Page 5 of Lunar Crest University

With a disgruntled sigh, I tug the hair tie from my waves, pouting as my raven-colored locks cascade down my shoulders. Any other girl could pull off a cute bun, so why did mine have to make me resemble a founding father? Unfortunately, my semblance to Christopher Columbus will have to do—I’m already ten minutes late and can’t spare any more time.

And, of course, my first class of the day is British Lit, which has just been reassigned to a new professor. Professor Kline wouldn’t have cared whether I looked ready to board theMayflower, but a new professor meant making first impressions, and every organized, perfectionist bone in my body screams at me for being lateandgross.

She’s an older, white-haired woman I had grown to love. I looked forward to her classes and listening to her ramble on about five different things at once or her literary puns. I was required to take six credits of British Literature, and I’d already completed half of that last year. Still, much to my disappointment, the eccentric woman had taken quite the fall over the summer. An email had been sent out last week informing us that a new professor would be assuming the class this year, throwing my beloved schedule off.

And now, I’m late.

And my hair isn’t immaculate for impressions.

Dammit, Professor Kline.

I also blame the handsome grump in my bathroom the other night for the discombobulation. It had been an entire week since the encounter, and I still can’t manage to sleep at night because of it. Thoughts rattle my brain for hours—making me toss and turn andtossandturn. What is his name? What was he doing in that alley? Why did he refuse to go to the hospital? Why did he affect me like I was a smitten sixteen-year-old girl?

The questions were on a loop as I scrubbed the blood stains from my carpet and put new bandages on the cut on my hand. It was healing okay—fully scabbed over now, but still tender and a constant reminder of that night.

Whisking my hair up into another bun, I huff quietly as I scramble to grab my bag and coffee before busting out of the front door.

As if things can’t get any worse, it’s raining. The leaves scattered across the ground are soaked and sticking to my shoes. Hurrying down to the bus stop, I shake my leg irritably, attempting to fling off the drenched leaves as the bus pulls up. I can already feel my baby hairs sticking up in every direction from the humidity, making me grumble as I climb onto the bus and slump down in the nearest seat.

Tugging my uniform skirt down, I tiredly sip at my coffee while gazing out of the window.

My planner said nothing about rain, bad hair days, or running late.

The bus doesn’t take very long. Lunar Crest Universitysits on the outskirts of town—one of the largest colleges in Maine. The Gothic architecture is stunning, with its long, pointed arches, large stained glass windows, and ribbed vaults. It is mostly made of dark brick and ornate stone with gargoyles perched at the top of every towered arch, resembling a majestic castle. It’s particularly suited for the dreary day.

It’s strangely empty on the bus for a Monday morning, but perhaps the weather is to blame.

As the bus comes to a halt in front of the English Hall, I suck in a deep breath as I gather my things and rush to class. Mentally crossing my fingers that the professor will let me slide for being late on the first day, I find the room number, whisk open the door, and hurry inside.

The relief that washes over me once I realize the professor still hasn’t shown is insurmountable. I have to keep myself from breaking into a happy dance as I find an empty desk and slide into it.

“Finley Dunaway. Ten minutes late for class?”

My head whips to the side to see my best friend, Levi, smiling devilishly at me in the seat next to mine. As he leans back in his chair, awhooshof air leaves his lips, blowing pieces of the curly brown mop on his head out of his face before he flicks my nose gently.

“It’s been the worst morning,” I groan, taking a long sip from my coffee. “You wouldn’t believe how terrible it’s been. Do you see my hair?”

“I think it looks?—”

“Chaotic?”

“I was going to say fine,” he chuckles softly, pressing his lips into a thin line. “But I see we are being a perfectionist this morning.”

“Fine?” I scoff as I shove his shoulder. “That’s even worse.”

His hazel eyes study me with playful sympathy as he ruffles my baby hairs around, making me scowl as I swat his hand away. Lifting my coffee for another sip, I almost have a pulmonary embolism as I set it back down to seehimwalking into the classroom.

Mystery alleyway guy.

Handsome, grumpy guy.

Guy who called meprincesaand left my apartment in a bloody mess guy.

“Good morning, class. Sorry I’m late.”

I sputter on my coffee, coughing loudly as my cheeks burn, hurrying to look down at the wooden desk in front of me as I regain my composure.

There’s no way. Why is he here?

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