Movers and Fakers (RomCom University #3)

Stupid Money

Chapter one

Aurora Driscoll

Life-changing moments shouldn’t occur in the hallway of a computer science building.

I stare down at the letter from the ballet program I applied to over the summer.

It’s a plain white envelope with my name, Aurora Driscoll, printed in neat black letters across the middle.

For something that contains a decision that could alter my future, it’s rather unassuming.

I should wait to open it. I could text my roommates that it came, have them meet back at our apartment, and call my family once we’re all together.

Then open it and hopefully celebrate with the people I love.

But … that would mean my reaction would be on display for all of them.

I’d have to contend with eyes on me, with people holding their breath in anticipation.

If it were good news, they’d expect me to respond a certain way.

And if it were bad, then they’d feel required to comfort me.

Neither of those options is all that appealing.

I glance around the hallway. Students bundled up in hoodies and jackets bump into one another as they make their way to their next class.

A couple passes by where I’m leaning against a wall, looking at each other rather than where they’re walking.

Somehow, they manage not to run into anyone or anything.

When they get to the building doors, the guy pushes them open, letting in a crisp fall breeze that makes me shiver.

More students filter inside through the entrance, not one sparing more than a glance in my direction.

A blanket of comfortable anonymity settles over me.

No one here cares if I get into this program.

They’re all too preoccupied with their own lives to pay attention to a person opening a letter a few feet from where they’re walking.

I’m safe to feel however I want, and I don’t have to linger in this awful waiting period I’ve been in since I hit submit.

Decision made, I flip the envelope over and rip it open. My fingers tremble as I pull the sheet of paper out and unfold it. I can hear my heartbeat in my ears.

Congratulations—

I gasp. “I got in,” I whisper in shock, scanning the page for more information.

My lips turn up at the edges. I did it! Hours upon hours of agonizing work have culminated in this moment.

I clutch the silver ballet shoes pendant against my chest, remembering the day my mom gave it to me after my first performance en pointe.

She and my dad had saved for months to buy it, on top of paying for my dance classes, shoes, and costumes.

They worked so hard to get me here, and I’ve done the same.

Even now, my muscles ache from morning technique classes, but I don’t care.

Because I’m one step closer to becoming a principal dancer.

Sure, I have no idea how I’m going to afford the tuition or housing, but I can figure that out later. For now, I’m going to bask in the feeling of hard work paying off.

Nothing can ruin this.

“Why don’t you ever smile like that for me?” a familiar voice drawls, proving my previous thought wrong.

I immediately drop my smile into a scowl and lift my gaze from the acceptance letter.

Hayes Rosewood smirks down at me, his green eyes glittering with mischief.

He crosses his muscular arms over his chest and leans one shoulder against the wall.

I take a step away, not caring for him to be in my personal space.

The citrus scent of his cologne is dizzying, as is the charm he likes to heap onto me.

“Maybe because you’re an insufferable nuisance whose very breath irks me,” I offer in a flat tone.

He grins at my insult because he has issues.

“No, I think you enjoy our little back-and-forth and think it will end if you let me win your smile. Don’t worry, though, it won’t.”

“And I think you’ve been hit in the head one too many times.” I shove my letter in the pocket of my oversized plush pink hoodie.

Hayes turns his head from side to side. His messy auburn hair catches the light above and brightens a shade.

“Does it look like I let people hit me?”

I roll my eyes so that I don’t focus on his annoyingly gorgeous face.

Despite his arrogant remark, he does have a few minor scars, barely perceptible except when we’re close.

Which he likes to force me into way too often.

They don’t detract from his appeal, though; in fact, they increase it.

The scars remind anyone who looks at him that he’s got an edge belying his relaxed personality.

He may be all smiles, but he’s also the founder of the Shadow Ring—an underground fight club on campus—and supposedly one of its best fighters.

“I don’t have time for your nonsense. Class is starting soon.”

Unfortunately, Hayes shares this class with me. We had one together last year, too, which is where his fruitless pursuit of me began. It’s a game to him, and I don’t care enough to try to put a legitimate stop to it. One or two annoying interactions a week aren’t worth the trouble.

“Is that you asking me to walk you to class?” He holds out a large hand, palm up, and bows slightly. “I’d be honored to be your escort, Princess.”

My scowl deepens. Since I happen to share a name with a certain fairy-tale character, Hayes has taken it upon himself to bestow me with a ridiculous nickname and plays into it all the time.

“If you keep calling me Princess, I’m going to be the first to hit you,” I grouse as I walk past him toward our Digital Logic class.

“I’d love to see you try.” His warm chuckle makes my stomach swoop. “Maybe that can be our first date? You can put on some pink gloves, and I’ll teach you how to fight.”

As we walk down the hall, eyes linger. That’s the Hayes Effect, and another reason I hate interacting with him.

He’s Thrasher royalty since his dad and grandad both graduated from here, and his billionaire family has donated millions to the school.

Everyone knows him, and they all stare like he’s a celebrity—and I guess he is.

Being in his orbit means being constantly perceived.

And while I love performing on stage, I don’t like it in my regular life.

“I’m not going on a date with you, and I don’t need you to teach me how to fight. I know plenty.”

I immediately regret my words when I see his surprised grin out of the corner of my eye.

I’ve worked hard to keep my personal life to myself around Hayes.

He doesn’t need to know that my dad and younger brother are boxing-obsessed.

Or that they taught me some moves for self-defense purposes.

Getting the letter today threw me off, though, and I slipped up.

“Is that so?” The low, sultry question makes chill bumps scatter across my skin. “I’d love to see you in action.”

“Not gonna happen.”

I stop in front of the Digital Logic classroom. Before I can reach for the door, Hayes swings it open with a flourish.

“After you, Your Highness.”

I clench my jaw and walk past him.

“Do you have to make a production out of everything?” I grit out, my face heating with the feeling of our classmates’ stares.

“I’d think you of all people would understand the value of a good performance,” he teases as we walk up the risers to our seats. The ones that are next to each other, per Hayes’s insistence at the start of the semester.

“I only perform when I’m on stage.”

I pull off my pastel-pink backpack and drop it onto the table.

Hayes lets out a sigh as he takes his seat to my right.

“How boring. Haven’t you ever heard that life is a stage?”

I stiffen at the word boring. It’s not the first time I’ve been called that.

So-called friends in middle and high school used to whisper it behind my back.

They didn’t understand why I couldn’t go out to parties all the time, or concerts, or even to the movies.

I preferred a quiet life at home, but I’ve also been saving every penny for dance since I was a kid.

I won’t become a principal dancer if I can’t afford pointe shoes.

They never understood, and someone like Hayes won’t either. Life is a joke to him. He’s got what my dad refers to as stupid money. The kind of rich where you have more than you can spend. Hayes’s life is a stream of parties, women, and fighting. Of course, I’d be deemed as boring in his eyes.

I don’t humor him with another response.

Instead, I pull out my laptop and get set up for class.

But as it starts, my mind gets drawn back to the tuition costs on the paper in my hoodie pocket.

Now that my good mood has been soured, the issue of funds glows an angry red color in my thoughts.

What I wouldn’t give to have a little of Hayes’s stupid money right about now.