“That’s how I ended up at Callingwood. Wanted to go to USC. Got accepted. Couldn’t afford it. Even with loans, it wasn’t workable.” Bailey cleared her throat the way she always did when emotions hit her and she was trying to hide it. “It’s a really prestigious program too. Kind of disappointing.”

She was downplaying that.

“Bet they have a good grad program.”

“They do.” She nodded thoughtfully and sat up, turning to face me. Uncertainty stretched across her face. “I’ve been thinking about grad school lately. If I can get in, I mean.”

See, there she went again with the misplaced modesty. If she couldn’t get into a good grad program, there was no hope in hell for anyone else.

“You know you have the grades for it, James.”

Her lips pulled into a tiny smile. “Maybe. But USC’s grad program is even harder to get into than their undergrad.”

“Either way, I’m sure there are lots of good journalism schools in California. Especially within the greater Los Angeles area.”

“That’s true,” she murmured, her smile broadening. “There are a few.”

“I wonder if there are any other selling points to California.”

Bailey shifted her weight and rose onto her knees. Placing her palms on my shoulders, she straddled my waist. “Hmm, I wonder. Warm weather is a plus. No more shoveling snow or dealing with snow boots would be nice.”

“The weather, huh?” I squeezed her ass, and she giggled.

“Good shopping? Rodeo Drive or whatever it’s called?”

“I can’t remember the last time you went shopping.”

“Celebrity sightings…? I hear they have tour buses that take you to see the Kardashians’ house.”

My hands bracketed her waist, sneaking under the hem of her shirt. “Keep digging, James.”

“What else?” She sighed and pursed her lips, staring off like she was deep in thought. Her focus landed back on me, her expression turning shy. “Well, I do know this cute guy who’s moving to California after graduation.”

“Just cute?”

“Handsome. Sweet. Dynamite in bed.” She paused. “He’s one in a million, really.”

“Question is, will you be coming with me?”

A rush of nerves ran through me like never before. I held my breath, waiting for her response.

Bailey ducked her head, bringing her mouth to hover over mine. “One hundred percent.”

EPILOGUE

Three years later

Los Angeles, California

Bailey

Grad school was brutal. Every student in my cohort was cultured, experienced, and basically brilliant. With impressive professional backgrounds covering topics like foreign affairs abroad, reporting from the campaign trail, and even medical journalism. I was no slouch—I’d carved out a respectable niche for myself in the sports writing world—but it was intimidating. The pressure to keep up was insane. And not just to keep up; I wanted to be at the top of my class like I had been in undergrad.

Possible in theory; grueling in practice.