Yawning, I roll over on my side and face the wall.
Screw Dad.
Screw James.
And most of all screw Rhys Delane.
Chapter Five
Last year, I was sure I lucked out with my relatively light class load. During first semester, I only took fourteen credits and second semester, due to my already failing grades, I enrolled in even fewer—twelve in total. Thinking back on that now, as I rush to get ready for my first day, I decide that maybe so few classes was a curse. Maybe if I’d registered for as many courses as I’m taking this year—eighteen credit hours just this semester—I might have had a little less time for messing up.
“No point in worrying about that right now,” I tell myself as I shimmy into the longest pair of shorts I can find in my wardrobe, which, thanks to my long legs, barely graze my fingertips. Taking a swig of the Red Bull sitting on my desk, I pull my flowy, Bohemian-esque shirt from the back of my computer chair and drag it over my head as I shove my feet into a pair of plain nude flats. Grabbing the same messenger bag I used last year from the center of my bed, I drop my phone and two textbooks inside as I head out the door.
I race across campus to make it to my first class, which to my extreme displeasure is Professor Cameron’s Sight Singing and Dictation course. Although the whole tardy and absent thing is an entirely different ball field in college, I absolutely don’t want to be late to a class that is not only taught by my advisor, but is also my worst subject in my major.
I’m early—the class is only partially full when I walk in—and I let myself relax. I take a seat a couple rows from the front, beside a freckled, shaggy redhead who automatically makes me think of Ed Sheeran, and behind a girl who smells like the perfume department at Sephora threw up on the front of her bright pink hoodie.
Turning his head to look at me, the redhead gives me a smile. “Nathan Stone.”
“Evie Miller, nice to meet you.”
Pulling out his laptop—which I doubt he’ll need in this particular class—he asks, “You liking it so far?”
“Not sure.” Grinning, I lay my hands down flat on my desk, rubbing my thumbs together. “I’ll tell you how I feel about it after this class is over, though.”
Chuckling, he moves his head to either side. “No, I mean the first real weekend back. This place can get a little crazy.”
“Oh ... this isn’t your first year?”
“Nope, I was here last year.” He drags a bottle of green tea out the side of his laptop bag and downs a quarter of the contents before adding, “I decided in the middle of March that I wanted to screw myself and double major, so here I am.”
“Nice.”
“Yeah, I—” His gaze leaves my face for a second, looking over my shoulder, and he lifts his eyebrow. “I swear that guy makes the rest of us look like ass. I’m glad my girlfriend doesn’t go here,” he jokes.
Oddly enough, I already know precisely who Nathan is referring to without having to look behind me, and I automatically feel my body go taut as my mind wraps around thoughts of Rhys Delane. Since half those thoughts are the kind that will easily get me in trouble, I squeeze my hands together and give a noncommittal shrug.
“He’s alright, I guess.”
“Well, that’s the first time I’ve ever heard that happen,” Nathan mutters, shaking his head incredulously. He looks over my shoulder again, and this time when our eyes meet, he gives me a serious look. “The succubus is here. She’ll go Leonidas on us if we’re talking while she’s explaining the fifty page syllabus.”
Between Mac’s description of Professor Cameron as the mega bitch and Nathan now referring to her as the succubus, I’m seriously ready to pre-empt the pity party for myself for the next several weeks.
Giving me a little wink, Nathan turns forward in his seat. When Professor Cameron starts to talk a moment later, her tone just as crisp and detached as it was during our meeting last week, I have no choice but to follow suit.
I automatically regret it because the moment I do, Rhys passes by my desk, dropping the syllabus on the corner. Our eyes lock, and despite not wanting to show any reaction to him, I swallow hard, causing the corners of his lips to move just enough for me to notice. He probably believes I’m thinking of our brief encounter before formally meeting last week. And while I’m sure there are—judging by the number of female gazes that follow him longer than necessary as he finishes doling out paperwork—plenty of women who would easily react to him, sixty-five percent of my response is rooted in something entirely different.
As both Professor Cameron and Rhys introduce themselves and start to go over the syllabus, Nathan gives me a look from across the aisle. “He’s alright, I guess,” he whispers, mimicking my nonchalant words from a few minutes ago. “I’ll pretend I didn’t see your face light up the second he opened his alright mouth.”
“If she doesn’t Leonidas kick you, I will,” I promise sweetly, and his shoulders shake with silent laughter. He lowers his gaze back down to the bullet point on attendance.
“You’re still leering at him,” Nathan whispers.
With fifteen minutes to spare, we reach the end of the syllabus, which is the section I dread the most—midterms in October and final exams in December. Sitting behind the desk at the front of the room, Professor Cameron slides her glasses up on her nose and looks over to Rhys, who’s on the stool beside the desk.
“Anything you want to add?” she questions him.
Glancing from Cameron out to us, Rhys tilts his head to the side, examining everyone carefully with his piercing blue-green eyes. When they skim over me, I feel a jolt in my chest. I look away just as he clears his throat.
“I know most of you’ve already been fortunate enough to meet Professor Cameron,” he begins, and I bite my lip when Nathan snorts just loud enough for me to hear him, “but since we’ll be together all semester and, hopefully, next, I want to know more about each of you. I’ll start. From the syllabus you already know I’m Rhys Delane. I’ve been a student here for almost five years, since I transferred from Georgetown as a sophomore.”
Rhys starts to say something else, probably something about himself, but then he rubs his hand thoughtfully over his mouth, and points to one of the girls in the very front row. “How about you? Who are you and why’d you pick this place? What’s your goal?”
She giggles—actually giggles—and then says, “I want to teach music.”
After a few more of my classmates have introduced themselves, Rhys focuses his attention on me. Blatantly. I feel every eye in the room turn in my direction. There’s a part of me that wants to pull the woven fedora I put on this morning as far down over my head as it’ll go, but I manage to face his questioning gaze head on.
“And you?” he asks.
“Me,” I breathe. What does he expect me to say? Hell, there’s so much I could say, want to say. But the first thing that comes out is, “I don’t know.”
His eyebrow jerks up. “You don’t know your name? What you did before you came to this program? Or what—”
“My name is Evie Miller, and I wreck things.” Before he can respond, I look around at all the confused faces and immediately add, “But I’m working on fixing everything. Singing has always been something that’s therapeutic for me. It’s what I’m good at, but I know I’ve got a lot of work to do while I’m here.”
“I see,” Rhys says, his stare unwavering, sending fire to scorch my skin.
“Yes.” I try like hell to smile as I look away from him again, coming eye to eye with Professor Cameron. Her chin is propped in her hands, and she’s leaned forward, listening to me intently. I return my gaze to Rhys and tell him confidently, “So my goal is short term: Pass finals this year. I don’t want to be the girl who screws everything up anymore.”
He stares at me for a moment longer before dipping his head into a nod and moving his attention to Nathan, who turns out to be from right outside of Las Vegas and a bit of a piano prodigy, from what I manage to make out from his humble introduction.