for a six o’clock run after the first week of us cohabitating when she nearly took my head off with an alarm clock.
“It’s that time again,” I sing-song obnoxiously, “rise and shine.”
There’s a grunt and then some shifting from under the blankets that tells me she’s alive.
When I chant her name repeatedly, each time escalating in volume, she growls, “Get the fuck out!”
“Awww,” I mock, “that’s so sweet. I love you, too.”
Sydney snorts before a hand snakes out from beneath the blankets to give me a one-fingered salute. Then she grabs a pillow and tosses it in my general vicinity. It falls about five feet short of its mark.
I stare at the dismal attempt. “If you’re trying to cause bodily harm, you’ll have to do better than that.”
“Piss off.”
“All right then.” I shrug. “See you after class.” With that, I close the door behind me.
My farewell is met with another indecipherable mouthful. If this weren’t something we went through on the daily, I’d worry she was in the midst of a stroke. Sydney is definitely not a morning person. She’s more of an early afternoon person. Another thing I’ve learned over the years? The action of waking up to a brand-new day is a gradual process. She’s like a bear rousing prematurely from hibernation. It’s not a pretty sight. She’s lucky I don’t take her insults personally.
I grab my backpack from the small table crammed into the breakfast nook area along with a coffee before heading out the door. The apartment I share with Sydney is located three blocks from campus, which is highly sought out real estate. We’re fortunate Dad is friends with the guy who manages the building. It’s probably one of the only perks of having a father who is a head coach of a college football team.
You’d think there would be more, but you’d be wrong. Honestly, being Nick Richard’s daughter is more of a hindrance than anything else. People assume you receive special treatment on campus, from professors, or that you have an in with all the football players.
Or worse...
Much worse.
After a bunch of ugly—not to mention untrue—rumors circulated freshman year, I’ve done my best to distance myself from the Wildcats football team. They’re a great bunch of guys, but I don’t need all the ugly gossip and speculation that comes along with being friends with them.
As I reach Corbin Hall, the mathematics building for my stats class, my gaze is drawn to a clump of students standing around outside the three-story, red-brick building. In the center of that crowd is Rowan. I don’t have to see him physically to know that he’s close. The muscles in my belly contract with awareness. It’s like a sixth sense. One I wish would go away. He’s the last person I want to be cognizant of.
As I jog up the wide stone stairs to the entrance, my gaze fastens on him. A smirk twists the edges of his lips, and my eyes narrow before I drag them away and yank open the door to the building. Relief rushes through me as I step inside the air conditioning and disappear from sight.
“Hey, Demi, wait up!”
I turn at the sound of my name before slowing my step. The dark-haired guy jogging to catch up smiles before falling in line with me.
Justin Fischer.
He’s a baseball player and teammates with Sydney’s boyfriend, Ethan. We’ve been seeing each other for about a month. It’s still casual at this point. With school and soccer, I don’t have a ton of time to invest in a relationship. He seems to understand that and isn’t pushing to be more serious.
When he leans in for a kiss, I angle my head. At the last moment, he tilts in the opposite direction, and we end up bumping teeth instead of locking lips. With a grunt, I pull away and chuckle. My fingers fly to my mouth to make sure I haven’t chipped a tooth.
Maybe I’ve been reluctant to admit it to myself, but that kiss sums up our relationship perfectly.
Awkward and a step out of sync with each other.
“Sorry,” he murmurs with a slight smile. I search his face and wait for any telltale sign of sexual chemistry to ping inside me. Unfortunately, my insides remain completely unfazed, which is disappointing but not altogether unexpected. I had a sneaking suspicion when we first got together that it might turn out this way.
“No problem,” I say, hoisting my smile and brushing aside those thoughts.