Page 13 of How to Win the Girl

About me: I like hot dogs at the movies, dogs, and spaghetti Sunday.

About me: I like hot dogs at the movies, rainy days, my favorite books are romance novels,and no, that doesn’t mean I have unrealistic expectations of dating.

Shit.

That sounds kind of cynical, doesn’t it?

I delete the last part, resolving to stay positive.

DAISY, 21

About me: I like hot dogs at the movies, rainy days, my favorite books are romance novels, Netflix series critic, pets with human names.

I am such a mess—and now I want a hot dog and to go to the movies.

To the bio, I add:You are: funny, goal oriented, down-to-earth, and awesome.

“Well. Here goes nothing.”

Giving the short synopsis another perusal I bite down on my bottom lip before hitting SUBMIT.

My phone goes into the back pocket of my jeans as I scramble around my bedroom, tossing my laptop into my backpack. I have one night class, and if I don’t hustle, I’m going to be late.

Why I took a night class is beyond me, but it has a lot to do with my waiting until my junior year to take it, a requirement for my major but a class everyone hates because the professor wrote the textbook and is a complete jackass.

Go figure.

I hoof it to class, walking through the door a little early, taking the same seat I always take—near the back, in the shadows of the upper auditorium seats lest the professor and I make accidental eye contact, and he decides to call on me.

Slouching my shoulders, I pull a ball cap out of my backpack and slide it over my hair, concealing my face as much as I can without blocking out the whiteboard on the stage in front of the room. It’s a large class with hundreds of students, so they hold it in a small performing arts auditorium.

And, because it’s only one night a week, the class is an entire ninety minutes long, with a five-minute break after the first forty-five minutes. It’s mind-numbing.

I fidget.

The likelihood that Professor Randall will call me out is slim, but I’ve never been one to take chances. If I had a pair of sunglasses, I’d slip them on too. Ha!

My phone buzzes. I can feel it through the pocket in my pants.

I squirm.

Do my best to focus, eyes to the front.

Tapping away at my laptop, I highlight passages in the textbook on my screen so I can remember them for the test.

So far, there has not been a quiz, which is unusual for Prof. Randall. He not only gives one quiz per class but he sometimes gives two.

Yeah, two.

To make sure we come back from the break.

“Who does this douche think he is?”I hear the grumble behind me and resist the urge to turn in my chair to look it face on. Whoever is mumbling better zip his cake hole so I can concentrate.

“Seriously dude? We get it, you wrote the textbook.”

My mouth curves because let’s be real, that was kind of funny—and do I detect some sort of Southern accent?

“I bet you update it annually, asshole, to force everyone to buy the new version.”

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