4. chapter four
chapter four
i'm hot, i'm lost, but hey! at least i don't smell like coffee
I ’m going to be late.
It’s my first day, and I’m going to be late.
The valedictorian speech writes itself, don’t you think?
I was late on my very first day; how studious of me. I also paid someone to write my papers, and let me tell you, the free time that left me with—whoo, what a time. Thanks for the degree!
I barely felt the smile tugging at my mouth as I imagined it, pushing through a set of wooden doors into an entryway, all marble and echoey. Or at least it felt that way. My brain was scattered, the seconds slipping by faster than normal. I don’t even want to think about the sweat dripping from every area of my face, making me look like I’d just stepped out of the shower, grabbed my backpack, and thought that would be an appropriate look for class.
It’s all Cora’s fault. She was the one who insisted we stay a few minutes longer to watch the cute barista—the one she’s been drooling over for weeks now—restock the coffee beans. Purely because of the way the hem of his shirt lifts when he does, showing off the valleys of muscle beneath.
When we all asked her what exactly her obsession with him was, she simply blinked and raised her hands in defeat as she said, “I’m English, I’ve never seen a man this attractive before.”
That got us onto the debate about how England has produced plenty of attractive men, with Harry Styles and Sam Claflin being my, Rory’s, and Daisy’s main examples, while Cora sat there explaining how most of the guys she’s encountered looked nothing of the sort... until she came to New York.
It wasn’t until my head angled back that I noticed the time on the clock hung above our table and felt my stomach sink, realising we only had thirty minutes to somehow get from the Upper West Side all the way to Greenwich.
We gathered what we could of our coffees, leftover apple pie slices, and ran out the door quicker than I would ever want to leave Pin’s, bolting toward the nearest subway station.
“This won’t happen again, I promise,” Cora reminded us as we ran. “Jamie gets back from his paternity leave in a few weeks, which means we get to take the car to classes.”
“Why can’t we just drive?” Daisy asked, hiking her bag back up her shoulder from where it had slipped.
“Driving terrifies me,” I breathed heavily.
“Same here,” panted Rory. “Well, I know it would if I knew how to, but I don’t want to.”
Cora flicked her head over her shoulder, her run steadying. “And campus parking is a joke, apparently.”
“There isn’t any campus parking,” Daisy pointed out, screwing up her brows.
“Exactly,” Cora sighed, her eyes now ahead of her. “Besides, we won’t need to—not when Jamie’s back, and we can be ushered to and from the place without any faff.”
I was still getting used to how well-known Cora really was. Still trying to wrap my head around who she was outside of our bubble. And I know my face has been plastered across billboards, TV screens, and kids’ sitcoms for as long as I can remember, but this girl was everywhere.
So everywhere that she needed Jamie, her bodyguard, no less than ten feet away from her at all times.
Right now, Cora Holland is the Internet’s It Girl, like a tornado dressed in black diamonds that swept over the world and left you wanting to chase it forever. Although I hadn’t known her until my sister, Adaline Moore, introduced me to her and Rory when I visited the city for the first time over the summer.
Both Rory and Cora worked for my sister’s best friend, Florence Dayes, in her bakery, Flo’s. That’s how they became friends.
Rory had been in the city since her sophomore year of high school, after moving with her dad from a small town in Montana on the Canadian border. But Cora… she’d come to the city for different reasons. She didn’t go into details when we all spent the night at Flo’s, helping with the close-down. All she said was that the city was her home now, that she was living with her older sister, who’d moved here at her age, and that she wanted to keep what happened back home to herself.
Since then, we’ve never brought it up again.
But Cora and Rory’s paths crossed regardless, after both applying to Flo’s and realising soon enough that they were both heading for Liberty Grove this autumn.
It was like a whirlwind—how quickly we became friends, how clearly I could see their faces stamped over these next four years. And if I weren’t running for my life right now, I’d stop and think about how, for the first time in a long time, I had friends who didn’t just want to be friends with the girl they saw on TV.
After committing to a run that had no business being part of my Monday morning, squeezing onto a packed tube, and watching Daisy’s cardigan get caught in the closing train doors, we finally reached the main building at Liberty Grove. Once there, we split off—Rory headed toward the law lecture halls, Cora and Daisy veered off to the fine arts wing, and now here I am, speed-walking through hallways lined with every kind of science imaginable.
And I think I’m lost.
It doesn’t help that all the halls look the same, all carved from the same beige stone that makes it look like they were plucked straight from a history textbook. If I weren’t running, I’d have taken a moment to stop, appreciate them, and appreciate where I was.
But gazing at the walls could wait. My Introduction to Psychology class could not.
My eyes caught sight of the stretch of green just beyond the arched windows to my right, although the windows weren’t really windows at all, as though the glass had been stolen from them. It only made the intricate details of the open tracery that much more beautiful.
The gardens beyond were even more so, if that was possible.
They were the type of gardens that thrived no matter what the season, I could tell. Right now, as the beginnings of autumn crept their way into the city, the leaves that had already fallen blanketed the ground like a copper flood, a feeling that was as moody as it was magical, hanging over the grounds.
When I reached a set of stairs, I hopped up each step as fast as I could, being mindful of the half-drunk coffee I was still clutching, as well as what was left of my pie in the scrunched-up bag in my other hand. All the while, I was trying to find the signs that told me where I was meant to be.
Finding the second floor, my eyes snagged on a sign.
All I needed were the letters “PSY” for me to bolt through the doors to my left. It was another regal hallway, identical to the ones I’d already rushed through. If this was what déjà vu felt like—getting lost in a maze of stone walls—I wanted no part of it.
I felt the almond and strawberry body spray I’d drenched my outfit in before I left fade away with each step I took, flying behind me as I rounded another corner and spotted a sign with the room numbers I needed.
Licking away the dryness on my lips, I kept my eyes on the end of the hallway, my gaze only shifting to my left when I spotted a stone fountain out the window, through the domed glass ceiling of what looked like a greenhouse. The distant trickle of water was enough to hold my attention and slow my steps. I peered over the edge of the window, tracing the lines of the fountain encased in vines, before panic registered in my bones again and I shuffled my feet forward—
“Bloody hell—”
“Oh, God—”
Warm.
That was all I felt for a split second. But it wasn’t the comfortable kind of warmth, like when you’re standing under the sun.
No. This was different.
And as I blinked and cast my eyes down to my chest, I realised why I felt so strange.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mumbled under my breath, as I pulled at my baby tee that was now soaked with the coffee I’d had in my hand just a second ago, right before I walked into—
“Sorry, love.”
Black Converse are all I see as I cast my eyes to the ground, followed by wide-leg jeans in the same midnight colour. My breath hitched as I kept my eyes rising, only stopping once I made my way past the marl grey jumper and landed on the deepest brown eyes I’d ever seen in my life.
“Are you alright?” he asks, with an accent that sounds awfully similar to Cora’s, woven between his words.
He towers over me by at least a foot, broad shoulders casting what feels like shadows over the entire moment. Even beneath the light dusting of stubble, I can still make out the sharpness of his jawline. But as I’m trying to figure out why his face feels so familiar, his eyes fall south, and I remember that I’m still drenched in coffee.
I drop my head back towards my tee, internally groaning before I meet his stare again. “Um, yeah. Yeah, this is actually exactly how I wanted to look on my first day of classes,” I say with a laugh, because if I don’t, I’ll probably start crying.
But I’m glad I do, because the tall stranger in front of me lets a chuckle slip past his lips. Not a chuckle, really; more like a grunt that passed by something humorous on the way out of his mouth. Either way, my cheeks flush red at the sound.
As I glance up at him again, that familiar feeling sweeps over me, like a cool breeze, as I take in the floppiness of his brown hair and the way his cheeks crease in the corners. He’s like a mountain, all dark and brooding, which, coupled with the long shadows and architecture of the hall behind him, does nothing but make me want to consider taking up hiking as a hobby—
“Maybe watch where you’re going next time, love.”
On second thought, perhaps my trek across the Alps can wait.
I don’t have time for his words to seep into my brain before his brows shoot up and an awkward smile graces his face. He’s walking past me before I can even blink. But I’ll be damned if I let a man walk away from something that was his fault too.
“Hey,” I call after him as I turn on the balls of my feet, stopping him before he can sink too far into the shadows of the building. “Aren’t you going to apologise?”
It’s sickening the way my stomach drops at the sight of his mouth curling into a smirk as he turns back to face me.
From the few things Mr No Name has done in our thirty-second encounter, I expect him to say no and carry on walking away. I expect him to look me up and down, huff a laugh, and disappear, forcing me to label him as a sociopath.
What I don’t expect him to do is what he does. He glances down at his feet before taking a few steps back towards me. Before I know it, his eyes are burning through me again, and without a second to get used to him towering over me, his lips part.
“I’m sorry.”
And pathetically, I’m pretty sure he heard my gulp from how it echoed off the stone.
Never had an apology felt so smothered in mischief before, and never had an apology sounded so sultry before. I don’t even know this guy’s name yet, and already he’s ruined my outfit, made me breathless, and piqued my interest in what’s going on inside his brain before I’ve even stepped foot inside a psychology class.
“Right, well… thank you.” I rush the words so quickly that even I have to question what I’ve said. But I have other things to worry about, like the outfit that’s ruined. Like the class I’m nearly late for. More importantly, the fact that I have no idea where that class even is.
I glance at the stranger again before stepping back, eyes dropping to my soaked top. The coffee smell is already settling in, and I can picture it—everyone steering clear of the girl who smells like stale coffee and looks like she’s crawled out of a pond.
But as my eyes are down, I notice the Converse that aren’t walking away.
Quick as anything, I shoot my head back up, finding him still standing there. I shrug as I tilt my head at him. “Do you have somewhere to be or are you just admiring your work?” I ask, pointing at my tee.
Mr No Name’s lips twitch, like he’s fighting back a smile. He glances down, shifting on his feet, rubbing a hand over his jaw. A quick shake of his head, then, “Got anything to change into?”
I blink up at him. “Yeah, I actually keep spare outfits in my already overpacked bag just for situations like this.” The smile that lands on his face is the definition of sarcastic, forcing his dimples to shadow his face.
I shake my head at him. “No, and my dorm is too far to go back to now.”
It’s then that the embarrassment catches up with me and forces my eyes to the floor, tracing the puddle lines of the rest of my coffee that I have to grieve, along with the rest of my apple pie that I hadn’t even realised I’d dropped until now.
That was $8 I was never getting back.
Luckily, as I scanned the white fabric of my skirt, it’s still white, meaning it’s just the top half of my outfit I have to worry about.
“'Ere,”
His deep voice pulls me out of my outfit check, dragging my eyes back to him. He’s hunched over his backpack, sorting through whatever’s inside before he stands back to his full height a second later… with what looks like a black T-shirt in his hand.
I didn’t say anything. All I did was stare at whatever it was, and then look back to him.
His brown eyes rolled as he pulled the thing open, revealing that the thing was a black t-shirt, with some sort of faded band logo in the centre.
I felt my lip curl the longer I looked at it. “And exactly how long has that lived in there? Or did it come free with the bag?” I asked, pulling at its hem.
A laugh breezed through his nose as he nodded his chin at me. “Not long, but I think the fact it’s not covered in coffee is the only thing that matta's, don’t you?”
For someone with an accent that could melt steel, he sure knew how to get under my skin. That smirk of his—he was enjoying this, and the smugness sent an irritated tingle crawling up my spine.
“I’m not wearing that,” I shot back, shaking my head as a humourless smile invaded my face.
Whoever he was then sank his bottom lip between his teeth, shaking his head at me as he did. “Well, I hope you enjoy walking around this place in a top that’s becoming more see-through by the second—”
“Fine.” I gritted out, before darting my eyes to his.
Mischief just seemed to exist around this guy, living in every corner of his face. But its home was in his eyes—in the onyx sparkle that sat right in the centre.
I couldn’t tell whether I wanted to explore it or whether I wanted to never see it again.
Regretfully, I shook my hand at him, and a second later, his shirt was in my hands, his fingertips grazing mine. It wasn’t that I didn’t like it, it was just that black wasn’t a colour that lived in my wardrobe.
But he was right, the fact it didn’t smell like coffee and made it look like I entered a wet t-shirt contest before my 9:00 AM class was all that mattered.
And as much as I didn’t want to thank him, I mirrored him and bit my bottom lip as a “thank you,” slipped out of my mouth.
Pride coated the smile that shone down on me, as his eyes traced the lines on my face. “The pleasure’s all mine.” The way he inched his body down caused waves of wood and salt air to crash over me, so hard I had to shut my eyes for a second, before his voice forced them open in the same second. “Next time we crash into each other, I’ll get it back from you.”
With each step he took away from me, it felt as though the sky was clearing, like he was a storm that had infiltrated the city. And I wish I didn’t have to rush to class, because I was sure I needed at least a week to get over whatever that was and get my thoughts off the track they were steaming down.
By the time I’d caught my breath, he was gone, and the hallway was clear for me to get my bearings and try and find the nearest bathroom so I could change.
“It’s not covered in coffee. That’s the main thing.”
I told myself that as I stared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, after retracing my steps—down the stairs I’d just climbed and through the same identical hallways that had already gotten me lost.
The t-shirt Mr. No Name had handed me had been a band t-shirt, although the name of the band was so faded that it was useless trying to figure out which one it was. Not even the tour dates that were printed down the centre on the back gave me any clue as to who I was promoting.
And the thing was at least four sizes too big, even with my hips, it still swallowed me. Luckily, I had a spare hair tie in my backpack, so I could tie it in the middle and make the bagginess look purposeful.
But, like I said, it wasn’t wet, and it didn’t reek of coffee, so I guess that was all that mattered.
It did, however, have those same notes that hovered around the guy to whom the shirt belonged sewn into the seams. That’s how it felt, anyway. Like he was still around it.
But it was dry. I’d ignore them soon enough.
I pulled my phone out of the side pocket of my backpack as I left the bathroom, my heart sinking when I realised I only had about three minutes before the class started. After a minute or so of running, I came to a door, Intro To Psychology: Prof. Etoille, bolted to the front and if my breaths were quieter, I would have been able to hear the hallelujah chorus cheering me on from the clouds.
But my breaths stopped altogether, though, as a certain overly tall man appeared at the opposite end of the hallway.
That mischievous yet pretty smile only grew as our eyes locked.
I shrugged my shoulders, my hands raising slightly as I did. “Did you change your mind about the shirt? Is this actually your emotional support blanket?"
His head fell forward as my words reached him, but I didn’t take notice for long, because my class which was starting soon was only a few feet away. I stepped closer towards the door, but my attention snapped back to him once I saw where he was walking.
In the same direction that I was.
I squinted my eyes before tugging at the shirt. “Is this like one of those bikes that you can rent? Do I have to give you a pound for every hour I have it?”
He smiled again, the kind that pissed me off more than it tempted me to smile back. I shook my head, pretending he didn’t exist as I made for the door—the same one he was heading toward. I tried to ignore him, tried to act like I didn’t see his hand reaching for the handle. But the second I grabbed it, his hand landed right on top of mine.
Frustration radiated through me as I snapped my head up and asked the guy with the permanent smirk, “What the hell is your problem?”
He shrugged like he had no idea what a pain in the arse he was being. “Care to elaborate?”
I felt my brows pull inward. “You’re following me.”
“Trust me, I’m not following you.”
“Then what are you—”
“I’m just trying to get to class.”
I felt the colour fade from my cheeks when it hit me. But before I could so much as blink, I felt his hand, the one still covering mine, begin to turn the handle for us.
“Oh.”
I can’t help but fall deeper into his eyes as he opens the door. I can’t help but lap up the way his eyes are taking me in, as I let him control my hand the way he is.
The way the door creaks snaps me out of the moment, pulling my hand from under his as the mini-lecture hall reveals itself to us. From the few seconds I glanced over the room, I could tell the class hadn’t started yet, making the panic that had solidified in my chest start to melt.
“Well, this has been fun,” His voice stole my attention, as I tilted my head up to face him. “But if you don’t mind, I’m gonna go and grab a seat at the back before they’re all gone.” As he brushed his way past me, I couldn’t help but drop my head, finding the breaths that felt harder and harder to catch the longer—
“And hey,” My eyes pinged back to him, just as he was reaching the steps that lined the seats. “Feel free to keep the shirt, Sunshine, it suits you.”
Before I knew it, my first class was over and I was speed-walking out of that lecture hall.
This wasn’t fair. This was my first class, on my first day and my thoughts were on another planet entirely. It was supposed to be this special moment with myself, realising just how far I’d come to get here.
Still, I raised my hand for nearly every question my professor asked. It was going to take a helluva lot more than an accent and brown eyes to stop me from chasing my dreams.
.