King of Campus

Seriously, how much skill can something like that possibly take? It's not like executing a perfect pirouette or adage or ballonne pas, for goodness sake. That takes years of relentless practice and dedication.

So even though I don't know Roan King personally, he's obviously someone to steer clear of. And not that Mr. Football has any interest in me whatsoever, but after what happened with Finn last year, I have zero interest in getting tangled up with another jerk.

I mean jock.

Especially some football playing Neanderthal who obviously thinks he's god's gift to the female population of Barnett University.

Ugh.

Thanks, but no thanks. I’ll pass.

Chapter Three

A proposition of a sexual nature from the likes of Roan King… I accept! KingOfCampus.com

With my head bent forward, my caramel colored hair falls over my face like a thick curtain, shielding it from view. Tapping my foot nervously, I wait until Mr. Abs of Steel swaggers his way up front to speak with the professor. Just as I’m about to make a break for it, he saunters back over to his desk before picking up his backpack and strolling out the door like he has all the time in the world.

I have no idea how he was brought up to speed so quickly on what he missed. Regardless, I just want to put as much distance as I can between Roan King and myself. Once he’s gone, my whole body deflates.

I think as time goes by, he’ll forget about the whole iced-coffee-spilling-fiasco. Or, at the very least, he won’t remember me specifically as the one who caused it. That’s my hope. And I’m going to cling to it until proven wrong.

Other than the professor who is reading through some papers at the front of the classroom, I’m the last lingering student. I think it’s safe to say I’ve dawdled long enough. He has to be gone by this point which means it’s completely safe for me to finally get out of here. Gathering up my bag, I jog down the two flights of stairs, mentally running through my schedule for the rest of the day.

I have a French and dance class every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. And I was lucky enough to snag a job at the local dance studio in town teaching ballet and tap to four and five year olds. The less money I have to grovel to my father for, the better off I’ll be.

Plus, its dance which I live and breathe. So, teaching for about ten hours a week works out perfectly for me. And it’s only about a mile from the apartment. Which is totally walkable if I can’t bum a ride from Lexie.

Lost in my thoughts, I push through the double doors leading outside before walking down the wide cement stairs. As I do so, I slide my sunglasses over my eyes. Today is a bright and gorgeous August day. With autumn on its way, I know this kind of weather won’t stick around forever. It needs to be soaked up and thoroughly enjoyed before the chill of September sets in.

“Hey, coffee girl!”

Since my name is most definitely not coffee girl, I don’t even bother glancing around. I just keep on moving. Unfortunately I forgot to pick up a supplemental reading guide so I need to head back to the bookstore for-

“Hey, coffee girl!”

This time, the words are nearly shouted. People are craning their heads to see what’s going on. I feel bad for whoever this poor coffee girl is. How embarrassing to be spoken to like that. She’s probably some unfortunate barista who works at one of the coffee shops on campus. Seriously. Some people are just so damn rude. Which is exactly why I turn glaring eyes on the A-hole shouting it.

Imagine my shock and dismay when I see freaking Roan King smirking at me just as our eyes collide. Great. That’s when it occurs to me that I’m the poor and unfortunate coffee girl. Unconsciously, because- damn it, he seems to have that god awful effect on me, my feet grind to a sudden halt and I can’t help but stop and stare at him like some kind of idiotic fangirl.

Thankfully I’ve gotten a little more used to his dazzling good looks and don’t feel so completely gob smacked. Plus, he’s once again wearing a shirt. No gorgeous chest to lose my mind over.

In my best haughty tone, I yell back, “Are you talking to me?”

The smile grows, which has me gnashing my teeth together painfully because that was so not the response I was going for. “Ah, she speaks.”

This has my face coloring. “My name isn’t coffee girl,” I finally ground out.

Revealing bright white teeth, he leisurely pushes away from the brick wall he was leaning against. That’s when I notice him turn towards the thick crowd surrounding him.

How did I not notice the huge group he’s standing in the midst of? And it’s not just girls who make up his fan club either, but guys as well. This dude definitely has the strangest effect on me. I don’t like it at all. I’m not used to feeling so tongue tied and awkward.