“Don’t get too cocky,” I warn. “This challenge has overwhelmed the best of men.”

  His eyes twinkle. “Not this one.”

  I smirk to conceal the contempt.

  What a douche.

  “Anyone else?” I ask the room.

  Half of the team has taken off already. The rest of them shake their heads at me, smiling widely with amusement.

  “Okay, then.” I extend my hand to Douglas. “Looks like it’s just you and me.”

  He glances at my hand, but he doesn’t take it. “We should make this more interesting first.”

  “Oh?” I raise a brow. “What do you have in mind?”

  “Well, if it’s just the two of us, how about we race?” he asks, his lips curling. “First man across the finish line wins.”

  “Wins what?”

  “Victory would be its own reward in this case, wouldn’t it?”

  I pause, admiring his tenacity, but also screaming inside. “I like that. You’re on.”

  We shake hands, and I look around at the rest of our team.

  “You all witnessed this!” My voice echoes off the walls. “You will hold us accountable.”

  They nod, laughing silently to themselves.

  “May the best man win, Kirby,” Douglas says to me.

  “May the best man win,” I repeat.

  He pushes off the lockers and throws a shirt over his head. It knocks a few strands loose from his bun, but he still looks like he’s about to sweep me off my feet for a blissfully erotic happily ever after.

  Jerk.

  For a second, I feel a twist of doubt deep within my gut. Achieving the trifecta was always going to be a challenge, but now it’s a full-blown competition between gentlemen. That wouldn’t be a problem, usually, but now that Douglas Floyd is involved, I’m nervous.

  But I shouldn’t be. I’m John fucking Kirby. I’m the fastest halfback in college football.

  I got this.

  I return to my locker and gather my clothes, feeling a little more confident with each wink I give myself in the mirror.

  Classes start tomorrow morning.

  Time to hunt.

  CHAPTER 2

  ROSE

  I push open his office door and stick my head inside. “Dr. Zach?”

  When I see he’s talking on the phone behind his desk, I nod apologetically and duck out, but he waves me back in.

  I move quietly and sit down in the chair by his desk, trying not to make too much noise as he wraps up his conversation. He rolls his eyes at me and smiles, so he’s obviously keen to dump the call. I scan the room, checking for any changes since last semester, but Dr. Payton Zach has always been a simple guy. He’s got his books and his file cabinet and his mini-fridge full of diet soda and snack cakes. There’s only one decoration on the wall, other than his many degrees and certifications, and that’s a poster I got him when I graduated of the Periodic Table of Chocolate.

  “Yeah…” he says, blinking impatiently. “Look, I gotta run. My TA just arrived, but email me the rest, all right?”

  When he hangs up, he lets the phone drop hard onto its cradle. “Thank you, Rose,” he says, sitting back. “That was hour number two of that phone call.”

  “Is everything okay?”

  He waves a hand and runs his fingers through his black and gray-speckled hair. “Just a little drama with the new department head.”

  “There’s a new one?” I ask.

  “There will be soon, but it’s nothing you need to worry about.” He pauses and smiles at me, his eyes soft and amused. “And here you are.”

  “Here I am.”

  “It seems like only yesterday you walked in here. A bright-eyed and bushy-tailed freshman.”

  I cringe. “Don’t remind me.”

  “And now you’re my teaching assistant. Are you nervous?”

  “Yes.”

  He laughs. “Don’t be. It’s General Chemistry. Nothing you can’t handle in your sleep. You nailed the training course. Now, it’s just application.”

  “You make it sound so science-y.”

  “Everything is science.” He pulls a folder from his desk drawer. “Now, I shouldn’t have to go over this with you. It’s, frankly, a waste of both of our time, but it’s a requirement.”

  He hands the folder to me and I scan the top page.

  “Ethical guidelines?” I read aloud.

  “Just basic common sense,” he says. “Treat all students fairly. No discrimination of any kind. No harassment. No inappropriate touching. I know you’re still a student yourself, but you’re also an authority figure now, so try to keep all those videos of you doing keg stands off your social media, all right?”

  “Oh, you know me, Dr. Zach.” I laugh sarcastically. “Me and my keg stands. Every weekend.”

  “Right.” He nods. “Like I said, a waste of time, but…”

  “Required.”

  “Exactly.” He hands me another folder. “Here’s our syllabus and lesson plans for the first few weeks.”

  I peek inside, excited. “The good stuff.”

  “I’ll do the talking for the first class tomorrow. On Wednesday, the floor is yours.”

  “Wednesday?” My chest lurches. “This Wednesday?”

  He grins. “You’ll do fine, Rose. It’s chapter one. You probably know it better than I do. If you get stuck, just follow the syllabus.”

  I swallow the rock in my throat. “Oh, yeah. Sure. No problem.”

  “Still nervous?”

  “Yes.”

  He laughs. “Too bad. Get it out of your system by Wednesday. Or just do as I do and imagine the entire class in their underwear.”

  I force a nod. “I think I can do that.”

  “Good girl.” He stands up. “Let me show you where your office is.”

  “I have an office?”

  “Well…” He shrugs. “It’s more closet-like than this one and you have to share it with other TAs, but—”

  I leap out of my chair. “Who cares? I have an office!”

  He laughs and I follow him down the hall with wide eyes.

  “So, you’re actually a teacher now?” My sister chuckles. “Those poor children.”

  “They’re undergrads, Daisy,” I say into the phone. “Not children.”

  “Still,” she says. “My twin is responsible for the intellectual maturity of living human beings. Some kind of mistake has been made.”

  “Ha-ha.” I glance across my living room at the television, half-paying attention to the football game in progress while I go over the syllabus and lesson plans for the first few classes. “You’re watching the game, right?”

  “Uh…” I hear her snatching the remote off a table. “Yes?”

  My sister lives in Boston, so I don’t get to see her in person as often as I’d like to. We always get on the phone and watch the games together, though. Football in the fall. Baseball in the spring. Whatever is on, as long as it’s college. Our little tradition.

  I chuckle. “You’ve only missed ten minutes.”

  “Is that all?” she groans.

  I roll my eyes and glance down the class list, scanning the names one-by-one until I reach the K’s when a name jumps out at me.

  “Holy crap,” I mumble.

  “What?”

  “One of my students is John Kirby.”

  “Who?”

  “John Kirby!”

  “Cool?”

  “He’s a Bearhawk!”

  “Are we talking about the quarterback?” she asks. “Because he’s hot as fuck.”

  “No, that’s Junior Morgan. John Kirby is the halfback.”

  “Oh, right.” A short pause. “What’s a halfback again?”

  I sigh and point at the television, even though she can’t see me. “Okay, look at the offensive line right now.”

  “… All right.”

  “You see the three guys behind the quarterback?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “The one the quarterback just handed the ball to,” I say, “and is now bolting down the field to score a touchdown.”

  “I see him.”

  “That’s the halfback.”

  “Oh, don’t sound so condescending, lady.” She laughs. “How many times have you asked me what a shortstop does?”

  I tilt my head. Daisy is as nuts about baseball as I am about football. “Fair enough,” I say, grabbing my glass of water.

  “So, you gonna bang him?”

  Liquid tumbles down the wrong pipe and I choke, coughing it out into the arm of my sweater. “No—” I spit. “Jeez, Daisy. He’s a student.”

  “So are you.”

  “A graduate student. As a TA, I’m an authority figure. No student-teacher relations allowed with the undergrads.”

  “I bet he likes a woman on top. Inquire and report back, please.”

  I wipe the dribble off my chin. “No.”

  “I’m just saying, isn’t it about time you did it?” she asks.

  “No.”

  “Rose, you’re twenty-one years old.”

  “Daisy, we’re twenty-two.”

  “Are we?” she asks, confused. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “Damn.” She exhales. “Okay, well, that does not help your case.”

  I sigh. “I’m waiting for the right person.”

  “There’s no such thing as the right person, Rose. Trust me.”

  “Well, I prefer to believe otherwise.”

  “And I’d prefer to have a sister who wasn’t wound tighter than a monkey’s butthole. A little halfback in your end zone will do you some good.”

  “My end zone is fine, thank you. Worry about your own…” I stutter, pulling from my limited baseball lingo, “… pitcher in your dugout. Or whatever.”

  “That was weak.” She cackles. “I like the dugout euphemism, though. I’ll have to remember that one.”

  “I’m elated that you find my lack of sex life so entertaining, Daisy.”

  “Seriously, Rose…” Her voice drops to a more somber tone. “From one woman to another, I implore you, ditch the V-card this year. I know you had your heart broken once, but that was a million years ago.”

  “He didn’t break my heart.”

  “Whatever. The point is, like… one deep dicking should be enough to cure what ails you. Something casual with no strings attached. The sooner you forget that right person crap, the better off you’ll be.”

  I shake my head. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Thank you. Now, will you please explain to me what the hell is happening in this barbaric caveman sport we’re watching here?”

  “Says the girl who likes the game that’s literally played with sticks.”

  “Fuck you.”

  I smile and look at the television. “They’re second and seven.”

  “They’re what? What color are we again? Blue or green?”

  “Blue,” I say, laughing hard.

  I do the same to her during baseball season. What’s with that guy’s mask? Why nine innings? Why not seven? That helmet looks stupid.

  As I explain the very simple mathematics behind yardage and downs, I scan my class list again.

  John Kirby. I’ve been following him since first he joined the Bearhawks. Most girls gravitate toward Junior Morgan because he’s the QB, but I’ll admit that John Kirby has caught my eye more than any of them. He’s fast — one of the most impressive sprinters I’ve ever seen. He’s not bad on the eyes either.

  But my admiration for him halts at his athletic talent. Sure, he’s hot. But it can’t happen.

  I am the teacher. He is the student.

  Let’s keep it that way.

  CHAPTER 3

  JOHN

  General Chemistry.

  What a joke.

  I just need one more science credit to finish out my general education requirement, so I saved the easiest for last. I aced this class in my sleep in high school. Covalent bonds this, moles that. Periodic Table, blah blah.

  I stare straight ahead at the professor, Dr. Payton Zach. He seems like a decent enough guy, but if his lectures are anything like his syllabus overview, then this will be the most boring class this semester. A quick glance around the room tells me the female students disagree with me. You’d think he was a fucking underwear model or something.

  “Now, before I let you all go today—” Dr. Zach pauses and flashes a grin. “Yes, I’m dismissing you early, but don’t get used to that. It’ll never happen again.” The ladies chuckle. My frown deepens. “I’d like to introduce you all to your TA, Rose Hawthorne.”

  He points to a woman in the front row and I pause, struck down by a bolt of brilliant lightning.

  A teaching assistant.

  That… counts.

  “Rose, how about you stand up and say something?”

  Please be hot. Please be hot. Please be hot.

  I bite my lip with anticipation as she turns around.

  Jackpot.

  Rose Hawthorne is every bit as elegant as her name suggests she should be. Her blonde hair is held back in a loose ponytail. Her face shines with perfect skin and just enough make-up to make you wonder if she’s actually wearing any at all, complete with a pair of brown-framed glasses over her bright eyes. Red cardigan. Tight pencil skirt. Petite and perfect.

  I want her.

  “Hey, guys,” she says, throwing a little wave. “I’m Rose. You guys can call me that or Ms. Hawthorne, whichever you prefer. I don’t really care.”

  She giggles nervously. My groin twitches.

  Holy shit. She’s adorable.

  “Rose will conduct the first few lectures for you guys,” Dr. Zach says. “Feel free to approach her with any questions you may have about the syllabus in general.”

  “Also,” she adds, “I do have office hours, so if you need me to re-explain something from the lecture, just pop on in or you can schedule a one-on-one with me. I’m pretty much always on campus, so send me a message and we’ll work something out. You can find my email on the syllabus.”

  I smirk.

  “All right, guys,” Dr. Zach continues. “That’s it. We’ll see you all back here on Wednesday. Make sure you read chapter one before then. There might be a quiz— yes, already.”

  Everyone rises at once, but I stay seated. Rose lingers by the front desk, patiently waiting for the rest of the students to move out of the way before retrieving her things from her chair. A few of the more ass-kissing students stop to say hello and introduce themselves to her, and she flashes the sweetest smile at each one of them.

  I want that smile.

  I stand up and creep to the front of the lecture hall as she finally has time to gather her things. She bends over and her skirt wraps around her rear, showing off her curves and my pulse pounds even harder.

  Finally, it’s just me and her.

  “Hey, there,” I say.

  She snaps up and flashes that sweet smile of greeting at me. “Hey,” she says.

  “I’m John.” I extend a hand to her and she shakes it without hesitation, giving it the lightest squeeze as if she’s scared she’ll break my fingers.

  “Yeah. I know.” She nods. “John Kirby.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She winces. “Oh, please. None of the ma’am stuff. Ma’am is my mother.”

  I laugh way too hard. Rose blinks with confusion like I’m a damn idiot. It takes all of my concentration to stop.

  Keep it together, Johnny.

  “So—” My voice breaks and I clear my throat to cover it up. “You don’t look old enough to be a teacher.”

  “Thanks,” she says, throwing her bag’s strap over her shoulder.

  I study her face, expecting to see a blush of color, but I get nothing. “Are you a graduate student?”

  “Yeah.”

  “In chemistry?”

  “Yep.”

  “Wow…” I look her up and down. “If I had known scientists looked like you, I would have changed majors a long time ago.”

  “What is your major?”

  Not even a dilated pupil. I’m throwing perfectly good lines at her — arguably cliché ones, I know — but it’s like she doesn’t even notice.

  “Business,” I answer.

  “That’s actually really popular with athletes,” she notes. “That and sociology.”

  “How do you know I’m an athlete?”

  Her eyes flick down at my shirt and I pause, realizing that I’m wearing my fucking jersey.

  “It was nice to meet you, John Kirby,” she says, stepping back toward the door. “I’ll see you in class.”

  “Same to you, Ms. Hawthorne.”

  She disappears into the hallway without even glancing back.

  What the hell?

  Do I have something in my teeth? Did I grow a third eye without noticing? Did I forget to put on deodorant this morning? I’m John fucking Kirby. Women pay attention when I flirt, but she didn’t even bat an eyelash or softly bite her lip or anything.

  I yank the syllabus out of my notebook. Rose’s name is listed directly beneath Dr. Zach’s contact information, along with her email address and office hours.

  Maybe she’s just one of those girls who needs to be wooed more than once. One of those nerdy chicks who doesn’t realize how beautiful she could be if she just let her hair down and took her glasses off once in a while. All she needs is a handsome man to let her know how truly fuckable she really is.

  And I volunteer.

  CHAPTER 4

  ROSE

  Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit.

  John Kirby just talked to me.

  Scratch that. John Kirby just flirted with me.

  I didn’t hallucinate that part, right? Admittedly, I’m not that great at deciphering normal conversation from blatant sexual advances, but there’s only one way to interpret that whole if I had known scientists looked like you comment. I mean, it wasn’t even clever. It was downright cliché.

  Not that it matters. I’m the teacher. He’s the student.

  I walk out of Prism Hall and through the quad on autopilot, dodging the large groups of Northies lounging around on my way toward the library. I have a class in an hour and I want to get a head start on some reading before then. There should be a private study room free. I doubt many people are cooped up in there right now. It’s the first day of classes.