Dickens and I swooned over someone who studied English and didn’t care that my father was Rhyder Woods.
I stared at the mystery man, desperate for some tell-tale sign that it wasn’ t him. The guy I knew wouldn’t teach at Thomas College since he always talked about living abroad after he finished his dissertation . And he’d have to be crazy to stick around a fter I told hi m that if I ever saw him again I would personally tear his head off.
But when his head whipped to the door and his eyes met mine, I covered my mouth in horror. His golden flecked eyes still stripped me to my bare bones.
Chance Crawford. T he only heartbreak that could still take my breath away.
I turned on my heels and walked in the opposite direction. I could put one foot in front of the oth er and grin and bear it through my senior year, but I wasn’t going to sit through a semester with him at the front of the class.
“Cassandra , wait!”
I slowed, then gave myself an internal shake. Why the hell was I slowing down? B y the time I’d picked up speed it didn’t matter because he’d caught up with me.
“Cassie.” He gripped my arm tight and wheeled me to face him. “Where are you going?”
I wrenched my arm away, trying to see past the fact that he was more handsome than I remembered. “Where is Dr. Madison?”
“She had a family emergency,” he explained. “She’s taking a semester of personal leave.”
Guilt formed knots in my throat w hen I remembered how tired Dr. Madison looked when she stopped by to see me. She’d cared enough about me to be there when she was going through her own drama?
“I’m he r substitute.” His voice washed over me , bringing me back to the fresh crisis before me . “I’ll be teaching her British literature course this semester.”
I hated to admit it, but I still couldn’t take my eyes off him. H is new haircut was undeniably sexy. The choppy brown layers accentuated his strong jaw line, giving him a playfulness that he lacked before. My eyes trailed down to t he tight muscles of his chest. It was obvious he was still running regularly from the fit of his button down shirt. And then there were the jeans. It was like God himself had crafted them, making sure they hit him at all the right angles, taunting me with the delicious, solid part of him I still remembered well.
I’d hoped the years would mar his attractiveness, that he’d go to Europe and do to some other poor girl what he did to me and get beaten to a pulp. Or fall off the Eiffel tower. Something, anything, to justify the fact that he made it impossible to ever trust another guy with my heart.
He raked a hand throu gh his hair and the layers fell effortless ly back into place. “It’s really good to see you, Cas s .”
I crossed my arms, biting back the memory of how he loved it when I ran my fingers th rough his hair, grabbing t uffs of it while we were...indisposed. “ You’re teaching British Lit?”
He stood a little taller. “That’s right.” His voice took on an authoritative, grating edge. “ And you’re late.”
“Since when do you teach at Thomas?” I said acidly, ignoring the jab about me being late .
“When this position became available, I knew it was an opportunity and I’d be a fool to pass it up.” A student hustled past and h e lowered his voice. “I knew it was an opportunity to see you. To explain and-”
“Save it,” I snapped, holding up a hand. I’d be a fool if I stood t here and listened to a word he said about that day . A bigger fool than I had been to fall for him in the first place. “ I didn’t care to hear yo ur half assed explanation then and I have even less interest in hearing it now.”
“Cassandra-”
“You know what?” I gripped my backpack tight, finding strength in myself that I hadn’t felt in months. “I don’t need British Lit anyway.”
He let out a low laugh and moved to block me from passing. “You’re unbelievable. You’re going to drop the class
I stared at the mystery man, desperate for some tell-tale sign that it wasn’ t him. The guy I knew wouldn’t teach at Thomas College since he always talked about living abroad after he finished his dissertation . And he’d have to be crazy to stick around a fter I told hi m that if I ever saw him again I would personally tear his head off.
But when his head whipped to the door and his eyes met mine, I covered my mouth in horror. His golden flecked eyes still stripped me to my bare bones.
Chance Crawford. T he only heartbreak that could still take my breath away.
I turned on my heels and walked in the opposite direction. I could put one foot in front of the oth er and grin and bear it through my senior year, but I wasn’t going to sit through a semester with him at the front of the class.
“Cassandra , wait!”
I slowed, then gave myself an internal shake. Why the hell was I slowing down? B y the time I’d picked up speed it didn’t matter because he’d caught up with me.
“Cassie.” He gripped my arm tight and wheeled me to face him. “Where are you going?”
I wrenched my arm away, trying to see past the fact that he was more handsome than I remembered. “Where is Dr. Madison?”
“She had a family emergency,” he explained. “She’s taking a semester of personal leave.”
Guilt formed knots in my throat w hen I remembered how tired Dr. Madison looked when she stopped by to see me. She’d cared enough about me to be there when she was going through her own drama?
“I’m he r substitute.” His voice washed over me , bringing me back to the fresh crisis before me . “I’ll be teaching her British literature course this semester.”
I hated to admit it, but I still couldn’t take my eyes off him. H is new haircut was undeniably sexy. The choppy brown layers accentuated his strong jaw line, giving him a playfulness that he lacked before. My eyes trailed down to t he tight muscles of his chest. It was obvious he was still running regularly from the fit of his button down shirt. And then there were the jeans. It was like God himself had crafted them, making sure they hit him at all the right angles, taunting me with the delicious, solid part of him I still remembered well.
I’d hoped the years would mar his attractiveness, that he’d go to Europe and do to some other poor girl what he did to me and get beaten to a pulp. Or fall off the Eiffel tower. Something, anything, to justify the fact that he made it impossible to ever trust another guy with my heart.
He raked a hand throu gh his hair and the layers fell effortless ly back into place. “It’s really good to see you, Cas s .”
I crossed my arms, biting back the memory of how he loved it when I ran my fingers th rough his hair, grabbing t uffs of it while we were...indisposed. “ You’re teaching British Lit?”
He stood a little taller. “That’s right.” His voice took on an authoritative, grating edge. “ And you’re late.”
“Since when do you teach at Thomas?” I said acidly, ignoring the jab about me being late .
“When this position became available, I knew it was an opportunity and I’d be a fool to pass it up.” A student hustled past and h e lowered his voice. “I knew it was an opportunity to see you. To explain and-”
“Save it,” I snapped, holding up a hand. I’d be a fool if I stood t here and listened to a word he said about that day . A bigger fool than I had been to fall for him in the first place. “ I didn’t care to hear yo ur half assed explanation then and I have even less interest in hearing it now.”
“Cassandra-”
“You know what?” I gripped my backpack tight, finding strength in myself that I hadn’t felt in months. “I don’t need British Lit anyway.”
He let out a low laugh and moved to block me from passing. “You’re unbelievable. You’re going to drop the class
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