Love: Take Two (The Park Brothers #5)

Awa

Chapter one

Fergie sings about her "lovely lady lumps" while I drink stale IPA in the dingy kitchen of Gamma Gamma Rho. It might not be the nicest frat on Greek Row, but at least the beer is terrible.

I don't bother hiding my sigh, and Sybil nudges me with her elbow.

She tosses her golden ringlets over her shoulder for dramatic effect, and I sigh again, but take a conciliatory sip from my red Solo cup.

Sybil and I have roomed together since freshman year.

I wouldn't call us friends—she's a bubbly Dramatic Arts major from Tallahassee hoping to be the next Reese Witherspoon, while I'm here from Senegal on an F-1 visa studying Political Science—but we both know how to follow a chore wheel and neither of us monopolizes the common area.

That plus a tacit agreement to keep out of each other's way has made ours a perfectly adequate housing experience.

Until tonight, that is. Tonight, Sybil barged into my room, proclaimed I was "squandering my last year of freedom" before I have to be nose down in LSAT prep, and dragged me to 28th Street to "get drunk and grind on some hot guys like a regular person".

Whatever.

I didn't leave Dakar just to flunk out of USC after spending too many weekends drinking "jungle juice" from a trashcan.

Or to waste my time with boys who think a few minutes between the sheets is more important than my schoolwork.

I may not be the most fun, but I'm definitely the most focused person I know.

And that's what it's going to take if I want to catch up to the likes of Dina LaPolt.

"Excuse me," a deep voice murmurs at the same time a hand grazes my lower back. I look up to see how pissed I should be, and come face to face with the dark eyes I've been running into with alarming frequency since the start of junior year.

First, he was in line ahead of me at Parkside, his ebony locks and sharp jaw reminding me of Orlando Bloom in "Pirates of the Caribbean".

Then he scooted past me to sit two seats away in my Intro to Cinema class, tall and effortlessly cool like Josh Hartnett in "40 Days and 40 Nights".

He even borrowed a pen before sitting behind me in Entertainment Marketing, triggering more girlish fantasies about a brunette heartthrob to rival Adam Brody in "The O.C. ".

I'm ashamed to say I paid attention during roll call just to learn his name.

It's not like we were ever going to talk outside of class with how packed my schedule is.

Between my regular course load and the Entertainment Industry minor my parents would kill me if they knew about, I'm barely sleeping.

And now he's here, touching me, and it's not just the alcohol that has my head swimming.

Noah Park.

"Who was that?" Sybil asks, elbowing me again and openly staring at Noah. She doesn't even attempt to lower her voice!

Noah's lips quirk in amusement before he disappears into the crush of bodies, and I inwardly curse the floor for not opening up and swallowing me whole.

"That was Noah Park," I hiss back, my cheeks flaming. "And did you invite me out just to embarrass me?"

When her face breaks into a smirk, I realize I've said too much. Boring Awa Faye, a near-recluse who emails professors instead of texting friends, wouldn't know Noah Park. Not unless she had a special interest in him; the man who could've walked straight out of her secret DVD collection.

"Oh, that's Noah Park, huh?" she teases, her eyes knowing. "Is he the new transfer all the girls in my Theatre on the Edge course have been whispering about?"

She turns to get another look at him, but he's vanished, along with any hope I had of making a good first impression.

"He's cute."

I fold my arms across my chest and try to hide my irritation.

"He's not cute. Cute is for little boys and puppies. That man is gorgeous, and he knows it."

"I don't disagree," Sybil admits, grabbing a handful of M&M's from the cluttered counter behind me. "But if you like him so much, why didn't you say something when he obviously checked you out before?"

I choke on nothing, and her smirk turns into a full-fledged grin.

"He was not checking me out," I stammer, still gulping air.

"Oh, Awa," she mutters, shaking her head and regarding me like a parent would a child struggling to tie their shoes. "This is exactly why you need to get out more."

She waves over my shoulder and starts toward several members of her improv troupe before I can question her.

Was Noah really checking me out?