8. Jasmine
JASMINE
The week of classes was as shitty as I expected.
It started off with Landon being pissy because he couldn’t charm his way into my classes, or on campus for that matter given that he’s not a student.
Resulting in not only a tracking device in my phone, bags and for some reason the sole of my three pairs of shoes as he and Cast find a legitimate reason for him to be on campus other than the vague ‘for my protection.’ While I was ecstatic about getting some space from him, Landon has been on my ass every day about suspicious activity and being aware of my surroundings.
Lunch was a cold tuna sandwich eaten in the corner of the Free Meal Hall because I showed up six minutes before they closed to prep for dinner. The bread was wet. The mayo was questionable. And the girl across from me asked if I was a commuter student in the tone people reserve for homeless cats.
But the real highlight? The absolute icing on my garbage fire cake?
I think Conner Kilgore—THE Conner Kilgore, my literal academic idol—wants to eat me. And not in the fun, tongue-on-thigh, ruin-my-life kind of way. No, he wants to eat me in the"Let's turn Jasmine Rivera into jerky and hang her in the woods like a warning sign” kind of way.
The man looked at me like I was a problem he couldn’t wait to solve. Like he was doing the math on my blood spatter pattern just for fun. And the worst part?
I think I liked it.
God, what is wrong with me?
I sat in the back of my second class just vibrating with anxiety, half-expecting Kilgore to bust through the door and toss me a scalpel like, "Let’s play autopsy, love."
And to really round out this dream day?
I lost my wallet.
Yup. Somewhere between making out with Brooke du Pont—who I haven’t stopped thinking about for more than seven seconds at a time—and stomping out of that frat party like I was God’s angriest bisexual, my wallet just poofed.
Gone. With my cash, student ID, and the last ounce of dignity I was carrying in the zippered pouch.
So now I’ve spent my morning canceling credit cards that only worked half the time anyway, filing for a replacement license that won’t arrive for three weeks, and calling the Haven University Lost & Found so many times I think I’ve traumatized the sophomore answering the phones.
I swear, if Landon makes one smug British comment when I get off campus, I’m going to dropkick him into the ornamental fountain outside the lobby.
And maybe drown myself in it after.
I finally leave my last class of the day, Introduction to Computer Science, in a daze, mentally scraping my brain off the sidewalk like roadkill.
My skull is pounding from too many acronyms, not enough air conditioning, and the soul-crushing realization that coding is not just dragging things into pretty boxes.
What I need—what my very soul demands—is a pound of sour gummies, an extra-large hot mocha latte with coconut milk, and at least seventeen uninterrupted minutes of silence so I can properly grieve the death of this absolute shitshow of a day.
My backpack thuds against my spine with every step, and I’m already fumbling with my phone to order coffee when I hear it?—
That voice.
That honey-glazed, sugar-tipped, lemonade-in-July voice that makes me forget I hate this school, this sun, and my entire bloodline.
“Well hey there, sugar.”
Brooke. I freeze like I’ve been caught mid-crime, turning my head before the rest of me remembers how to move. And there she is.
Painted-on jeans that hug her hips like sin.
Tall brown boots with just enough scuff to make her look like she could stomp a man out and still get asked to prom.
And a low-cut, ruffled crop top that definitely wasn’t made for studying.
No, this top is designed specifically to incite chaos and make me forget how zippers work.
She’s leaning against a bench, twirling a straw in her iced drink, golden-brown eyes lit up as she smirks at me. One arm rests casually on the back of the bench, pulling her top even lower like a trap, while the other lifts her drink to her lips in slow motion.
I blink. Swallow. Blink again.
“Hey,” I croak out, and immediately hate myself. Hey? Really? That’s the best I’ve got?
Brooke grins, sliding her sunglasses up into her hair, and steps toward me with the kind of confidence that should be illegal on campus. “You look like you have either gotten beaten, or mugged today.”
I exhale sharply, a reluctant laugh bubbling in my throat. “Well I have been running around this campus like a lost duck. Got stuck in the rain twice and got raked over the coals by a demon in a professor’s suit. So yeah, pretty accurate.”
“Mmm. Poor thing,” she purrs, tipping her head as her gaze drags over me from backpack to boots. “Want me to kiss it better?”
I chuckle, and toss my bag next to her on the bench. “The way I want to kiss you, isn’t really PG-13, wifey.”
“Wifey?” She chuckles.
“I told you I was going to marry you,” I smirk, moving closer to her, the smell of warm cinnamon bakery treats invades all my senses and I feel drunk off of her. “You didn’t think I’d forget, did you babydoll?”
“Of course not,” she drawls, her hands loosely curving around my neck and drawing me even closer.
I swallow thickly. Her face is barely inches from mine now, eyes lidded, lips parted just enough to tempt sin.
“I don’t make empty promises,” I murmur, my hands sliding to her hips, thumbs slipping just under the hem of her ruffle top. “And I meant it when I said I was gonna marry you.”
Brooke grins slow and wicked, her southern accent thick like syrup as she leans in. “Then you better put a ring on it, sugar. Or at least buy me dinner before you start undressing me in public.”
I laugh, the sound coming out softer than I expect—almost breathless. “No promises on the undressing. You shouldn’t wear things that make me question my entire sexuality in broad daylight.”
Her fingers tighten on the back of my neck, pulling me closer until our noses nearly touch. “And you shouldn’t look at me like you already own me.”
“Maybe I do,” I whisper, and fuck, the way she shivers just slightly in my grip almost sends me over the edge.
She smirks, one hand sliding down my shoulder before pulling away from me, and I shiver like a cold front just blew up my spine. “I have something for you.”
“Something for me?” I smirk. “You’re sweet as pie.”
“Mmmhmm.” She hums, sliding my wallet between us.
I let go of her and grab it. “Shit, where did you find it?”
“Before I tell you. Promise to get drinks with me next Saturday at The Bean. ”
“Done deal,” I smirk, sliding the wallet into my back pocket.
She rises off the bench, leans in close—close enough that I catch another hit of that cinnamon-warm, trouble-soaked perfume—and murmurs against my ear:
“I stole it.”
My skin runs cold, and I take a step back like she just doused me in ice water. “ Stole it?”
Brooke straightens, not backing down. Not even a blink of guilt in those honey eyes. “Yeah,” she says simply, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “But not like that. I didn’t take anything inside. Cards, cash, ID—everything’s still there. Swear on my mama’s horse.”
I blink, heart still doing an uncoordinated tap dance. “So you just… stole my wallet. Like a little souvenir?”
She sighs and sits back down on the bench, arms draped across the backrest. “Okay. Confession time, since you’re clearly two seconds away from tackling me.”
I raise a brow but don’t interrupt.
“I used to be a klepto,” she says.
“Used to be?” I snort.
“Still am…I’m in therapy, but look—I liked you, and I wanted something of yours. So, I took it while we were making out. Not a big deal.”
I snatch up my bag, anger rising fast and sharp in my chest. “ Not a big deal? I just spent all morning canceling every card I own, ordering a new ID, and spiraling like a lunatic because I thought someone robbed me—and it was you ? You stole my wallet while we were making out? ”
Brooke’s smile flickers. Just for a second. “Okay—yeah, I see how that sounds.”
I gape at her. “ Sounds? It is insane!”
She crosses her arms, jaw tightening as that confident, Southern charm comes out a little raw with irritation. “I didn’t take anything out of it, Jasmine.”
“That’s not the point!”
“Then what is the point?” she fires back, stepping toward me. “That I liked you so much I did something stupid?”
“Doing something stupid is biting my lip a little too hard!” I snap, throwing my hands in the air. “This—this—” My voice breaks, and I falter, heat crawling up my neck. “I don’t even have words to define this. ”
“You don’t have to make me a monster.”
I stare at her. Hard. “You stole from me.”
“I didn’t do it to hurt you. I didn’t pawn your stuff or hack your cards. I just—” She stops. Drags a hand through her hair. “I don’t know, okay? I liked you. I panicked. I wanted a reason to see you again and I didn’t know how to ask for your number like a normal person.”
“I don’t know about dating someone who steals from me.” I say flatly, looking everywhere, but at her. My eyes land on a man leaning against the far gates, eyes locked on me.
“Let me make it up to you,” she pleads, and I roll my eyes. “A date, sugar. Just a date. You were head over heels for me just moments ago.”
I fix my bag on my shoulder and watch as the man takes a picture of me, and then waves smugly. Shit.
Brooke turns to follow my gaze, but I quickly shake my head. “I have to go.”
“Jas—”
“I said I’ll think about it.”
I walk off before she can stop me. The knot in my stomach tightens with every step. I glance behind me.
The man starts walking. Oh fuck me, if it can get worse, it always will -- Murphy’s law.
I duck around a row of dorm buildings, pulling out my phone with shaking fingers, and hit the one number I probably shouldn’t have memorized, but do.
Landon picks up on the second ring. “Peach.”
“I’m being followed,” I say, low and fast. “Tall guy. Neat clothes. No backpack. Looks like he irons his socks.”