Page 6 of Broken Bonds

“I could ask you the same thing.” He rolled his eyes but didn’t get a chance to respond before the professor started taking attendance.

The class flew by, even with Ace sitting beside me, which was highly annoying. I was already in love with the professor. I knew the coursework would be simple and fun. I was both excited and nervous about the class, but I knew I would do well.

As I was walking out, Asshole called my name, gathering his belongings in a rush to catch up with me.

“Are you done for the day?” he asked, out of breath from running to catch up with me since I hadn’t bothered stopping for him. Could he not take a hint?

“No, I have one more.” I looked down at my phone to see where my next class was, pointedly trying to ignore him.

“Do you know where it is?” Of course, I didn’t, but I wasn’t going to admit that to him.

“Yes,” I lied. “Bye, Asshole.” I started to walk away, probably in the wrong direction. I had my nose in my phone, trying to text Ry so I could get directions.

“What class is it, Celine? This is my second year here, so I know all the shortcuts.” Ace snatched my phone from my typing fingers and rolled his eyes. “Ryan can’t always save you.”

I glared at him. “He certainly can try. Like I said, Asshole, I don’t need your help. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I don’t want to be late.” I snatched my phone back and walked away, but he grabbed my elbow and whirled me around.

“Woman, can you stop being a brat for just one minute?” I scowled at him. “I’m trying to be polite, but you’re making it impossible.” We were so close now—just like last night—and I was overwhelmed by the depth of emotion in his eyes, like he was internally at war with himself.

“I’m going to be late. Point me in the right direction.” I showed him the picture of my schedule on my phone, and he winced.

“I highly suggest you switch out of that class. Prof is an asshole. It’s in the same building as your first class, but on thethird floor.” I laughed because he spoke as though he wasn’t a giant pain in my ass as it was.

“I think I can handle another asshole.” He shook his head, a smirk playing on his lips.

“I’m serious, Celine. Let me know how it goes. He doesn’t have the best rep around here.” He pointed in the direction I needed to go and walked off in the other direction without saying goodbye—not that I expected him to. Obviously, his “politeness” only went so far.

I would never, and I meantnever, tell Ace he was right about the professor. Apparently, his reputation really did precede him, and I was the only one who didn’t know. One other girl and I sat in a class of at least twenty guys, while the professor went on about how men were superior, and then he had the audacity to slide in suggestive remarks to us. One good thing did come from the class, though; I made a friend.

The other girl in the class was a redhead named Amber. Her spirit was just as fiery as her hair. She had me giggling throughout the entire class, and she cursed worse than a sailor, which we had in common.

“Us girls have to stick together when there are psychos like this in the room,” she whispered as she sat next to me at the beginning of class. I knew with one look at the girl, we would be good friends.

We exchanged numbers and were already texting each other while I walked to the parking lot, where I hoped Ryan would be waiting for me so I wouldn’t have to wait around on him.

Amber: Do you think we can report prof dickwad?

Me: Apparently, he has a reputation.

Amber: Bullshit! He would’ve been fired.

Me: Let’s report him for the hell of it.

Amber: You read my mind. Txt you later. Starting another class. Wish you were here!

Looking up from my phone, I spotted Ry talking to a pretty blonde by the main building as I walked past, so I decided to wait at the truck like a good sister and not make a scene for his sake. I had just opened the tailgate and sat down when one of the guys from my previous class walked up to me.

If I had never met Mr. Asshole, this guy would’ve been cute—hot even—but he was average now. With caramel brown hair and matching eyes, he looked more like a… golden retriever to me.

I almost snorted at the thought.

“Hey—Celine, right?” His voice was high-pitched and made me think about the eighth grade—back when none of the boys had hit puberty yet.

What was his name again?

“Shit, did I mess that up? Is it Amber, then?” He looked really nervous now as sweat gathered along his hairline. He definitely could’ve blamed the heat if he wanted. It had to be at least ninety degrees outside andhumid. So, so humid.

“No, it’s Celine. What’s up?” I remembered to speak. He smiled—the kind of smile guys used in the movies before they dropped a lame pick-up line.

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