by Wood, Vivian
The curly haired guy doesn’t hesitate. He moves forward, jogging up the steps. He is my savior, although he doesn’t seem to realize it.
I spare a glance over my shoulder, looking at the Greek god and the dark-haired would-be model. They smirk at me, their eyes shining in the fading light. Shuddering, I hurry up the steps and duck through the door that is being held open for me.
“I’m Matthew by the way,” the curly-haired guy says, his cheeks reddening. The door closes with a bang that makes me jump. “Did you know any of those guys?”
Now I’m blushing. “Sorry. I’m Emily. And no, they were just… I don’t know what. Harassing seems like too hash a word…”
“Nice to meet you, then. Can I…” Matthew gestures to the half-collapsed box. “Do you want help with that?”
My cheeks turn even more red. “No! I got it, I promise.”
He arches his brows again but shrugs a shoulder. “Okay. Maybe I’ll catch you around, Emily.”
He turns and takes the stairs two at a time, leaving me struggling with my final box and cursing myself. As I haul it up the stairs, I guess I’m glad to have met one person today who was nice.
5
Emily
After a long morning waiting in line at the college bookstore, I leave with my arms full of books and my wallet way lighter. I’ve been preparing for buying books and supplies by stock piling money; I tutored and worked a weekend shift at Target during my junior and senior years of high school. After two years, I as able to put away almost eight thousand dollars. It has been in an interest-bearing savings account, untouched, for almost three years. While everybody else went for a burger after school or blew a wad of dough on a prom dress, I had grapes at home and stayed in and watched television.
All in the name of having money for college. Spending it rather than holding it feels… well, not good, but… it had to be done.
Luckily I researched how much my books would cost so I came prepared with the exact amount of cash I needed, but jeez. They sure do ask you for a ton of money in the first few days of college.
I check the time on my phone and blanch. Hurrying out the back of the student center, I practically fly across the wide swath of grass, ending up at the brand new steel and glass science center.
I file in the doors behind a few other late students, hurrying up the stairs. On the second floor I find my room number almost immediately and hustle myself inside. Just in the doors, I stop short. The room is setup like a lab, with students paired off at opposite ends of the tall, white marble desks. The entire class is already here, all the students talking to their lab partners.
Biting my lip, I look around for my spot. The professor, a balding man in an oversized gray cardigan, shuffles closer to me. He’s tall and thin, his lengthened features reminding me of a crane.
“I am Dr. Nefflinger,” he says, sniffling. My brows rise at how nasal his voice is. Somehow I didn’t expect that voice to come out of someone so tall. He pulls a packet of tissue from his pocket with one hand, frowning down at a clipboard he holds with the other. “What’s your name?”
Shifting the heavy books in my arms, I clear my throat. “Emily Danes, sir.”
He rewards me with a sigh. “You will be—”
Then he pauses while he looks down at his clipboard again and wipes his nose with his handful of tissues. I watch his hand vanish into the pocket of his long cardigan, trying not to flinch. I guess he’s not going to throw that away just now.
I cast a glance at my fellow classmates, noticing that some of them have to be upperclassmen. Swallowing, I really wish I would’ve known that when I signed up for biochemistry.
“Ah, Danes,” he mutters. “Yes. Take the third table, there.” He nods to two unoccupied seats. “Your partner is taking his own sweet time too, I see.”
And then Dr. Nefflinger wanders off, mumbling something under his breath about rich students having no respect. Eyes wide, I head to my table and plunk down the books and papers I’m holding onto. Taking one of the chairs, I pull one of the empty binders out of my stack of textbooks. I spend the next few minutes getting myself a binder set up, filling it with paper and tabbed dividers.
Pulling my two heavy textbooks for this class out of the stack too, I arrange everything nicely. Just as I am getting my brand new pencils ready, I am startled by a loud bang. My desk mate drops his books on the countertop and sits down, looking at me askance.
I startle to realize that it’s the blond Greek god I ran from only yesterday. Tall and broad-shouldered, he wears his black denim and dark blue tee shirt incredibly well. He knows it too, judging by his posture. He perches on his stool and crosses his arms, expectant. Perfectly unkempt sandy blond hair, dark brows spread wide over the darkest blue eyes I’ve ever seen, a patrician nose, two incredible cheekbones, and the most expressive lips…
This guy is fucking hot, excuse my French.
Which are currently smirking at me. I knew hot guys back home in Prineville. Mostly I avoided them, truth be told. But this guy is on another level. He is so dazzling that he could work in television… and bad tv just so happens to be my weakness.
Being around this guy is enough to make me rethink the bright yellow tee shirt dress I am wearing. I want more than anything to tug the hem down and smooth my hands over my black tights, but I don’t.
Instead I blush, fumbling to introduce myself. Sticking my hand straight out and tossing my messy dark hair back, I try for an authoritative voice. “I’m Emily Danes.”
At the front of the classroom, the professor clears his throat, ready to start talking. My eyes dart to him, but then he reaches for his bunch of tissues again. Glancing back to my partner, I see him eye me up and down in a totally unsubtle way.
At last, he leans forward and shakes my hand. His skin against mine is hot. I bite my lip, refusing to let a little thing like instant animal attraction do me in.
“I’m Wolf,” he says, his voice low and gravelly. He looks me over once more. Then he arches a brow, his smirk deepening. “Did you find all of your panties last night?”
My cheeks instantly go the exact color of a ripe tomato. I lick my lips and frown. What am I supposed to say to that?
Luckily, I am saved by the professor finally starting the class. “Settle down, settle down. This is advanced biochemistry, which is the study of the chemical processes within and relating to living organisms…”
Dr. Nefflinger coughs loudly and clears his throat a few times before droning on. Forcing my eyes to the front of the class, paying attention to the professor, these are things I’ve dreamed about. Being at Campbell at all is still a shock.
But that doesn’t make Dr. Nefflinger’s monotone voice any easier to focus on. Nor does it dial back my interest in the boy next to me. My eyes keep sliding to the side, unconsciously drawn to Wolf. Every few minutes I find myself pondering him rather than listening to Dr. Nefflinger talk about biomolecules and glycolysis.
What kind of name is Wolf, anyway? Were his parents heathens or something?
“If you could all use this time to fill out the forms I’m passing back. One form for both you. They are an assessment to see where your new team stands in terms of general science knowledge. Work on your people skills, children.”
The girl sitting right in front of me turns around and hands me several sheets of paper. I take one and pass the rest of the sheets back. Frowning down at the piece of paper, I study it briefly.
It has really basic questions about ecology and biology, with some harder chemical equations stuff and physics problems worked in. Nothing too hard. Actually, I’m pretty sure I can handle all of it in my sleep.
Math and science are easy for me. They have concrete answers, and problems that yield solutions with mostly little effort. They are always the same, no matter where you go. Even if you decide to go to a college way across the country and you don’t know anyone, math and science are reliable old friends.
The paper is yanked out of my grasp.
I look up to see Wolf glancing at it with a skeptical expression.
“Fuck.” It’s the second thing he’s said. I guess I should be glad he didn’t direct it at me.
Wolf looks up at me. “Tell me you are a science geek.”
My cheeks color. I duck my head and pick at a loose thread on my tights. “I know the answers to the questions on the sheet, if that’s what you mean.”
“Great.” He scrawls his name at the top of the sheet and then hands it back to me.
Alexander Astor is written there, which makes me wonder how exactly he came by the name Wolf. I look up at him with a frown. He pulls out his phone, ignoring me, and leans against the lab table.
“So on the first question—” I start.
He scowls at me briefly. “That’s not how this is going to work. You’re good at science stuff, I’m not. You know the answers, I don’t care about the answers. Therefore, I’m going to sit here and look at Instagram while you fill out the form. Then you run along and turn it in with both our names attached. Capisce?”
His attention wavers from me for the second half of his statement. He looks at the screen of his phone, already distracted by it. My hand flies to my chest; I am deeply offended. This is Campbell College for god’s sake. It’s an Ivy league school. Everyone here is supposed to be good at everything.
I’m not about to be the nerd that some hot guy copies off of. Not here at Campbell. I narrow my eyes on Wolf. Setting the questionnaire down on the table, I raise my hand to get the professor’s attention.
Wolf slides his gaze over to me. “What are you doing?”
Dr. Nefflinger is busy with another student, but he makes eye contact with me. He narrows his eyes but nods. I put my hand down and turn my attention back to Wolf. “Requesting a change of lab partners. I’m sure there are plenty of people who would be glad to have you as their partner, but I want someone who cares about their grade.”
Wolf crosses his arms and glares at me. “Who says I don’t care about my grade?”
Feeling emboldened, I lean in. “Look, just because you’re hot does not mean I will just roll over and do all the work for you. This is my first college class. I’m going to excel in it, but I won’t carry you along for the ride.”
He arches a brow. “So you think I’m hot?”
My cheeks flame scarlet. “That is not the point.”
He smirks. “What is the point, then?”
“I’m not doing your work for you.” My jaw sets and I frown toward the front of the classroom. I raise my hand again.
Then the student Dr. Nefflinger is talking to suddenly stands up, a sob escaping her. As the student flees the classroom, Dr. Nefflinger gives her a snide look then turns to the class.
“Does anybody else have a request for a change of partner?” he announces, raising his eyebrows. “Because I average three crying students in every class, so I’m below par as of right now.”
My hand drops. Wolf leans his head close to me, his navy blue eyes twinkling.
“I’ve taken a class with Dr. Nefflinger before. He doesn’t like overachievers much,” he whispers, winking at me.
My mouth opens, but I’m not even sure what to say. Wolf grins and uses a fingertip on the bottom of my chin to close my mouth, perfectly familiar even though he doesn’t know me in the least. He points to the questionnaire.
“Start writing.”
Glaring at him, I pick up one of my new pencils and apply myself to the task. Inside, I’m grumbling. But when Dr. Nefflinger passes by I’m careful to avoid drawing attention to myself.
Pointedly ignoring Wolf, I quickly fill the evaluation out. When I’m done I look around. My eyes keep traveling back to the lab partner I already hate, but I stubbornly keep looking away.
When Dr. Nefflinger announces that class is over, Wolf picks up his books and heads to the door without a second thought. I’m left with a sour taste in my mouth, picking up my armful of books and moving on.
I see Wolf again as I’m leaving the building. He’s outside strolling across the grass, talking to two girls. Our gazes connect for a second. Then he turns away and laughs at something one of the girls says.
My eyes drop to the ground in front of me as I trudge angrily back toward my dorm.
Alexander Astor, or Wolf, or whatever he is calling himself these days… he is a prick. He may be hot, but I’d do better staying away from guys like him. That much I am sure of.
6
Wolf
There is something about Emily Danes. Something in the way she frowns down at her biochemistry book, or chews on the end of her pencil, or…
I sneak a look at her out of the corner of my eye. I can’t put my finger on it, exactly.
She’s pretty, not that that means anything. Chin-length hair, a petite stature, a post-punk meets soft rock look that makes me want to know more about her. She has big brown eyes rimmed with soft brown lashes and a pouty-lipped mouth that could drive a man insane.
But that’s not it.
No, there is something… some quality that makes me sit up and take notice. But as I watch her twirl the ends of her hair and scribble down an answer, I can’t think for the life of me what that would be.
She looks up at me briefly, catching me looking at her. She flushes, her cheeks turning the exact shade of a strawberry when it is the ripest. Her mouth turns down at the corners and she looks away again.
Sighing, I look down at my phone again. It’s going to bug me for a while, the not knowing.
Suddenly Professor Nefflinger announces that the class is over. My gaze swings back to Emily as she looks around, perplexed. I should say something to her.
Smile. Flirt a little. I probably could easily get an A in this class just by paying her a little attention. If she catches feeling for me, I won’t have to worry about doing shit for biochem class. I could focus all my energy on other classes and keeping things at Rose House on an even keel.
But something lodged deep inside me won’t let me. Again, I don’t know why.
So instead I stand up and gather my books, leaving the classroom as quickly as possible. I don’t hurry, exactly; I just swagger everywhere I go. So I strut out of the building, immediately running into a couple of girls I know from last year.
Dark haired with sun kissed skin, both Ana and Sam are excited to take the arms I offer them and tell me about their summer vacations in the tropics. It looks good, me walking with two gorgeous co-eds, each of them dressed in a short skirt and heels. Emily wouldn’t look nearly as good on my arm.
Or maybe she wouldn’t tell the same story to an analytical onlooker. Either way, I tell myself to be glad that I snubbed Emily. Even if those brown eyes intrigue me. Even if I wonder what she looks like naked.
I bet that she would be all bones. Bones and perky tits.
The latter has me leaning my head to one side, speculating about just how perky they would be in my hands. Barely a handful, but ever so pale. And they each would be topped with a perfect cherry nipple…
Walking out on the grass, I half-listen to the girls giggle about their vacations as we meander toward the main campus. The other half of my attention is still with Emily, turning over and over what it is about her that stands out.
It’s like a sore tooth, the not knowing. I can’t stop coming back to it again and again… but it hurts every time I explore it with my tongue.
I glance up and there Emily is. Across the grass from me, on the oak-lined path, eyeing me with a cold expression as she hurries away. Our gazes catch for a moment. Then I break off and turn away, shepherding Ana and Sam along with me.
“You would’ve liked my suit this year, Wolf,” Ana says slyly. “It made my parents blush.”
“Oh yeah?” I ask, turning my attention to her.
She blooms under my gaze, warming. “Yeah. We went to this nude beach in St. Tropez…”
I start walking in the direction of Rose House as she tells me a long story about not wearing any sunblock on the nude
beach. Sam asks her a question and they volley the conversation back and forth between them with practiced ease. It’s pretty nice day, the sun hiding just behind the shade of the big oak trees. The three of us reach the end of campus with minimal input into the conversation from me, which is fine as far as I’m concerned.
I free myself from Ana and Sam, preparing to cross the street to get to Rose House. Then I spot a red Porche Cayenne parked in the circular drive. The license plate says, SPOILED.
My thoughts instantly turn dark. I recognize that car, all right. Heaving a sigh, I tell the girls goodbye. Heading across the street and over the shady lawn of Rose House, I see my father is on the front steps of Rose House.
Handsome, thin, and graying at the temples, he is without a doubt blood related to me. I look exactly like he did at my age, which he points out every time we are in the foyer of Rose House. He looks at the pictures of the classes of inductees hanging on the walls and picks his own class out.
“Look at that! That’s strong blood right there. Look, look at this picture of my own father…” he boasts. I can almost hear it now. In fact, I’m sure that the two freshman pledges he’s trapped in conversation have already heard it.
“And that’s how the Astor family has made all its money! Hard work… and owning a media empire, of course…”
I roll my eyes at his words. My father turns a little and spots me, his smile dimming for just a second. James Astor has to have the spotlight at all times, in the boardroom and on campus. He doesn’t like to admit his hatred of my youth and popularity, but it’s there all the same. He just clears his throat, straightens his shoulders, and puts on a wide smile.
“There’s my progeny right now,” he booms. “Isn’t Alexander just a chip off the old block?”
The two freshman turn, surveying me uncomfortably. They know me as the master of ceremonies and the president of our society. My father is presenting an alternative view of me, which I dont care for.