I take a few off the top to hand to the student at the front of the row. As the papers exchange hands, their fingers slide against mine.

  I twitch back a step. It’s John Kirby.

  He officially moved to the front of the lecture hall last week. I’ve felt his eyes on me every class since then. If he blinked at all, I didn’t see it. Instead of relying on the usual trick to not feel as nervous, I’ve spent two weeks trying not to imagine John in nothing but his boxers. Or briefs. I wonder which he wears?

  No. No, I don’t.

  Teacher. Student.

  I finish passing out the quizzes and take my seat behind the teacher’s desk. As soon as my butt hits the chair, John rises out of his and walks over to me with a blank expression on his face. I brace myself as he lays his finished quiz in front of me, his dark eyes boring down at me. I shudder slightly.

  He reaches into his backpack. Without a word, he withdraws a banana and sets it down on the desk between us.

  I raise a brow, my eyes flicking from him to the yellow fruit and back again.

  John winks at me before walking straight through the exit as if it had never happened at all.

  What the fuck?

  I climb the stairs of Prism Hall from the ground floor to the fourth where the offices are, spending every step trying to figure out what the hell this banana is supposed to mean.

  As I reach the landing, I pull out my phone and snap a photo of it in my hand.

  Luckily, I have Daisy. I text the photo to her, hoping that she’ll shed some much-needed light on it.

  Almost instantly, the phone rings. I answer it.

  “Hey, sis.”

  “Hey there. So…” Her throat clears. “Why did you just send me a picture of a banana?”

  “Because John Kirby gave it to me, winked, and walked off.”

  “He what?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Where were you?”

  “In class,” I answer. “We had a pop quiz. He handed it in, then he gave me the banana.”

  “He gave you his banana?”

  “A banana.”

  “He walked up, gave you his banana, winked, and walked off?”

  “A banana.”

  “Holy shit.”

  “What?”

  “He gave you his banana!”

  She cackles even louder. I sigh with frustration.

  “What’s so funny?” I ask.

  “Come on. This is funny,” she says. “What fruit do students usually give their teachers?”

  I think for a moment. “Apples?”

  “I guess a banana was a little more on-the-nose.”

  “Yeah, I was afraid of that,” I say as I open the stairwell door and walk into the fourth floor hallway.

  “He wants you, Rose. Congratulations.”

  “Oh, no-no,” I say, shaking my head. “No congratulations, Daisy. This is not good.”

  “What the hell are you talking about? This guy sounds awesome. I like him already.”

  I keep my voice down as I bolt toward the office. “No, this is not awesome. This is not okay. We are not pretending that this is okay.”

  “Why not?”

  “Hello?” I whisper with bite. “Teacher. Student. Inappropriate.”

  She blows a raspberry. “Rules were made to be broken, Rose. Now, go cash in that phallic-shaped fruit bargain and then call me afterward to tell me how curved it was.”

  “Ew.” I cringe. “No.”

  She sighs with deep disappointment. “Your poor end zone.”

  “Stop calling it that.”

  “Start filling it with something other than bubble baths and battery-powered machinery, and I will.”

  I enter my office, prepping to greet any other TAs inside. It’s empty. Good.

  “I thought he had moved on from me,” I say, tossing my bag onto the desk. “A solid week without flirty emails or after class chats and now…”

  “Penis fruit.”

  “Yeah.” I set it down and stare at it again. “Penis fruit.”

  “Do I detect a little excitement in your voice, Rose?”

  I sit down, and the chair squeaks loudly beneath me. “No.”

  “Just admit that you’re attracted to the guy, please.”

  “I never said I wasn’t, Daisy,” I point out. “John Kirby is extremely handsome, but…”

  “Teacher. Student.”

  “It’s not just that. I’ve done the whole college guy thing before, remember? It didn’t work out.”

  “Don’t let that little bastard ruin mankind for you,” she says. “Besides, isn’t that what you need right now? Casual. No strings attached. You know. Fun?”

  I don’t answer.

  “Look, sis,” she says, “you do what you think is best for you. I just don’t like the idea of you passing up opportunities because you’re scared of what life is like outside of that safety bubble you live in.”

  “I don’t live in a—”

  “Rose.”

  I sigh. “Okay, fine. You might have a point.” I tap the mouse to wake up the computer. “Daisy, I gotta go. I have some quizzes to grade.”

  “Have fun!” she says. “And I mean that, by the way. It is Friday.”

  “I will. Thanks.”

  I hang up and flip open my bag to pull out the large stack of papers nestled in the bottom. Ten questions, all multiple choice. I should be able to blow through these quickly, pick up dinner, and make it home with plenty of hours to spare to get some recreational reading in before bed.

  Wow. I really do live in a safety bubble.

  I grab the first quiz off the top and I pause, my eyes sliding across the desk toward that damn banana. My stomach growls, but I don’t dare reach for it. I’ll stay hungry.

  If John wanted to get inside my head, he definitely succeeded. It was hard enough not imagining him in his underwear in class. I’ll never look at another banana the same way again, that’s for sure.

  And that wink he gave me…

  Dammit. Focus, Rose.

  I snatch the banana and drop it into the top desk drawer, quickly slamming it closed. Out of sight, out of mind. I just need to get everything that reminds me of John Kirby out of my space so I can get this work done.

  I flip to the bottom of the stack and take the last quiz out, reading John’s name scratched at the top. Well, he’s definitely been paying attention in class. He got all the questions right. I grab the computer mouse, find his name in my grade book, and type out his grade.

  There. John Kirby done. No more John Kirby.

  I spot the student profile icon next to his name. My fingers twitch.

  No. Don’t do it, Rose.

  I click the icon. His student ID photo pops up on my screen above an overview of his activity. Even here he’s staring back at me with that handsome smirk. I scroll down, skimming over his academic portfolio. His class schedule. His declared major. His transcript. Any and everything I may want to know about John Kirby, the big dumb jock.

  Wait a second…

  I scroll back to his transcript again, thinking that maybe I’ve gotten him mixed up with another John Kirby. But nope. This is definitely him.

  John Kirby is a big jock all right, but he’s not dumb. Not at all. Far from it, actually.

  Maybe I am wrong about him. If what I’m reading here is correct, then there’s a whole lot more to John than meets the eye.

  My stomach growls again. I open the desk drawer to grab the banana. I peel it and take a slow bite of it while I stare at his photo.

  Who the hell is this guy?

  CHAPTER 8

  JOHN

  “You’re next shift, Kirby.”

  I grimace with my head down, but flash my house alpha, Brick, a wide smile as I look up from the ping-pong table. “You got it, Brick!” I say, giving him a fingergun, too.

  He walks off, disappearing into the kitchen with a Beta Kappa brunette beneath his arm.

  “Shift?” Grant asks from across the table. “What shift?”

  I bounce the ping-pong ball off the table once, twice, before lining up my shot. “New university policy,” I explain. “We have to card at the door.”

  He blinks. “No shit?”

  I toss the ball, missing his last cup by an inch. “You weren’t stopped?” I ask. “They should have checked you on the way in.”

  Grant lets out an elongated chuckle. “Honey, no one stops me from making an entrance.” He gestures at our game in progress. “Let’s finish this up before Daddy Delta Xi barks at you again.”

  “Oh, Johnny…”

  I feel a push against my elbow. I look down as a head of blonde hair forces my arm up and a petite body nestles beneath it. For a moment, I picture a different face peering at me. Blue eyes. Brown-framed glasses. A tender smile.

  But it’s not Rose. It’s just Samantha Jaxx.

  “Hey, Samantha,” I say as Grant flawlessly sinks a ping-pong ball into one of my cups.

  “Boom,” he says, cool and nonchalant.

  I awkwardly reach for the cup as Samantha leans in even closer. She’s got her sizable cleavage pressed against me so hard I can almost feel the nipple rings digging into my chest through her dress.

  “Oh, you poor baby,” she mewls.

  “Lucky shot,” I say before drinking it down.

  “After this round, how about you take me upstairs to your room?” she asks. “I could give you a little TLC.”

  Grant cants his head, interested in my response.

  I nod, opening my mouth to say yes, but another vision of blue eyes makes me pause.

  “No, thanks,” I say instead, pinching a ping-pong ball between my fingers. “I’ve got door shift next.”

  “How about afterward?” Samantha whispers at me, her voice barely carrying over the surrounding party. She licks her lips as bait, but my boxers don’t feel the least bit tighter.

  “No, thank you, Samantha,” I say again.

  She rolls her big eyes. Green ones. Not blues. “Whatever.”

  Without another word, she stumbles off through the house. I don’t feel too bad about it. She’s Samantha Jaxx, the Beta Kappa version of John Kirby. She’ll find another guy to entertain herself with tonight. Always does.

  I toss a ping-pong ball toward Grant’s cups, but it bounces off the table down to the floor. He lets it tumble away, staring back at me with a cocked brow.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Nothing.” He smiles. “That’s only the third girl tonight you’ve brushed off. That’s all.”

  “You’re keeping track?”

  “It is my solemn duty to observe and report on all the goings-on and social shenanigans that take place on Greek Row. Especially in the Delta Xi house.”

  “Why?”

  “Alyssa.”

  I nod, understanding. “Ah.”

  “She’s bored and in dire need of entertainment. The juicier the better. For instance—” He gestures over my shoulder. “You see that?”

  I look back, spotting two of my Delta Xi brothers across the floor, Drew Rose and Seth Newbury. They’re standing next to two girls I don’t recognize. Freshman, most likely.

  “What about it?” I ask Grant.

  “That, my friend, is a powder keg,” he says.

  I glance at them again, but I see nothing weird about it. “How so?”

  “Well, the short girl is Seth’s little sister.”

  “I didn’t know Newbury had a sister.”

  “I didn’t either. Now, check out the way Drew is looking at her.”

  I peek at them again, catching the way Drew’s eyes suddenly drop as hers look up. It’s subtle, but noticeable if you’re looking for it.

  Drew’s got a crush.

  I shake my head at Grant. “No way, man.”

  “Yes way, sir.”

  “Drew is a boy scout,” I argue. “There’s no way he’d diddle his roommate’s little sister.”

  “Drew is a sexy, rich, entitled man with a beach house and a party yacht and will diddle whoever he wants — probably on said yacht.”

  “Not her, though.”

  “Ten bucks says he nails her by the end of the semester.”

  I snort as he lines up his shot. “You’re on.”

  Grant tosses the ball and it plops into my cup.

  “Dammit,” I say.

  “So, tell me about her.”

  I grab the ball and take aim at his cups again. “I told you, I don’t know her.”

  “Not the little sister,” he says. “I’m talking about your new girlfriend.”

  “I don’t have a new girlfriend.”

  “Then why have you been dodging Beta Kappas all night?”

  I miss again. “Because I have door shift next.”

  “Or you have a girl you’d like to befriend and the ladies throwing themselves at you just aren’t doing it for you anymore.”

  He picks up the ball, flicks his wrist, and fires the ball directly into my cup with a hard splash.

  I swallow the drink with a hard gulp. “What the hell do you know?”

  Grant grins. “You went on the defense real fast there, Johnny. Want to try that one again?”

  “Don’t call me Johnny.” I watch as he lines up a second shot, his eyes squinting behind perfectly trimmed blond bangs. “I guess my focus is a little pointed at the moment.”

  “No shit.” Grant tosses the ball, once again landing it directly in one of my cups. “I heard about your little trifecta challenge.”

  I drink it down. “You’re one gossipy bitch, Grant.”

  “And you’re falling behind the competition.”

  I glance around for Douglas, just in case. “How so?”

  “Word on the quad says Dougie’s already one out of three.”

  Dammit.

  “Are you sure?” I ask.

  He shrugs. “I never assume you guys get as much tail as you claim to. I’m just passing on what I heard. Apparently, he still needs the alumnus and the teacher.”

  “Those are the hardest ones,” I say. “I’m this close to the teacher myself. Once I’m done, the freshman is cake. And Homecoming is coming up. Easy pickings for the alumnus.”

  “If you say so.” He grabs another ball and throws it without even aiming, and it still pops directly into my cup. “And that’s game.”

  “Your talents are wasted on that theatre degree, Grant,” I say, picking up the cup.

  “Oh, please.” He smirks. “I’ve played with more balls than you have.”

  I laugh. “You’re definitely right about that.”

  He abandons the table. “Speaking of which, I’m going to go find Ty.”

  “TMI, dude.”

  “Deal with it, Johnny. Good luck at the game tomorrow.”

  “Thanks.” I grit my teeth, but I let the nickname slide as I choke down the last cup of beer.

  I smash the plastic cup in my fingers and throw it toward the slumped over trash bag in the corner as my mind instantly focuses on Rose again.

  That look on her face earlier was perfect. Such a delightful mix of intrigue and confusion. I can’t stop replaying the way her brow furrowed and her little button nose twitched. There’s no doubt in my mind it got her attention, but there’s only one way to know for sure.

  I reach into my pocket for my phone. I have to get Rose alone. It’s the only way to read her body language. In public, she’s stiff and professional — completely different from girls like Samantha Jaxx. She’ll never loosen up with me unless it’s just the two of us.

  I tap out an email. Short, sweet, and to the point.

  Hello, Ms. Hawthorne. I could use some extra tutoring for class. Can we set up a time to meet on campus this week? Johnny

  My finger hovers over the send button, but I don’t push it. First, I delete Johnny and replace it with John. Johnny might be a little too informal. I don’t want to spook her again.

  I send the email. It’s a dirty trick, I’ll admit. If she doesn’t meet with me, then she’s a horrible teacher abandoning her student. But if she says yes, then she’s potentially inviting trouble over with a capital T. I don’t feel great about it, but if Grant is right and Douglas is already one out of three, then I have to pick up my pace.

  I stop by the keg and fill a plastic cup on my way toward the porch.

  “Shift change,” I say as I offer the cup to my roommate, Harvey Moon.

  “Thanks, man,” he says, happy to abandon his post.

  I wave to the girl waiting in line. “Next!” I say.

  It’s only thirty minutes. Then, there will be plenty of time for me to go back inside and find a young, deserving freshman to take upstairs with me and I’ll be one out of three, too.

  Or I’ll just crash. Might be too tired for freshman pep tonight.

  My phone chimes in my pocket with a new email. I briefly glance at the girl’s ID — turned twenty-one a week ago, lucky gal — then grab my phone to check it.

  Sure, John. Come by the TA office during my office hours. Bring your notes! Ms. Hawthorne

  “Yes,” I whisper.

  “Late shift, eh, Kirby?”

  I look up to see Douglas leaning against the banister surrounding the porch with a head full of blonde hair sucking his neck. For a second, a burst of anger surges through me as I see Rose in his thick arms, but I realize that it’s just Samantha. I guess she found her plaything for the night.

  “Yep,” I answer.

  He smirks. “Too bad.”

  I turn away from them and wave the next guy forward, actively ignoring the black tar taking over my gut. It’s not Rose — I know it’s not Rose — but the mental image still twists me up inside. Not that I have anything to worry about, though. There’s no way Rose would ever get involved with a dick like Douglas Floyd. He’s arrogant. And rude. Vulgar and loud. Kind of like… well, me. I guess.

  But I’ve got nothing to worry about. I’m the fastest halfback Chicago North has ever seen, but slow and steady is going to win this race.

  I smile. “Next!”

  CHAPTER 9

  ROSE

  “Ms. Hawthorne,” Daisy says. “So official!”

  I watch the football game in progress from my seat on the bleachers. “Shut up,” I laugh into the phone, pressing it a little harder into my ear to hear her over the screaming Northies. “Just decipher the email, please.”