Page 1 of Bound By Water
CHAPTER1
WILLA
For the fourth time this semester, I’m going to be late. I look at my phone. Seven minutes to make it across campus. Mrs. Pembrooke, my boss and the university’s head librarian, hates when students are late. It’s one of her strictest rules, and since it’s one of the few graduate-level work-study programs that allows me to promote my tutoring side gig, I can’t afford to piss her off.
Freshly brewed dark roast fills the air, and I practically whimper when I pass by the little coffee shop. That is obviously not happening today.
I blow dirty blond hair out of my eyes, shift my heavy backpack, and pick up the pace, darting in and out of the students milling around the quad. Of course, it’s almost noon, and the area is packed with those having lunch or visiting with friends. I stare at them with a wistful smile. I’m a little envious of the extra time they have to enjoy this warm fall day, but instead of dwelling on it, I promise myself I’ll relax after I graduate.
I finally reach the other side of the quad and glance at my watch. Three minutes. Time to run. Unfortunately, the sidewalk is also crammed with students, so I take to the grass. Stretching my long legs, I sprint alongside them, snippets of conversation and laughter barely penetrating the sound of my harsh breathing. At five feet ten inches, I eat up the distance quickly. Sweat trickles down my temple. Sixty feet. I’m almost there. I glance at my watch. Twelve o’clock. A minute late would earn me a frown, but not an outright lecture. I smile.
Suddenly, a tiny brown blur comes flying across my path, followed by a guy, tan arms outstretched, blue jersey shining in the bright sun. I blink in confusion. Unable to avoid each other, we collide in an explosion of pain.
Oomph.Air bursts from him the second his body hits mine, and he grunts. Slamming into the ground, my backpack slides off my shoulder, and then, it’s just him and me skidding along the grass, rocks and dirt flying everywhere.
We finally come to a stop, but the world around me keeps spinning so I just lie there, focusing on the sky above, watching tree limbs laden with orange leaves sway back and forth. The heavy smell of sweat, dirt, and grass surrounds me.
The heavy body pinning me to the ground shifts, pressing his muscular frame into me, and I wince. I shift my gaze from the tree to him and stare until my sight sharpens. Square jaw. Firm lips compressed tightly together. High, cut cheekbones. Dark brown eyes snapping with irritation. I frown. Why is he pissed? He hit me.
Laughter and clapping fills the air, and I look past him to the faces above. Guys and girls snicker as they stare down at the two of us. Lovely. An audience to witness this glorious event. I groan.
At the sound, the guy lifts his body off me and jumps up.
“Shit, man, that was epic,” a laughing blond guy wearing another blue jersey says, slapping his friend on the back. “You okay? Coach would kill me if I hurt his star player.”
Epic.I mentally roll my eyes.
“Shut up,” a deep voice above me orders. The laughter stops. “Sorry. We were playing catch, and I didn’t see you crossing the grounds. Let me help you up.”
Happy for the distraction, my eyes turn back toward him.
He extends his hand to me.
Wincing, I sit up, spit out the dirt coating my tongue, then survey the damage. My shirt is torn, with one shoulder hanging by a thread. I pull it off, grateful for the tank top I threw on underneath. Rolling my arms and shoulders, I decide nothing’s broken. The palm of my right hand stings like fire, and I lift it up to examine the damage, finding a huge scrape, with grass and blood embedded in the shredded skin.
I look up and find Mr. Irritated is not only the university’s wide receiver, but he’s also Mr. Popular himself. Trent Hightower. Son of a senator. Politically connected, rich, and because he was lucky enough to also inherit his Italian mother’s genes, extremely good-looking. Light brown complexion, thick dark hair, and a tall body honed from sports.
“Thanks,” I say, raising my hand to take his.
Instead of taking it, he’s staring intently at the mark on my shoulder. “Did I do that to you?”
Even after all these years, the mark with its deep red color and unusual shape continues to draw everyone’s attention. It’s why I always cover it. I automatically raise a hand to pull up my sleeve but forgot I took off my shirt. I sigh, wondering if I can find a hole to crawl into.
“No, it’s an old scar,” I reassure him.
“What’s this? Another woman felled by the great Trent Hightower?” an amused feminine voice pipes up. Blond hair perfectly curled and bouncing with every step, the cheerleader strides up and pops a hand on her hip.
Everyone laughs like it’s the funniest thing they’ve ever heard.
Blushing, I let him pull me up. Once standing, I murmur my thanks. My gaze slides from his handsome face to his broad shoulders and long legs. At almost 5’10” myself, most guys are my height or shorter. It’s nice to stand next to someone over six feet.
He says nothing, only stares down at me with an unreadable expression on his handsome face.
Nervously, I glance at my watch. Five past noon. I’m so late.Damn it.I bend over, grab my backpack, shove my shirt in it, then hurry toward the stairs, leaving him standing there. Only once do I look back, but he’s already turned away.
Built in 1754, the library is the epitome of the Georgian period with its symmetrical architecture, multi-paned windows, and stately entrance. Constructed of red brick, like all the buildings on campus, it should blend in, but its sheer size and grandeur is impressive.
The interior boasts the same feeling of prestige as the exterior with hand-carved oak bookshelves that stand floor-to-ceiling on all four levels and a dome that allows in light from above.
