I spent two weeks trying to ignore Derrick, but if I failed this class, it would be his fault. Professor Laken wanted to see me, and I knew it had something to do with the pointed looks he’d been sending our way.

That first day, I’d taken the bait from the tattooed, hot as sin football player who shouldn’t have been in my class. He’d beckoned me up to him, and I’d given in to my curiosity.

Of course I knew who he was—I didn’t live under a rock—but I hadn’t expected the jolt when our eyes had met. He’d surprised me, teased me, challenged me, and now he sat next to me every Monday and Wednesday, trying to get my attention for the full hour and fifteen minutes we spent together.

For weeks, I’d been able to focus just enough to have a basic understanding of the lectures. That didn’t stop him from treating me like his newest bestie—chattering in that deep voice, telling me about his week, teasing me into responses I never intended to give him.

Today, he’d showed up with coffee. For me.

He slid the paper cup onto the table next to my notes without saying a word. I usually grabbed a drink on the way to my next class, mostly because I was a little superstitious after spilling coffee all over myself that first morning and having to wear my painting sweats. Why take the chance of a repeat?

I sipped the nectar of the gods and shook my head. He’d gotten my order right. Vanilla latte with an extra shot, no whip. How? How did he know?

Professor Laken hadn’t arrived yet, so I didn’t have a good excuse for ignoring Derrick—other than self-preservation. I didn’t know what his game was. Coffee delivered, he stretched his legs out like he always did and sat back with his arms crossed over his broad chest. Not that I was watching.

Ugh. It wasn’t in me to be this rude.

“Thanks,” I grumbled.

“Any time, Em.”

I chanced a look at him, and he rewarded me with a slow smile. As if my cranky gratitude pleased him to no end. I sighed, feeling like an asshole. Derrick had been nothing but sweet since winning our little bet. My prickliness came from my stupid-inducing attraction to him.

I’d gotten used to the fresh scent that made me want to bury my nose in his shirt and the tall, muscled frame that should have been classified as a work of art, but when that smile spread into his dark green eyes, I had no defenses.

He leaned over to whisper, “When are you going to tell me the story of the ugly sweats?”