Page 100 of Hey, Stepbro

Dr. Harper glares at me. "Go on."

"Love can take many forms, and it's often the driving force behind French characters' actions. You see it in Stendhal as with Marcel Proust. In this passage, the protagonist is searching for a connection, a sense of belonging, and ultimately, love."

"Very insightful, Blakely," Dr. Harper praises, and a small sense of pride bubbles up inside me. "Maybe you're not completely hopeless after all."

"Don't say that about Blakely," a classmate of mine snaps. "He’s dating the starting quarterback on the Rawdogs, so he knows a thing or two about love."

"Guys," I say with a laugh, "thanks, but I can fend for myself."

Dr. Harper fans himself. "Ooooh, Brock? Lucky boy."

As Dr. Harper drones on about motifs and symbols, my mind keeps wandering to Brock. The memory of his hand on my ass a few days ago sends shivers down my spine. His strong arms, his warm breath on my skin, the way he looked at me with those piercing blue eyes... I can't help but yearn for more.

"Alright, class dismissed," Dr. Harper announces, jolting me back to reality.

I gather my things and head into the hall, trying to shake off the lingering thoughts of Brock. But as the door swings open, I'm met with a sight that makes my heart skip a beat.

Brock himself, leaning against the wall with a smoldering look in his eyes.

"Hey, Blakely."

The sudden hush in the hallway is palpable. Whispers and gasps ripple through the crowd of students.

Everyone knows Brock—he's the star football player, after all—and his popularity and good looks are the stuff of campus legend.

They must be jealous that Brock has chosen me as his partner.

"Hey, stepbro. What brings you here?"

"Thought I'd surprise you after class. You ready to grab some lunch?"

"Y-yeah, sure."

As we walk side by side through the crowded hall, the weight of everyone's stares makes my shoulders sag. I know they're all wondering how someone like me could possibly be with someone like Brock. But the truth is, I wonder the same thing myself.

"Are you okay?" Brock asks, noticing my unease. "You seem a little flustered."

"Um, yeah. This attention is just... new for me."

As I stand there in the hallway, still reeling from Brock's surprise appearance, he leans in close to me, his breath warm against my ear. "You know," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble, "you're incredibly hot in that Spiderman T-shirt. I find it hard to believe you’re not used to this attention."

My heart skips a beat as he swoops his muscular arm around my waist, pulling me even closer. And then, before I can even process what's happening, his lips meet mine in a searing kiss right there in front of everyone.

My face grows even warmer. I glance around, self-conscious of the dozens of eyes on us. "Are you sure you want to claim me like this in front of the whole college?"

"Absolutely," Brock replies without hesitation, his blue eyes shining with conviction. "You deserve a man who won't be ashamed of you. Someone who loves you for you, and that's how I feel about you."

I bite my lip, trying to hold back the swell of emotion threatening to spill over. It's not every day that someone as amazing as Brock comes along, much less someone who sees me for who I truly am.

"Thank you, Brock," I say softly, resting my head against his chest, listening to the strong, steady rhythm of his heart. A surge of happiness explodes inside me as I realize that, at this moment, I'm exactly where I'm meant to be.

"Come on. Let’s forget about everyone else and go enjoy our time together."

Brock's strong hand in mine, I float alongside him as we make our way to the campus café. The world around us seems like a blur, a backdrop of colors and shapes playing second fiddle to the man who's captured my heart.

Stepping inside the bustling café, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods fills the air. Brock guides me to a table near the window, sunlight streaming through and illuminating his perfect features. He orders lunch for us, confidently telling the cashier exactly what I like without needing to ask me.

"Here," he says, sliding a plate stacked high with brownies. "Your favorites."

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