The campus was really beautiful in a quaint, peaceful sort of way. It was nothing like the sprawling campuses of huge universities. Nestled between the Potomac River and the tiny, historical town of Shepherdstown, it was like something you’d see on a postcard. Large buildings with steeples mixed in among more modern structures. Trees everywhere. Fresh, clean air and everything you needed within walking distance. I could actually walk on nicer days or at least park on West Campus to avoid paying the meter.

After giving my information for the waiting list, I hoofed it back toward my car, enjoying the warm breeze. Unlike this morning when I’d been running late, I got a chance to check out the houses on the way to the train station. Three houses, side by side, had porches full of college-aged guys. Most likely this school’s version of fraternity row.

One guy looked up, beer in hand. He smiled, but then turned as a football flew out from the open door, smacking him in the back. Curses exploded.

Definitely fraternity row.

My spine stiffened as I picked up my pace, hurrying past the houses. I hit an intersection, stepped out and nearly got slammed by a silver truck—one of those big ones, maybe a Tundra—as it sped onto the narrow road I needed to cross. My heart jumped as it slammed its brakes, blocking my path.

I took a step back onto the curb, confused. Was the driver going to yell at me?

The tinted passenger window rolled down, and I about fell flat on my face.

Cameron Hamilton grinned at me from behind the wheel, baseball cap on, turned backward. Wisps of dark hair curled up under the band. And he was shirtless—totally shirtless. And from what I could see of him, just his chest, it was a mighty fine chest. Pecs—the guy had pecs. And a tattoo. On his right chest, a sun burst, flames trailing back over his shoulders in vibrant hues of red and orange.

“Avery Morgansten, we meet again.”

He was the last person I wanted to see. I had the shittiest luck known to man. “Cameron Hamilton… hi.”

He leaned over, dropping an arm over the steering wheel. Correction. He also had some really nice biceps. “We have to stop meeting like this.”

And that was the truest thing ever spoken. I needed to stop staring at his bicep… and chest… and tattoo. Never thought the sun could be so… sexy. Wow. This was awkward.

“You running over me, me almost running over you?” Cam elaborated. “It’s like we’re a catastrophe waiting to happen.”

I had no idea what to say to that. My mouth was dry, thoughts scattered.

“Where you heading to?”

“My car,” I forced out. “I’m about to run out of time.” Not necessarily true, because I had been generous with the quarters so I wouldn’t end up with a parking ticket, but he didn’t need to know that. “So…”

“Well, hop in, sweetheart. I can give you a ride.”