Page 1 of How to Win the Girl

prologue

Drake Colter

I’m strong, cocky, motivated and I don’t put up with shit.

Think you can handle me?

“Would you please stop doing that?”

The girl in front of me is turned around in her desk chair and giving me the stink eye, gaze trained on the pen in my hand.

“Stop what?”

I’m not doing anything.

“Stop twirling that pen and clicking the top. It’s driving me nuts.”

“You mean this?” I give it another twirl between my fingers before letting it hit the hard surface of the lecture hall desktop, rolling my eyes at the back of her head when she huffs, once again facing the projector board in the front of the room.

Good lord.

Talk about uptight.

“Don’t sit here next time if you don’t like it,” I mutter loud enough for her to hear.

She turns around again. “Excuse me? I have a right to sit through a class without being distracted.” She looks me up and down. “Some of us are here to learn.”

Dude.

That’s so unfair—I’m here to learn, too. Mostly. It’s notmyfault I have a hard time sitting still in class and even a harder time listening to what the professor up front is saying. Don’t get me wrong, I do my best to focus. If this was one of my football coaches lecturing, I’d be a captive audience.

I’d have half a clue what was going in front of the room. But this professor and her assistant keep yammering on and on about atoms and particles andwhy am I in this class to begin with? Science isn’t my major, Business Economics is.

I don’t know nothing about fission and neutrons nor do I care to. This class is a core requirement and one I couldn’t opt out of. I put off taking it two years in a row, so here I am, taking it as a junior.

Funsies.

I eyeball the chick eyeballing me.

“You don’t even know me.”

Her eyes narrow. “I know enough.”

She turns back around so I’m staring at the back of her head.

“You sure told me off,” I mutter again, this time infusing an irritated laugh ’cause she don’t know shit about who Drake Colter is.

Just because she’s seen my face around and knows who I am does not mean she knows a single thing about me.

Hell, for all I know she thinks I’m my brother, although if she did think I was Drew she may not be shooting me gamma-ray style glares meant to penetrate my soul.

See, I’m a twin, and people confuse us all the time, though, to me, our differences are obvious.

Where I am outgoing, Drew is more subdued.

Nice.

Where I speak my mind and say whatever, Drew carefully chooses his words.

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