Page 10 of When Hearts Collide

Shit. Jocelyn wasn’t kidding earlier. The person in front of me is all man and brimming with power.

The seconds turn into minutes, or perhaps I’ve entered an alternate dimension.

My heart restarts, the rioting beats loud inside my ears and I find myself helpless and ensnared by those intense, searing eyes, my body frozen in place.

Professor Ryland Anderson.

“Are you done being a complete fucking distraction?”

His words are an icy cold bucket of water dumped onto my strangely heated body.

I quickly close my mouth, not even aware my lips were parted until then, and stammer a response, “S-Sorry, Professor Anderson. I d-didn’t sleep last night and overslept and forgot my umbrella when I ran out the door and—”

“Save it for someone who cares.” His eyes are stormier, murky pools of tar.

“Psst. Here,” a dark-haired guy sitting next to the aisle whispers as he hands me my laptop, which apparently is by his feet, but I barely notice him.

I nod my thanks before scrambling up, the sudden motion combined with everything that has transpired leaving me weak in the knees and a sudden wave of dizziness hits me.

You’ve got to be shitting me.

I sway on my feet as the world swirls around me, black dots blinding my vision, and before I make an even bigger fool of myself and fall flat on my face, a strong hand clasps my arm, steadying me.

Suddenly, I can’t breathe, every nerve ending focused on the small spot where he grips me. The sensation is akin to a live wire shocking my system, wreaking havoc inside. His touch singes me, boiling my blood within a split second, and everything…everything feels sensitive and alive.

My lips part, emitting a barely audible gasp, and I look at my rescuer, finding my professor staring at his hand on my arm with a shocked, inscrutable expression on his face. His grip tightens on my arm.

His eyes skim over my wet clothes, flaring slightly at whatever he sees, before he quickly lets go as if I’m contagious with Ebola.

He whips his head toward me, his voice taking on a hard edge. “Tardiness is unacceptable in this class. Three strikes, and you’re out. This class is only for serious students who want to learn and achieve something in their future. There is no room for excuses, no room for lies, and absolutely no room for distractions.”

His words are lashes from a barbed whip across my skin, flaying me alive. I flinch and clutch my messenger bag tightly against my body to stem the sudden trembling of my muscles.

“Miss…” he prompts as he backs up a few paces and pins me with another chilly glare.

“C-Callahan. Millie Callahan.”

“Miss Callahan. One strike. You have two more left. Now scram and find a seat so the rest of us can go back to learning,” he barks, and I flee, my legs shaking, my heart racing, my breathing quickening.

Amidst the insanity and my irrational thoughts, one in particular rises to the forefront and at that moment I know deep in my gut, everything is about to change.

Chapter 5

I find a seat five rows from the front, sandwiched between a guy who is probably a linebacker and taking up half of my chair, and a girl who is discreetly reapplying lipstick. My heart is still racing from the embarrassment moments ago.

Squirming in my seat from the discomfort of the wet clothes sticking to my body, I peel off my sodden jacket and drape it over my equally disastrous messenger bag. The AC churns on in the background, the cold air burrowing deep inside my bones. I shiver, my hands rubbing my slick forearms, but it’s no use. I’ll have to wait until I get back home and take a scalding hot shower.

I blow out a calming breath and try to focus on my surroundings. Looking around, I frown, unable to find Jocelyn. Isn’t she supposed to be in this class too?

“We’ve already covered the syllabus, important exam and project dates, and my grading scale. This class covers the fundamentals of business ethics. And before you think this is going to be an easy A, let me disabuse you of that notion. It. Won’t. Be.” Professor Anderson’s voice vibrates in the room, his speech measured and direct, clearly someone who’s used to getting the attention of everyone in the vicinity.

“I’m reminding you again, half of the material in papers and exams will be from class lectures and not from the textbooks. So, Godspeed if you think you can skip class and get by. Now, I want to discuss the theory we’ll spend the next two weeks discussing …”

A flurry of sounds rustles through the classroom as students start typing on their laptops or frantically scribbling notes on their thick notepads. I hurriedly pull out my dinged-up laptop from my soaked messenger bag, grimacing at the new scuff marks on the silver surface, and flip open the lid. Swiping at the water droplets on the black screen, I press the power button to turn it on.

Black screen of death. Not even a blinking monitor or the familiar electrical buzzing.

I scrunch my nose and close my eyes, muttering a silent prayer.

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