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  “Listen, I get it. You see me as a challenge now, and you have made a goal out of getting my attention or whatever. Let me be perfectly clear. I am not playing hard to get. My sarcasm towards you is not some game or flirtation—it’s my personality. I have zero interest in you. My mind is not going to change. There are plenty of other viable candidates who would want to be with someone like you,” I say. I admit, this is bitchy of me. I am judging him as much as he is judging me. But, quite frankly, I speak on behalf of the entire female population when I say that the stalkerish behavior of this man totally deserves my scrutiny.

  “Someone like me?” he says slowly with a smile. “And that would be?” It pisses me off that my speech doesn’t seem to affect him as much as it would have earlier today.

  “Someone trying to get into a girl’s pants, I’m guessing?” I mock smile back. He grins.

  “You think highly of yourself, don’t you?” he asks me. Far from it, actually. I perk an eyebrow at him but remain silent. Maybe if he thinks I am conceited, he will leave me alone. I honestly don’t know why I am the one he is going after. Having a service dog normally means that people assume I am defected in some way. If a guy is just looking for sex, I am not typically the one they go after. Why is he still on this after seeing Zeke in his vest? He probably just likes the challenge, Felicity. Run.

  “I get it,” he finally says after looking me over. His eyes roam my body, just like mine had roamed his, making me uncomfortable under his scrutiny. I don’t know whether to feel violated or turned on, I am nudging towards the later and we can’t have that.

  “Later, Felicity,” he says with a wink. I feel my face change in shock. I never mentioned my name. Not once. He notices my surprise.

  “Back of your shirt, genius,” he added, mocking me. My shirt is from high school with my name written in sharpie on the back. Damnit. I went back to my run, my feet pounding at the tread harder than before.

  Why Do They Assign Group Projects?

  I didn’t talk to Damian for two weeks. He had other conquests though. All I did was mention his name to a few girls in our class and I learned his story—Damian liked to love them and leave them fast—I knew it. I thought I was being an ass in the gym, but now that I know my gut didn’t suddenly forsake me, I feel a lot better. However, despite not talking to him—Damian’s face dominated my dreams. He was everywhere. I know from experience that this isn’t a good sign—is there an asshole in a hundred-mile radius that I am not attracted to? I’d like to know.

  The first two weeks of the semester blew by and I found myself easily thrown into the campus lifestyle. Once all the students in my classes got past the “Oh, look a dog!” phase, they started to see me and ignore Zeke as he sat by my feet with bored eyes.

  I’ve always been a natural academic. My sister and brother-in-law had a lot to say about my attitude and health growing up, but they could never say that I slacked off in the school department. I made straight As—and hated when people tried to tell me what to do.

  The only nerve wrecking aspect of going to a university instead of my local community college is that the class sizes are so big—my calculus lecture has over one-hundred students. The only class that has less than twenty people is my rhetoric class with the freshmen.

  Right after the upperclassmen moved in, I met Meredith and Natalie. I’ve never made friends easily and I was worried about it, not having a roommate. Meredith, with her old band t-shirts and Chuck Taylors took an instant liking to my morbid humor. And Natalie, literally knew everything there was to know about pop culture and shared my Netflix obsession. The three of us mesh well with one another—as long as I play referee every now and again.

  After her calculus class, Meredith catches up with me to walk to psychology class together.

  “Natalie woke me up at fucking five am,” she says handing me a coffee.

  “What was she doing now?” I say with a knowing smile, my two only child friends were having difficulty sharing the same space—which I both understood while simultaneously wishing they would get over themselves.

  “She bought a personal blender thing and literally made a protein shake at five.”

  “Did you tell her it annoyed you?”

  “No. You know that I don’t form full sentences until ten at the earliest,” Meredith says.

  “Then, Mer, how do you expect her not to do it again?” I ask her.

  “It is common decency! I was sleeping!”

  “Talk to her, see if she could take it to the common room in the mornings,” I say as we sat down in the huge lecture hall. “Thanks for this, by the way,” I say sitting down the coffee.

  “I figured if I was going to rant, you would need a little caffeine,” Meredith says grabbing her notebook as the professor walks in.

  “Better not keep that up, or I’ll be awake for days,” I say with a smile.

  “Shut-up!” Meredith retorts as Professor Moore starts class.

  I try to pay as much attention in psychology as I can. I want to be a therapist, so I need to do well in all of these classes. However, it is becoming hard—Damian is in this class.

  Despite there being over ninety students in this lecture hall, I find myself looking over at him on occasion. I couldn’t help it, as much as I hated his attention, I craved it as well. As I said, men typically don’t go for the people who wear their disabilities, whether they are as cute as Zeke or not. Today he is flirting with the girl sitting in front of him, and she is looking back and grinning at him. I couldn’t help but be a little jealous, which is stupid. I was a royal bitch, and he is definitely not the type of guy I should get involved with.

  The professor announces a partnered project that we will be working on, each group getting a mental illness to report on in the class. Last Friday he had asked us to put our top three partners’ names in an email to him. Now it is D-day—there is a list out in the hall. I hope for Meredith. It would make my life so much easier if I don’t have to try to get to know someone while doing this project—I need an A in this class. You can’t go into therapy and be shit at psychology.

  I look to find my name and see myself paired up with no one other than Damian Turner.

  “Jesus Christ is he the only male on this campus?” I mutter. Damian was not on my list, even though I kind of considered it.

  “You know Turner?” Meredith says shocked. I never told anyone about our meeting. Not until now.

  “He stalked Zeke and I my first few days here,” I mutter.

  “Ahh…I see. I’m surprised though. You’re not his usual type,” Meredith said. She finds her name and she is paired with the same girl she had in statistics. She was happy at least. But her comment bothers me. I wasn’t his type? What is that supposed to mean?

  “I have a vagina, so I think I may be his type,” I retort. Meredith cracks up laughing.

  “Good, so I don’t have to warn you he sleeps with everything that moves,” Meredith says walking away to wait for her partner.

  “I think I figured that one out on my own,” I say moving Zeke out of the crowd and looking for him. I thought Damian had finally taken the hint. He hasn’t spoken to me since that night in the gym, so I figured he took my advice to heart.

  Damian spots me and gives a little wave. He got his hair cut. It looks good. Dammit, Felicity. Focus.

  “How did this happen? You were not on my list,” I say as he walks toward me. I want to smack his ridiculous grin off of his face.

  “Hello to you too, Felicity,” he says, refusing to bow down to my rudeness.

  “Seriously…”

  “Easy. I put your name down. Three times,” he says with a smirk.

  My mouth falls open. I cannot believe that any professor thought this was okay. I am really considering complaining to Professor Moore.

  “And that’s not creepy. At all. I need a good grade in this class, so I really need to take this project seriously,” I tell him.

  “Who says I won’t take the project seriou
sly?” he says. I know I am being as judgmental as Damian was with my parents, but his attitude and demeanor don’t scream decent human being. They scream fuck me, and with my weird fascination with him, I am afraid I will listen.

  “Just a feeling,” I sigh.

  “Felicity, for someone who hates it when people judge them instantaneously, you sure do a lot of judging,” he says. He has me there.

  “Want to meet at the dorm around six?” he asks.

  “I am not sleeping with you,” I say frankly. I feel my face heating up that I said that—aloud. Jesus Christ.

  “That’s good to know. I am on the third floor, 308,” he says walking away. I hate my life.

  I walk up the stairwell of our building hesitantly. This is going to be awkward, but I am determined to make the best of it. I could try to be a little more cordial. At least Natalie seemed to think so after hearing the whole story. Damian’s words earlier agitated me as they circled my mind. I am judging him. A lot. But I haven’t felt this way before, and I am not sure I like it.

  When I get there, he is alone in his room with the door open. He has soundproof headphones in. I knock, but he is into whatever he’s listening to. So, I walk in and touch his arm.

  “Woah, hello,” he says shocked.

  “Hi,” I say, “I knocked.”

  “I bet you did,” he says cheekily. “Ready to start?”

  “Yea,” I say. Damian gets right down to it.

  “Okay, so I figure that we can start a Google presentation? We can both add stuff as we find it. Do you want to take the research or finding a person to interview?” he says, and I am shocked. I honestly expected to have to do all the work.

  “What is wrong?” he says, looking at me like I am crazy.

  “I expected to do most of the work,” I say softly. I know that one sounds bitchy, but I need to be honest with him—at least I felt that way.

  Something in the way he looked at me. The disappointment on his face when he heard my whisper, made me feel like a horrible person. I was starting to see it again—a person underneath the playboy façade.

  “Man, you really think highly of me,” he says looking down at Zeke.

  “You really hit a few nerves the day we met,” I explain. That was the best I could do, “You can pet him,” I add. I shouldn’t let him while Zeke is wearing the vest, but I feel bad. He looks up at me while he gives Zeke a head rub.

  “I was a dick. I readily admit that. I don’t know what came over me, I am normally not a vocal imbecile when I talk to someone for the first time. I guess I was nervous,” he says. I like that I made him nervous. Focus Felicity.

  “Oh, I’ve heard,” I say rolling my eyes.

  “That I was nervous?” he says with a smile, fully aware of what I was actually talking about.

  “Cute,” I retort.

  “So are you,” he quips. I’m not buying in.

  We both start looking up sources and I keep running into walls.

  “What is wrong with this thing?” I say frustrated. The computer is a hand-me-down from Melody, and it wasn’t a young thing when she purchased it. However, it has Word and the internet, so I am satisfied.

  “Maybe because your computer is my computer’s grandfather?” he says with a grin.

  “Great-grandfather, rich kid,” I say trying to get out of a program.

  “Not that rich.”

  “Two-hundred-dollar watch,” I say tapping my wrist.

  “Felicity, you need to download the school’s VPN, it will make it easier for you to find the articles,” he says calmly.

  “How?” I ask. I half expect him to do it for me, but he walks me through it gradually. My computer takes forever to download, and I can see the jokes forming in his mind. But he is keeping his mouth shut.

  “John here, is a senior citizen. He is stuck in his ways and deserves your respect,” I say patting my laptop.

  “You named your laptop?”

  “You didn’t?” I retort.

  When the computer downloads the VPN, sources are magically appearing in Google Scholar and I get really excited.

  “Oh my God. This is amazing,” I say forgetting that I don’t want this guy to like me. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Nerd,” he says winking at me.

  “So, want to meet at the library Thursday and work more?” I ask refusing to give into his banter. He nods and I walk out. But I can’t help feeling a little empty as I walk away from him. I have never clicked with someone so quickly in my entire life—and I hate that it is him.

  At the library on Thursday, I am hot mess. I’ve already been in the library for over three hours working on my homework when Damian walks up to the table to work on our project. I tested out of the easier math classes in order to finish quicker—I’m starting to wish I hadn’t. The numbers are starting to look like Spanish.

  “Hey,” he says kindly. I nod. I don’t like him seeing me. Not this vulnerable. I have my books scattered everywhere and I am pretty sure my ponytail became a mixture between a messy bun and just pure laziness two frustrated hand gestures ago.

  “Felicity, I will make you a deal. I’ll finish the project, and you can work on whatever has you so stressed,” he says. Wait, what?

  “What?” I ask. He must be joking.

  “You did a lot of the notes, it’s just a couple more hours work. I can finish. Focus on your math and I’ll sit here with you if I have any questions.”

  “Really?” I ask astonished. Why would he want to finish the project without me?

  “Yep. And if I get us an A, you can thank me over dinner,” he says. There it is. He doesn’t care that I’m stressed, he just wants to score dinner with me.

  “What makes you think I am willing to sacrifice my grade for dinner?” I ask.

  “The fact that you have been in this library for the past two hours and you have only done one equation on your calc homework,” he says pointing at my paper. I was far more pathetic than that. I had been at it for three hours, but I’m not admitting that. He grins at me, probably expecting a retort, but at that moment I don’t have one. I don’t even roll my eyes—truth be told, I am closer to tears. I didn’t realize this class was going to be so hard.

  “No eye roll? Penetrating gaze? Nothing?” he says looking up at me. I just shake my head.

  “I tested out of some of the basic math courses, I am guessing I shouldn’t have,” I tell him. I don’t know why I am being honest. But I see it again. His walls are down, and I can see him being genuine. He is concerned about me and I don’t know if I like it or hate it. I want to hate it. So, so bad.

  I don’t feel like sassing him. I am in over my head.

  “Felicity?” he says my name softly.

  “Let me get the project done, then I’ll help with your math.”

  “I need to do well on this project. It doesn’t feel right letting you do most of it,” I say honestly. I can’t let him do this.

  “Work on the math. I’ve got this.”

  “You just want me to agree to your bet,” I say trying to seem less vulnerable at this point.

  “Consider your agreement to my offer as my motivation to get an A,” he says, and I sigh. He’s already proven that he is more than motivated to get alone time with me. The group project is due on Monday and the calculus homework is due Sunday night. It will take me a week to get it done at the rate I am going.

  “Dinner. No movie. And not the dining hall, if you want dinner so bad, you’re paying,” I say softly.

  “You get an A and free dinner?” he asks.

  “Yep,” I say staring back at my textbook.

  “Agreed,” he says, and I swear I hear him grin. I am screwed, no matter what way this turns out.

  I’ll be damned if we didn’t get an A on that assignment. Even with him taking a break to help explain the calculus homework.

  So here I am. At a fancy restaurant with Damian Turner.

  Dinner and a Deal

  Before dinner I actua
lly made myself look presentable. I tried on at least seven different outfits and that is saying something considering I only have maybe ten outfits that are in season. Damian, true to form, picked me up right at six.

  “So, this is fancy…” I say looking around at the restaurant he brought us to. Part of me hates extravagant places like this—people tend to look at Zeke and give me a sympathetic stare. I also didn’t really expect Damian to bring me to a place that had tablecloths and centerpieces. I expected pizza or bar food. At least I wore a skirt. I feel way out of my comfort zone.

  “Stop fidgeting, you look fine,” he says. Sometimes I feel like he actually can read my mind.

  “This isn’t necessarily my style,” I say looking around. People, mostly older couples, are dressed to the nines and the waiters come complete with a fake accent. I haven’t been to a restaurant this extravagant. I barely went to restaurants growing up. When Mel and Daniel went I always liked to let them go alone.

  “Do you want to go?” he asks concerned.

  “No…no, I just don’t particularly want to make a fool out of myself,” I say nervously.

  “You won’t, just talk to me—where are you from?”

  “The city,” I say.

  “Does your family live here?”

  “My sister and brother-in-law,” I say looking down. I don’t really want to talk about them. “You?”

  “I have a brother, he’s five years older than me. My mom and him live on a ranch in North Bedlem. Roughly an hour away,” he says.

  “So, you’re not a townie?”

  “Definitely not. I am from a small city. This place is huge,” he says eying it.

  “You don’t seem like the small city type,” I say. He’s wearing designer clothes and he doesn’t seem out of place here.

  “My parents travelled a lot,” he says.

  “I would love to travel…I’ve rarely left the city,” I say.

  “Well, I’ll have to show you North Bedlem sometime. You’d really have some culture shock,” he says with a grin. I don’t get it. He is the love them and leave them type—talking about future trips to his place doesn’t seem to fit this repertoire—unless he is pretending to get what he wants.