Page 4 of Heart of Thorns

My eyes shoot back open, and I land with a thud on the sidewalk. My books break my fall as sudden hot rage bursts through me.

“What the fuck?” I practically shout.

And this is why I need hockey.I’m so prickly, all the time.

“My bad.”

I swear to God, if it’s the baseball jock, I’m throwing one of those balls at his head.

A large hand appears in front of my face, and I smack it away without even hesitating.

“Uh… okay?”

Not the baseball player.

But a jock nonetheless.

I can tell by the width of his shoulders and good looks.

Dark, chestnut-colored hair that’s tousled in this perfectly messy kind of way. Angular jaw that’s sharper than a knife. Tall but lean with defined muscles that tense when he reaches for me again.

I try to scramble to my feet, but that simply isn’t happening.

Damn it.

It’s really hard to act like this fierce, independent woman when I’m actually very fragile and in need of his sturdy hand that he’s shoving in my face again.

“I don’t need your help,” I grit between my teeth. I blow a piece of loose hair out of my face and attempt to haul myself to my feet. It’s awkward and slower than I’d care to admit, but at least I do it on my own.

He chuckles, but not in an arrogant way. More so in ayeah… okaykind of way.

Instead of helping me, he picks up my scattered items on the sidewalk and gathers them swiftly before handing them over to me. My Meloxicam rattles against the plastic pill bottle, and his eyebrows furrow.

He reads the label, because clearly he doesn’t care about privacy.

“Meloxicam?”

“Yeah, so?” My cheeks redden with embarrassment. So what if I take Meloxicam? It’s for joint inflammation. Lots of people probably take it.

Sure, they may be in their seventies with arthritis, but whatever.

“Make sure you take it for at least a week. It needs to get in your system for it to work.”

I snatch the bottle out of his hand and scowl. “Thanks for the unsolicited advice.”

He snorts and quickly moves out of my way so I don’t steamroll him.

Not that I’d make a dent. He’s much taller than me and stronger. Plus, with an ego that big? Nothing could harm him.

“No thank you?” he shouts from behind.

I refuse to look back. Instead, I flip him the middle finger and keep heading in the direction of class.

CHAPTER 2

THORNE

The girlacross the table from me is probably forty percent plastic. If she’s ever had an original thought in her whole life, I’d be shocked. As it is, she keeps circling the same three topics: social media trends, what her future plans are, and football.

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