King of Campus

By: Jennifer Sucevic

And those abs...

Six pack?


Try an eight pack on for size.

This guy's definition is literally amazing.

As someone who uses their body for artistic expression, I can certainly appreciate the utter beauty of a well sculpted form.

God, can I...

"See something you like, gorgeous?"

Even when that cocksure tone hits my ears, I can't stop my eyes from eating him up. He uses the now wadded t-shirt to wipe away some of the wetness that has trickled down his stomach.

Yes, I'm definitely feeling woozy.

And it's not the jet lag that has my brain taking a mental pause either.

As much as I'm having my very own private moment with this guy's amazing body, I can't help but become aware of the catcalls and whistles now coming from all directions. Glancing slowly around me, I realize there are pockets of girls who have also stopped to admire the bare chested Adonis in front of me.

The tips of my ears reignite with heat. Wanting to distance myself from the calamity, I take a hasty step backwards.

Then another one.

"I really am sorry," I mumble again, all the while continuing to back away from him. He's just on the verge of opening his mouth when I suddenly turn and bolt down the wide sidewalk. As I do, I can't resist throwing one last look over my shoulder. Our eyes lock for just a moment before he's swallowed up by a surging crowd of onlookers.

But still his blue-green colored eyes stay fastened on mine as I hightail it to my ten o'clock class which I’m now late for. Not that there's anything good about what just occurred back there, but I'm sure as hell wide awake now. I suppose that's an unexpected bonus regarding the disaster I'm currently sprinting away from. Raising a hand to my cheeks, I realize they're still burning with humiliation.

The only thing I can do is shake it off and move on with the rest of my day.

Barnett has about twenty thousand students so the chances of running into that guy again are slim to none. At least that's what I keep telling myself because it makes me feel decidedly better.

It takes all of five minutes for me to bust through the heavy doors of Adler Hall which is one of the business buildings here on campus. I glance at my schedule. Room 305. Quickly I jog up two flights of stairs before heading down a long echoing corridor until I finally find the room. It's a small class. Probably around twenty-four students since this is a higher level business course.

Luckily, the professor is still talking with a student at the front of the room and hasn't officially started class. Breathing out a heavy sigh of relief, I slide into a desk at the far side of the room and drop my bag to the floor before repositioning my sunglasses on top of my head. I'm winded and still feeling frazzled by what just happened with that guy.

But that's over with now. Other than to fantasize about that amazing chest of his (probably late at night when I'm feeling sexually frustrated), I never want to think about him or the whole mortifying incident ever again.

As far as I’m concerned, it never happened.

As Professor Paulson begins class, I take out my laptop and start typing away. Fifteen minutes into it, my pulse has finally settled and I'm no longer thinking about spilling an entire drink on some unsuspecting stranger when the door to the classroom creeks open and in strolls Mr. Abs of Steel himself. Eyes bulging out of my head, I actually do a double take because I can't believe it's really him. The entire class turns to stare. Even the professor halts her lecture mid-sentence.

Unconsciously I slump in my chair before subtly shielding my face in a lame attempt to hide even though I know there's absolutely no way in hell he'll recognize me. I mean, I had on huge sunglasses that practically swallowed up my entire face. And he’s not even looking in my direction.

I wait for the professor to lay into him for disrupting her class. Carefully peeking through my fingers, I notice he's now wearing a bright blue t-shirt and his denim has been changed as well. Which probably means that him being late to class is entirely my fault.

Thankfully he's still looking at the professor, not me. I'm clear across the room parked near the windows several rows over from where he's standing.

"Sorry, Dr. Paulson, I was delayed on the way over."

I’m going to wager that this is the part where Dr. Paulson rather embarrassingly rips him a new one in front of the entire class. I almost cringe waiting for it to happen because obviously I’m the one to blame for his tardiness. Not that I'll be apologizing any time soon. Because I don't plan on conversing with this guy ever again.

My entire body tenses as I wait for her to make some humiliating example out of him to scare everyone else into being prompt for the rest of the semester.

Wait for it…

Here it comes…

Much to my surprise, Dr. Paulson going off the deep end in a scary tirade revolving around promptness and respect never happens.

Slowly my brows draw together in confusion.

Because the woman almost looks like...

Um... is she... is she actually blushing?

That can’t be.

For goodness sake, our professor has to be at least forty. If not older. I squint as if I can't quite believe what I'm seeing. Yep, she's definitely blushing like some kind of tween coming face to face with one of the dudes from One Direction. Now she's tucking a stray piece of mousy brown hair behind her ear as she shifts from one orthopedic shod foot to the other.

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