Page 12 of Starstruck

They were the type of gardens that thrived no matter what the season, I could tell. Right now, as the beginnings of autumn crept their way into the city, the leaves that had already fallen blanketed the ground like a copper flood, a feeling that was as moody as it was magical, hanging over the grounds.

When I reached a set of stairs, I hopped up each step as fast as I could, being mindful of the half-drunk coffee I was still clutching, as well as what was left of my pie in the scrunched-up bag in my other hand. All the while, I was trying to find the signs that told me where I was meant to be.

Finding the second floor, my eyes snagged on a sign.

All I needed were the letters “PSY” for me to bolt through the doors to my left. It was another regal hallway, identical to the ones I’d already rushed through. If this was what déjà vu felt like—getting lost in a maze of stone walls—I wanted no part of it.

I felt the almond and strawberry body spray I’d drenched my outfit in before I left fade away with each step I took, flying behind me as I rounded another corner and spotted a sign with the room numbers I needed.

Licking away the dryness on my lips, I kept my eyes on the end of the hallway, my gaze only shifting to my left when I spotted a stone fountain out the window, through the domed glass ceiling of what looked like a greenhouse. The distant trickle of water was enough to hold my attention and slow my steps. I peered over the edge of the window, tracing the lines of the fountain encased in vines, before panic registered in my bones again and I shuffled my feet forward—

“Bloody hell—”

“Oh, God—”

Warm.

That was all I felt for a split second. But it wasn’t the comfortable kind of warmth, like when you’re standing under the sun.

No. This was different.

And as I blinked and cast my eyes down to my chest, I realised why I felt so strange.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mumbled under my breath, as I pulled at my baby tee that was now soaked with the coffee I’d had in my hand just a second ago, right before I walked into—

“Sorry, love.”

Black Converse are all I see as I cast my eyes to the ground, followed by wide-leg jeans in the same midnight colour. My breath hitched as I kept my eyes rising, only stopping once I made my way past the marl grey jumper and landed on the deepest brown eyes I’d ever seen in my life.

“Are you alright?” he asks, with an accent that sounds awfully similar to Cora’s, woven between his words.

He towers over me by at least a foot, broad shoulders casting what feels like shadows over the entire moment. Even beneath the light dusting of stubble, I can still make out the sharpness of his jawline. But as I’m trying to figure out why his face feels so familiar, his eyes fall south, and I remember that I’m still drenched in coffee.

I drop my head back towards my tee, internally groaning before I meet his stare again. “Um, yeah. Yeah, this is actually exactly how I wanted to look on my first day of classes,” I say with a laugh, because if I don’t, I’ll probably start crying.

But I’m glad I do, because the tall stranger in front of me lets a chuckle slip past his lips. Not a chuckle, really; more like a grunt that passed by something humorous on the way out of his mouth. Either way, my cheeks flush red at the sound.

As I glance up at him again, that familiar feeling sweeps over me, like a cool breeze, as I take in the floppiness of his brown hair and the way his cheeks crease in the corners. He’s like a mountain, all dark and brooding, which, coupled with the long shadows and architecture of the hall behind him, does nothing but make me want to consider taking up hiking as a hobby—

“Maybe watch where you’re going next time, love.”

On second thought, perhaps my trek across the Alps can wait.

I don’t have time for his words to seep into my brain before his brows shoot up and an awkward smile graces his face. He’s walking past me before I can even blink. But I’ll be damned if I let a man walk away from something that was his fault too.

“Hey,” I call after him as I turn on the balls of my feet, stopping him before he can sink too far into the shadows of the building. “Aren’t you going to apologise?”

It’s sickening the way my stomach drops at the sight of his mouth curling into a smirk as he turns back to face me.

From the few things Mr No Name has done in our thirty-second encounter, I expect him to say no and carry on walking away. I expect him to look me up and down, huff a laugh, and disappear, forcing me to label him as a sociopath.

What I don’t expect him to do is what he does. He glances down at his feet before taking a few steps back towards me. Before I know it, his eyes are burning through me again, and without a second to get used to him towering over me, his lips part.

“I’m sorry.”

And pathetically, I’m pretty sure he heard my gulp from how it echoed off the stone.

Never had an apology felt so smothered in mischief before, and never had an apology sounded so sultry before. I don’t even know this guy’s name yet, and already he’s ruined my outfit, made me breathless, and piqued my interest in what’s going on inside his brain before I’ve even stepped foot inside a psychology class.

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