I move down the aisle from her, eyeing the groceries lining the shelves. There’s nothing I need here, but her sweet scent and my deep-seated hunger to be near her draws me closer.

What am I doing?

Why am I acting like a fucking idiot?

I see her in class all the time, at least on the days I go. But I’ve never craved her company, not like I do now. Sure, she caught my eye. Lots of chicks do. She’s different though . . . seemingly oblivious to my existence inside—and apparently, outside—the classroom, judging by her lack of awareness of my presence.

My ego isn’t fragile.

I like a challenge, but I love the taste of victory.

My life’s been boring walking a straight line for too long. This woman is just the detour I’m looking for. At least for a night or two.

I imagine she has a boyfriend, probably some schmuck back home, wherever she calls home, who’s waiting for her to return after graduation. I’d bet a day’s work that doting middle-class parents who saved every penny to send their only daughter to an East Coast university are a part of her story, along with a hand-me-down Subaru with another good fifty-thousand miles before the odometer rolls over for the third time.

Such a charmed life she must lead.

My assumptions don’t do her any favors, but I never claimed I wasn’t an asshole. I was never good at balancing bad deeds while looking the part of an altar boy. Not like Lucas was. My cousin is probably laughing beyond the grave, watching me act like a nervous pre-teen having a brush with a middle school crush.

He might have laughed, but he’d also know that hitting on girls isn’t my usual MO . . . Opportunity usually presents itself and hits on me first. We never had trouble turning the heads of the fairer sex.

My innuendoes aren’t subtle. She’s either playing hard to get or is wholly consumed by the can of Beans & Franks in her hand. I’ll assume the latter and make the effort. “Don’t get hurt,” I say. Not my best work, but we’re in a convenience store, so I’m certain the bar is already pretty fucking low. When I latch my gaze onto the pale-pink hem of her shirt, a flash of skin is given when she moves. But I catch her gaze just in time to see it sliding up my chest until her eyes meet mine.

Tilting her head up, she studies me in silence, making it hard to read her thoughts. Did I screw up? Is she going to give me the time of day or a tongue lashing . . . must rid that wicked thought from my mind or start praying she’s into that kind of play. I straighten my shoulders, debating if I should grab the requested diet soda and move on.

But then a half-hearted smile graces her lips. “Is that a warning?” She furrows her brow as her eyes narrow in the slightest. “Have we met?”