Learning Curve

Scottie

Dane keeps a grip on my wrist as we scurry down the wide hallway of the Newton Building and head into the auditorium-style room of our first class—English 101 with Professor Winslow.

It’s the only class we have together, and I don’t know why I’m relieved about that fact, but I am. Maybe because it’ll be easier to concentrate.

Dane Matthews has been my boyfriend for the past two years. The clichéd star quarterback and cheerleader couple of our high school, we started dating when we were juniors, and now, we’re both attending Dickson University together. I’m still a starting cheerleader, but Dane is no longer the star quarterback. He barely got on the team as a walk-on, and seeing as Dickson is a Division I school and their current quarterback, Blake Boden, is a sophomore—who was highly recruited out of Southern California and rumored to have a magic arm—the odds of Dane becoming the star quarterback again are slim.

Though, I’d never say that to Dane. He’d lose his shit in a nanosecond.

College as a whole is overwhelming so far, and this is only the first day of classes. But since moving in a week ago, it’s been a constant rotation of cheerleading practice, orientations, and meeting new people. Plus, I’ve never lived in a big city, and New York is about as big of a city as you can get. I can only pray I’ll finally know my way around the campus by the time I start my second semester.

All it takes is two steps inside the lecture hall to remind me of just how different my life is about to be for the next four years. My private high school in Upstate New York was small. There are more students sitting in this massive room than in my graduating class.

“Scottie, what are you doing?” Dane asks as his grip on my wrist stops my forward progress to the front of the room. “Let’s sit back here.”

“But I want to sit a little closer…” Truth be told, I forgot to put in my contacts this morning, and Dane hates when I wear my glasses. He says it reminds him of our sixty-year-old high school librarian, Donna Lanser.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Let’s sit right here.”

“Dane.” I lean toward him to whisper in his ear. “I don’t have my contacts in. I need to sit closer so I can actually see.”

“Don’t be a nerd, babe.” He laughs and drags me toward two seats in the last row.

I want to tell him he’s being an asshole, but I clamp my lips shut instead. Lord knows my calling him out will only make him more annoyed with me, and since I’m now going to have to use my glasses for this class, I decide to pick my battles.

As I sit down beside him, setting my backpack on the floor between my feet, I unzip the front pocket to grab my glasses, but when I don’t feel the familiar texture of their leather case, anxiety starts to fill my chest. Shit.

“I don’t have my glasses,” I whisper toward Dane, but he just shrugs.

“Can’t say I’m disappointed to hear that. You look way hotter without them.”

Looking hot is the absolute last thing I’m worried about right now.

I rummage through the other pockets of my bag and still come up empty-handed. On a sigh, I lean back in my seat and try to figure out my next move, but in my periphery, a head of familiar dark hair catches my eye—the mystery guy who witnessed my clumsy butt tumble to the sidewalk in the most unladylike fashion.

I don’t know his name, but he was incredibly kind, despite my having run directly into him in my haste to get out of the rain. He also, as it happens, has the most soul-piercing brown eyes I’ve ever stared into, the kind of chiseled jawline that Paris Fashion Week would eat with a spoon, and muscles that stand out effortlessly in his rain-soaked T-shirt.

I’m not the only female in the room to notice, though I probably shouldn’t. Several pairs of eyes look in his direction as he walks near the professor’s desk. He’s a little blurry, but from what I can tell, he has a gray backpack swung haphazardly over his shoulder and his dark jeans are just the right amount of tight—fitting like a glove over his firm butt but avoiding the horrible skinny-jean look on his long, toned legs.

He runs his hand through his dark hair as he chooses a seat near the front—lucky duck—and sits down in an empty row. Besides me, he appears to be the only person who wants to sit so close to our currently empty professor’s desk.

I blow out a breath of air, its contents beleaguered, and glance over at Dane. He’s busy staring down at his phone, Instagram front and center on the screen. He must not be aware that I can see what he’s doing, because the first thing he does is like a girl from our high school’s bikini pic. And then, I see him do the same thing three more times, but for three different girls I’ve never seen before.

My older sister Wren would say that’s a huge red flag, and it instantly makes me miss home. I was close with a lot of girls in high school, but now that we’ve gone our separate ways to college, it’s almost comical how quickly we’ve lost touch. Besides some of the cheerleaders I’ve met through tryouts and practice, Dane is the only person I know at Dickson.

And he’s too busy staring at IG tits and ass to even notice you.

I open my mouth to say something about it making me uncomfortable, but another voice fills the void first.

“Hey, girl.” I look up to find Nadine, a fellow cheerleader, taking a seat beside me.

I smile. “Hey.”

“So…” She pauses as she eyes me up and down with one raised eyebrow and a mouth that’s curled into a combination of a snarl and a smile. “Why are you wearing your uniform?”

Unlike me, she’s wearing jean shorts and a tank top. Her blond hair is voluminous, seemingly untouched by the rain, and her lips are painted red.

“Uh…” I pause and shrug, a little embarrassed. “I don’t have any time to head back to my dorm before pictures.”

“So, you went full-on cheerleader glam for your classes?” She narrows her eyes and snorts as she grabs a notebook out of her backpack. “You’re a better woman than I am. I’d feel like such a dumbass if I had to do that.”

I don’t say anything in return because what can you even say to that? Thanks for the insult?

Nadine prattles on about the professor who’s going to be teaching this class. “Word on the street is that he’s crazy-hot. McKenzie had him her freshman year and said she could hardly keep her jaw off the freaking floor.”

McKenzie is a sophomore and one of the captains of our squad, and Nadine’s been trying to kiss her ass since day one. Though, I wouldn’t say it’s actually benefiting her. Coach Jordan is the one who is in charge, and she currently has Nadine placed on the team as an alternate.

“Who’s crazy-hot?” Dane chimes in, looking around me to meet Nadine’s eyes.

“You,” Nadine teases, and Dane laughs like she just said the funniest thing he’s ever heard in his life. “And Professor Winslow.”

“Who’s Professor Winslow?”

“Oh my God, Dane.” Nadine squeals out a laugh so hard it makes her boobs bounce beneath her incredibly tight tank top. My boyfriend doesn’t miss a single jiggle, but I’ll admit, neither do I. They’re unbelievably obvious. “He’s our professor for this class.”

Dane smiles at her, and suddenly, the thought of spending the whole class sitting between the two of them while I can’t see sounds like a nightmare.

“I really think I need to sit closer, Dane,” I interrupt their little powwow. “I’m not going to be able to see anything he writes on the board.”

“You can copy my notes.”

“Copy your notes? You didn’t even bring a notebook. Or a pen.”

He smirks like he’s the smartest man in the room as he taps the side of his head. “That’s because I keep it all stored up in here. Big brain shit, babe. Big other shit, too.” He winks at me, but I don’t miss the way his eyes glance Nadine’s way after he insinuates he has a giant dick.

Which, from what little I know about the male member, he doesn’t. From what I hear, six inches is average. Dane is lucky to be five and a half on a good day.

Nadine laughs and twirls a strand of her blond hair with her finger. She also adjusts her breasts so they’re resting—and being pushed up—on her arms.

Apparently, the possibility of a big dick is her version of catnip.

I know I should be jealous right now. I mean, he is my boyfriend and he’s being completely shameless in his attempt to impress a girl on my cheerleading squad. And part of me, I suppose, is. But this class and my cheerleading scholarship that requires a 3.5 GPA to keep it dominate the rest of me. I need to be able to do well, and Dane’s notes, invisible or not, aren’t likely to help. He’s a C average student at best. To be honest, I’m still not entirely sure what he had to say in his essay to get in here.

“I’m moving to the front,” I tell Dane and offer an apologetic smile Nadine’s way. “Sorry, but I need to scoot past you. Mind standing up so I can get out?”

She stands up, but Dane stays sitting down, making no moves to follow me.

“See you after class, you little nerd,” is the only thing Dane says to me as I swing my backpack over my shoulder and head for the middle aisle of the lecture hall. He does, however, offer a slap to my ass as well. Nadine laughs at his stupid hijinks, and I choose not to glance back in their direction as I descend the stairs to the front.

Instead, I focus on finding a seat in a now-crowded room. The best option, as it happens, is located right next to Mr. Soul-Piercing Brown Eyes because it’s perfectly centered with the whiteboard. If it were even one row back, I guarantee it would have been taken by a drooling girl by now, but I guess even a hot guy isn’t enough incentive to get picked on by the professor on the first day because the seats on both sides of him are empty. Unless, of course, you’re a nerd who forgot her glasses like me.

“Sorry,” I apologize as I bump his desk with my backpack when I swing into the seat beside him.

He offers a small smile and nod in my direction, a silent no problem, but when he holds my gaze for a good five seconds, my knees buckle. My ass plops down into the cool wood on a smack, avoiding grace entirely. Real nice, Scottie.

Too embarrassed by my repeated blunders to face him directly, I pretend to be super busy looking at something on my phone when a text message from my dad rolls in.

Dad: I hope you have a great first day, kiddo. Love you to pieces.

I know a lot of people probably feel like their dad is the best dad, but my dad actually is. He’s kind and caring and has made it his life’s mission to keep Wren’s and my life as normal and happy as possible. Which, if you knew my mother, you’d know it isn’t an easy mission at all.

He also worked eighty hours a week as a welder at the steel factory so he could afford to send my sister and me to private school. Mom didn’t help at all with money—in fact, most of the time, she spent it—but she didn’t help much at home either. He did it all as best he could in the little free time he had.

Me: Thanks, Dad. Love you too.

I go to shove my phone back into my bag, but my poise is still on vacation, and I manage to drop the damn thing on the floor, facedown, with a loud bang.

Of course, my ongoing battle with gravity catches my neighbor’s attention again, and I feel his eyes on me as I bend awkwardly around my desk to grab it. If it weren’t for the case and screen protector, I’m certain I would’ve shattered it, but as it is, the only damage is a hairline fracture in the protector at the top by the camera.

“Is it fucked?” he asks on a near whisper.

My smile is self-conscious as hell, and I consider telling him I’m not always this much of a mess, but his phone vibrates on top of his desk and promptly removes his attention from me before I can open my mouth. I’m equal parts thankful and disappointed.

His fingers move furiously over the screen, and I set my notebook and pen on the foldout desk connected to my chair. I sit silently and awkwardly, waiting for him to be done and wondering how I can find a way to apologize again for the mess outside and thank him for his help.

A memory of his thumb reaching out to brush a lone tear off my cheek does the Cha Cha Slide in my head, and my mind takes an immediate, dirty-as-hell detour. If a simple touch to the cheek is that memorable, what would happen if he touched me other places?

My face heats from the inappropriate thought. Jeez Louise, what is wrong with me today?

“Good morning!” a loud, boisterous voice shouts from the back of the lecture hall, and it grabs both my and my seat neighbor’s attention, along with that of everyone else in the room.

I look over my shoulder to find a man dressed in a perfectly fitted gray suit striding in with a briefcase. He has a full head of light-brown hair, but without my glasses, I can’t make out much more about his features than that. But from the gasps and sighs around me, it’s obvious I’ll want to take another look on a good vision day.

“I’m Professor Winslow,” he greets with a smile as he walks right past me and my seatmate to his desk. I immediately glance toward the back of the room to see if that horny bitch Nadine is flinging her underwear from across the room, but she’s too busy giggling and bouncing her big boobs toward my boyfriend, whom she now sits right beside. Dane is eating it up like a chump.

Is he for real right now?

On a huff, I turn back around in my seat as Professor Winslow drops his briefcase down on his desk. But my elbow manages to make contact with my notebook and pen and shove both onto the hardwood floor of the lecture hall with a slap.

Of course, both items land right next to his shoes, and I offer an apologetic frown in his direction. “Whoops.” I cringe. Why can’t I human today?

He shakes it off without judgment, his brown eyes warm, and reaches down with one strong hand to pick up my lost items off the ground. His bicep flexes beneath his T-shirt as he sets them back on my desk, and I find myself wondering how much a guy has to work out to get muscles like that.

I’ve spent most of my life surrounded by football players, and I’ve yet to see anyone look as sculpted as this guy. I’d question if he was a student-athlete, but his vibe doesn’t give off jock. It gives off…I don’t know…mysterious bad boy.

I haven’t a clue why, because “bad boys” are notoriously single animals and the absolute last thing a not-single girl like me needs, but it only makes him more appealing.

“First day of college,” Professor Winslow states with another smile that has some of the girls in my class fanning themselves with one hand. “How are we feeling?”

“Like it’s too early for this shit!” someone yells from the back. Professor Winslow laughs.

“I love when the smartasses make themselves known on day one. Makes my job easier.”

Holy shit. Cursing and engaging with the class clown to do anything other than send him to detention? College is definitely different from high school.

Unable to stop myself, I glance behind me to see how other people are reacting and then over to my mysterious neighbor. Unlike the rest of us nervous, excited newbies, he looks angry.

Man, I hope he isn’t annoyed because of me.