1. One
ONE
H arley
Transferring to a new school in the middle of a semester is brutal. Transferring from Bridgedom City University to their rival school is a sick form of torture, especially in Kill Ridge City. My first day at Kill Ridge University is already off to a horrendous start.
I’m lost.
And by lost, I mean I can’t find the classroom for my Advance Statistics class.
What is more unfortunate is the fact that I can still hear Professor Gordon’s voice niggling in my ear that I should never be late for her class. It was one of the few stipulations to being accepted to the course. First, I needed to manage getting myself caught up because she doesn’t have the time to drag me up to speed with the course load. Secondly, cheating will not be tolerated. And lastly, do not, under any circumstances, be late.
I tick all three off in my head, knowing that I’m already uncomfortably close to breaking the last one. Inwardly groaning, I glance down at the confusing map of the building layout again. I have less than three minutes to get myself to room 307.
A room I’m convinced doesn’t even exist.
“New here?” A deep voice rumbles to my right.
I snap my head in the direction, seeing a tall, gorgeous man, with light brown hair and baby blue eyes. The door behind him looks to be a supply closet, and when an average height brunette walks out, my eyes grow wide. As she fixes her hair and he zips up his pants, I glance down at the map, feeling my brow crease.
“Yeah, something like that,” I mutter shyly.
He comes up next to me, staring down at the map over my shoulder. “What room are you looking for?”
I go to look at him, immediately thrown off by our height difference. Tall isn’t the right adjective. Gigantic is a better one. My eyes widen and I take a step away from him to reduce the possibility of breaking my neck.
He chuckles softly. “Sorry about that. The name is Ross.” He holds out his hand for me to shake.
I place my hand in his, not being able to ignore the way his palm swallows mine as he gives mine a gentle shake. And I say gently, because his muscles make alarm bells go off in my head to signal that this man can probably break me in half. With his pinky finger. He could likely crack my spine with his pinky.
“Harley,” I tell him, giving him a shy smile.
Ross smiles back at me, a deep dimple forming in his cheek. I get the urge to reach out and see if my finger would disappear in it, but resist. He reaches out, taking my schedule from my hand along with my map. I watch his blue eyes flick over my schedule and widen in surprise.
He lets out a low whistle and says, “Advanced Statistics with Gordon? You must be incredibly smart to manage to slide into that course in the middle of the semester.”
I start to nervously bounce on the balls of my feet. “She actually requested I be put in her course after my application was accepted.”
His eyebrows climb up, disappearing into the messy hair hanging down over his forehead. “Shit, girl. You might be smarter than Jax is if she requested you herself. Gordon is a stickler.”
“Yeah,” I breathe out. “Speaking of sticklers, I desperately need to find room 307 in the next forty-five seconds.”
“Shit, okay. Go down this hall, hang a right and it’ll be three doors down on your right,” Ross informs me, making all the right gestures to go with his directions.
Pulling my schedule and map from his hands, I spin on my heel, calling out, “Thanks!”
“No problem!” he shouts back.
I stumble over the threshold into room 307 with less than ten seconds to spare before I am officially late.
“Miss Thomas, you’re just in time. Barely,” Professor Gordon says dryly.
“Sorry, I got lost,” I mumble just as my eyes land on the only open seat in the room.
I keep my head down as I close the distance between me and the empty desk and drop my body down into the chair. I hear the sound of one single knuckle lightly rapping on the desk behind me.
“Everyone, welcome Harley Thomas to the class.”
I glance up just in time to catch her tight-lipped smile. Even in her mid-forties, the woman is gorgeous. She looks as if she hasn’t aged since her late twenties. Her dark brown hair is pulled back into a perfect ballerina bun. Each sharp angle of her face accentuated by bright red lips.
Her eyes shift, looking over my shoulder. “Yes, Mr. Stone?”
“I’m sorry to interject,” the rough voice says, sounding anything but sorry. He continues, “But since when do you accept late enrollment for this course?”
Despite the cold disposition of his words, his voice sends tendrils of chills skating over every inch of my skin. It’s rough and smooth all at once. Burning my throat like a shot of whiskey and warming my insides at the same time.
I straighten my spine, ignoring the niggling feeling to turn and look at the man behind me. Sweat beads at the base of my neck beneath my hair and I know he’s looking at the back of my head trying to see through me like he has x-ray vision.
“Since Miss Thomas scored higher on her ACTs, SATs, PSATs and SAT IIs than anyone else in this class. Is that alright with you, Mr. Stone? If so, I’d like to go on ahead with the lesson.” I don’t miss the way her eyes narrow more with each word that leaves her mouth.
I finally turn in my seat, coming face to face with a hardened glare. His dark eyes penetrate me and no matter how loud my mind screams at me to look away, I can’t. He is undoubtedly the most gorgeous yet utterly terrifying man I have ever laid eyes on.
He’s captivating .
Sharp jaw, straight nose, high cheekbones. Lips that are the perfect size for his face, the bottom one being just barely bigger than the top. Deep brown eyes framed by thick, dark lashes. Even his eyebrows are perfect. None of his features are hidden beneath the scruff lining his jaw and crawling up his cheeks. His dark hair matches his eyes. It looks thick and it’s styled a particular way, making him look like he just crawled out of bed. It’s not sloppy. It’s just him.
It’s now that I realize I have been staring at him entirely too long. I feel the flush creep up into my cheeks. The breath stills in my lungs as he raises one of those thick brows. I can feel the challenge behind that eyebrow raise. And against my better judgment, I raise mine back, as if daring him.
His jaw ticks. The only indication that my lack of cowering is affecting him at all. He taps the desk with his knuckle again, drawing my attention down to his hand.
That’s when I see all the tattoos covering every piece of visible skin, starting at his wrists and disappearing into the sleeves of his t-shirt. A shirt that looks a size too small with how it stretches across his muscular chest like a second skin.
I turn my attention back to the front, not missing the whispers of some girls off to my left.
“She’s smarter than Jax,” one girl hisses out.
“And he looks positively homicidal over it,” the other responds.
Well, hello Jax. Meet Harley.
I make it through class, clinging on to my sanity for dear life. His eyes bore into the back of my head throughout the entirety of Professor Gordon’s lecture. When she dismisses class, I practically bolt out of my seat.
My legs quickly take me to my calculus class that happens to be just down the hall from statistics. I take a seat next to the windows. Pulling out my notebook and pencil, both color coordinated for this class, I relax into my seat.
I feel like I can finally breathe. That is until I hear a muttered curse come from the doorway. I look up to see Jax Stone standing just inside the room. His angry eyes are locked on me.
“You have got to be kidding me,” I huff, flipping open my notebook.
Jax finally moves his feet. And as if deciding to torture me with his presence, he takes the seat right behind me. I grind my teeth together.
“You just had to be a statistics major, Harley,” I grumble under my breath to myself.
I cross my arms over my chest and sit back in my chair. I feel like a petulant child, throwing a silent tantrum over having to share my favorite toy with my nemesis.
That feeling doesn’t go away.
Because Jax is in all four of my classes. And he makes it a point to sit behind me in each one of them.
Absolutely perfect.
I take a seat at an empty table in the library. The only class I’m behind in is Advanced Statistics. Only because Professor Gordon burns through the course material like a chain smoker with a pack of cigarettes.
Even so, I’m not too far behind. It’ll likely only take me a week or two to get all caught up on the course load. I reach into my backpack, pulling out my notebook and pens, along with my textbook. I open it up to the first chapter Professor Gordon told me to start with, and begin my notes.
I have an elaborate study method, one that has never failed me. As I work through the text, switching pen colors based on the material as I go, I softly hum Taylor Swift's I Knew You Were Trouble . It isn’t until I’m halfway through the chapter that I register the fact that I’m being watched.
Lifting my head, I meet the cruel stare of Jax. His dark stare makes my skin prickle with awareness. An awareness that makes my lungs seize and my heart anxious to escape the confines of my chest.
Somehow, I know that I’ve locked my gaze with danger. An all-consuming danger that will wrap its hands around my throat when given the chance.
Unfortunately for Jax, I’ve never been one to balk in the face of danger to begin with.