitman's assistant. She taught several math-related subjects across the university and I'd loved her freshman-year classes, so I was thrilled when she offered me the position, since it gave me the chance to build up my résumé and also guaranteed the extra income I needed to keep myself here. I help her in the classroom, grade tests and assignments, and also spend an hour a day in the support room answering questions from anyone who needs help.
I blink fast as I get close to the room and see the lights are already on and the door is open. Monday-morning tutoring sessions weren't the most popular, except when the end of the semester rolled around and everyone panicked, so I'm surprised to think there's someone here before me. I'll even admit I was planning to spend this time reading an erotic romance on my Kindle.
I check the watch on my wrist to make sure I'm not late and breathe a sigh of relief when I see I've got five minutes to spare.
Walking into the room, I come face to face with Ethan Clarke.
And I swear my uterus breaks into applause.
Chapter 3
Charlotte
Ethan Clarke was one of the little kings of campus thanks to his spot as running back on the university football team. Plus, of course, the sky-blue eyes, the sharp jaw, the huge shoulders, the fully cut body, and the six-foot-plus height. He was very good-looking, and by the way he smiled, he knew it well.
"Morning, McCarthy," he greets, using my last name, and I manage a shy smile. I knew him from last year's Calculus 1 classes, and this semester he was in Statistics. I'd already helped him with the concepts and exercises in class a few times, and he'd always been polite and friendly with me. He was also on the same football team as Johnny, of course.
What exactly did the coach put in that team's water to get so many good-looking men, huh?
"Morning, Clarke, fall out of bed?" I ask while setting my bag down on one of the tables. The player rubs the back of his neck and gives an embarrassed smile.
"Something like that. I started Whitman's assignment over the weekend and couldn't get past the first part, so I decided to come here and get some help from you before practice madness gets worse. Can you help me?" he says, and I nod in understanding.
"Sure. Let's do it," I agree, and pull my pencil case and a notepad out of my bag before sitting at the round table next to Ethan. Unfortunately, I noticed right away that the hottie also happened to smell really good. I swallow the urge to lean in even closer and breathe in the scent straight from his neck, and go back to focusing on the assignment's requirements.
Between walking him through each step and giving a few examples of how to apply the descriptive statistics concepts Whitman wanted for that data set, we spend almost an hour in the lab. I glance at the watch on my wrist while stretching in my chair, loosening up the muscles that had been in the same position too long.
"Think that's enough for you to keep going with the assignment?" I ask, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear to keep it from blocking my view of Ethan. He sighs and breaks into a wide smile as he looks back at me.
"Definitely. Now things actually make sense, you explain way better than Whitman does," he assures me, and I let a satisfied little smile slip across my lips.
"Happy to help." That's my honest answer, and Ethan nods. For a moment, we just look at each other, and suddenly I become very aware of how close I am to him and how much his scent floods my senses. Afraid I'll start blushing like an idiot in front of the guy, I clear my throat and break eye contact. Ijump up from the chair and start putting my stuff back in my bag, picking the conversation back up. "Anyway, if you need help with anything else, you know where to find me."
