Chapter 1
Josephine
I grip the gear shift so hard my knuckles are white as I pull into the commuter lot and guide my car into my assigned spot.
Closing my eyes, I suck in a shaky breath. I can do this. I am doing this.
Now I just have to get out of the car.
My next steps should be easy. Pull the lever, push the door open, heave myself out of the car, and walk onto campus. My first class of the day is a short trek from here.
But as I exit the vehicle and squint into the bright, already-too-hot morning sun, an eclipse darkens my whole new year, new me mojo.
Poof.
All the positive self-talk that’s been cycling through my mind is no match for the massive brute before me.
“You’re a girl.”
I’m taken aback by his words. I’m even more disarmed by the tan fingers wrapped around the open doorframe of the 2002 Honda Civic my uncle gifted me last week.
Uncle Sam is unabashedly proud of the car—a rebuild he’s been working on since I officially committed to Lake Chapel University and to living with him this fall.
He joked that if I had to live in a junkyard, I shouldn’t have a ride that looked like it belonged there. I fought back tears when he handed me the keys.
I’m not a crier, and yet I could still tear up thinking about that moment. I’ve already named her Honey.
Suffice to say, I’m feeling extra prickly when I lift my chin to meet the gaze of the guy literally manhandling my new car.
I’m fully prepared to tell him off, but my words falter as I assess his hard-set jaw, perfect lips, and annoyingly high cheek bones.
But it’s his eyes that stand to be my undoing.
Onyx black, with almost no distinction between the iris and the pupil. It’s like staring into the inkiest lagoon—one that’s all but guaranteed to be hiding a monster.
Although he’s at least half a foot taller than me, I remind myself he’s no monster.
I’ve faced real monsters. I’ve survived real monsters.
If this guy thinks he can intimidate me, he’s got another thing coming.
Pursing my lips and cocking one brow, I stare right back with all the attitude I can muster. When he makes no move to get out of my way, I peel each of his fingers off my precious car and scrutinize him again.
“Paws off my ride, asshole. And yes, although gender is a social construct and it’s not appropriate to assume you know anything about a person’s identity, I am, in fact, a girl.”
I brush my poker-straight hair over my shoulder and plant one hand on my hip.
Though it seems impossible, his irises get darker. Then he scowls and turns to the guy leaning against a black G-Wagon a few feet away. His chin is tipped down, and his attention is locked on the tablet propped against his stomach.
“She’s a girl?” the first guy growls, like I’ve offended him in some way.
iPad guy’s head snaps up. He peers at me through a pair of nerdy glasses that give off a professor-meets-superhero-in-disguise vibe, assessing me from head to toe thoroughly enough that my cheeks flush.
He’s slimmer than his friend, but lean and sinewy in a way that tells me he’s fast. And strong.
He’s probably got exceptional endurance, too…
I blink to clear my head of all the naughty ideas it’s conjuring up about Peter Parker’s doppelg?nger. I have never had a thing for nerds. And yet—
“You’re sure this is her?” the bossy one demands.
The big lug peers down his nose at me. His expression is measured at first, but then the smallest hint of a smirk teases at the corners of his mouth.
“You’re sure this is…them?” he clarifies, aiming his question at his friend without taking his eyes off me. “Since gender is a social construct and all.”
Clever.
Nerd boy snaps out of his trance long enough to nod, then he studies his iPad again.
“Yep. The make and model of the car match what’s on file with the registrar’s office. Want me to check the VIN, Cap?”
Cap. Cap?
Forget the dumb nickname—what the hell is Peter Parker looking at? They have what on file where? My uncle must have registered the car on my behalf. Guess that explains the parking pass that was hanging from the rearview mirror when he gave it to me.
I take in a long breath, working to control my unease as I look from Cap to his sidekick and back again. There’s no way they know who I am. They couldn’t. They didn’t even know my gender until moments ago.
“So the recipient of the Crusade Scholarship is a girl,” he concludes, finally removing his hand from my car door and cracking his neck.
And with that, he turns his back on me. Signaling, apparently, that we’re done.
Except we’re not. Because I can’t leave well enough alone.
Half the eyes in the parking lot are on us, burning my skin with intense curiosity. No one here knows me. Not yet. And I’ll be damned if I come off as weak—less than, like a victim—on my first day.
“Do you have any other catch phrases, Cap?” I sling my bag over my shoulder and shove past him, slamming my door harder than necessary.
I wince. Sorry, Honey.
Worth it, though. The massive man freezes where he stands and shoots daggers at me over his shoulder.
I take a calming breath and lock my car, then adjust my backpack. Squaring my shoulders, I spread my legs a little, taking a wider stance. Obviously, I’m no physical match for this guy, but I’ll be damned if I let his size intimidate me.
“She’s a hot girl,” a low voice proclaims.
At the comment, I clench my fists and turn, ever so slowly, back toward the pretentious car and the other men lounging around it.
The prolific speaker is wearing a Lake Chapel Football T-shirt.
It’s about three sizes too big, and the sleeves are cut out, showing off bulky, tatted arms. His dark brown hair is longer in the front, hanging over his eyes a little, but it’s cropped close at his temples so I can see the gauges in his ears.
There’s a glint of silver in his eyebrow and an intricate black and red tattoo spanning from his throat to the edge of his jaw.
He looks like he should be passing out MDMA at Warped Tour, not leaning against a swanky car in the parking lot of a higher education institution.
He’s got the faintest smirk when I finally focus on his face. He checks me out unabashedly before biting his lower lip and giving me an almost-indistinguishable nod.
My anger dissipates on the spot, transforming into a different kind of heat as we check each other out in earnest.
“You’re not so bad yourself, Emo Boy.” I let my attention linger for a few more seconds. And linger, it does. That neck piece is something. I’d kill to see the rest of the design, the way it swirls down his chest under that ridiculous oversized shirt.
Focus.
Time to get to class.
“Should I be concerned that you’re all so curious about my sex?”
Three pairs of eyes blow out before I rewind the words and huff at my inadvertent innuendo.
“Grow up,” I admonish, rolling my eyes. “Sex, as in the biological distinction. I’m a girl, remember?”
Holding my head high, I step toward the G-Wagon that stands between me and the path that leads to the humanities building.
I can feel their eyes tracking my movement. It’s this visceral, tingly heat that creeps along my skin and makes it impossible to suck in enough air to fill my lungs.
Just when I think I’m in the clear, my backpack catches.
A low hmph draws my attention up—and then up even higher—to a beast of a man who’s leaning against the passenger door and staring at me.
This guy’s also wearing a Lake Chapel U football T-shirt, but with a fitted tech shirt underneath.
It’s way too hot for long sleeves, but somehow, he pulls it off.
“S-sorry,” I stammer.
“Watch it, Ohio,” he grunts, his words deep and drawn-out as he deftly adjusts the strap on my shoulder.
I shudder on contact but grit my teeth as his warning sinks in.
Ohio.
He knows where I’m from. I’ve been on campus for less than five minutes, and yet I’m showing up in some database, and these guys already know details about my life.
Breathe, I remind myself. They don’t really know anything. They can’t.
My eyes flit between the four men: The dark, scowling asshole. The iPad-wielding nerd. The huge, tatted emo boy. The gruff, gorgeous jock. They’d look like a ragtag team of misfits if they weren’t presiding over the parking lot like they own the damn place.
Without another second of hesitation, I turn on my heel and take off at a clipped pace.
I’m here for a reason. I have a purpose.
I fish out my phone and pop in my earbuds, glancing at the time in the process—I only have a few minutes to spare. I’ve come too far to turn back now.