Stars (Penmore #1) (9 page)

When I silently enter the back of the hall, my eyes go straight to the back row and notice she isn’t in the same spot. After busting my ass to get here from the field, I’m pissed she hasn’t come to class. That is until I catch her wide amber eyes gazing at me from the corner of the room. She’s in the furthest crook of the lecture theatre, almost camouflaged by the students surrounding her. But she’s watching me. Her gorgeous honey eyes make her stand out from the crowd. I can tell she’s been waiting for me.

Fuck if that isn’t a turn-on.

Her eyes don’t leave mine as I stalk toward her. The professor seems to have everyone else’s attention captured by jumping around and waving his arms. But her pools of gold stay locked on me. I notice there is an empty seat beside her. Which makes me smile wide, aiming that shit directly at her.

PARKER

He is walking toward me. He’s completely focused on getting to me and not noticing that all the girls in the hall are following his movements. And he is smiling
at me
. I have no idea what I’m going to do or say when he reaches me. He’s probably going to expect me to be able to form words, what with me being a college student and all. I’m definitely not letting those words be,
Hi, I’m Parker. I’ve been secretly watching you for the last thirteen years. Oh, and I tried to approach you on what looked like the worst day of your childhood. Remember me?

Shit, what happens if I accidently say those words?

Now that I’ve thought them, they’re probably going to be the first thing that falls from my mouth. That always happens to me. The minute I tell myself not to do something, I always accidently do it.

Oh, God.

And sure, I managed to speak with him last week, but I had just suffered a brain injury. Okay, I only had a bruise on my head. But it
felt
like a brain injury. And I thought maybe, just maybe, I had hallucinated the whole thing. I’m sure that’s probably totally common with brain injuries. That is until two minutes ago when he dashed into the hall, gazing at all the students with what looked like disappointment until he locked his eyes on mine.

Christ, he is gorgeous.

I know I should probably think he’s handsome or devilish, which he also is. But as the lights bounce off his thick, dark hair and his crystal-blue eyes lock on me, he is the epitome of male beauty. It’s actually nonsensical. No one should be that good-looking.

“So, we’ve changed locations.”

“Um.”

“You know, I think you’re completely right. This should definitely be our spot from now on.”

“Ah.”

“It’s much more private in the corner. No one will notice when we stop working and start making out.”

Okay, now
that
has snapped me out of my haze of ‘Grayson Waters is a living fantasy sitting beside me, smelling better than last week and acting like we’ve been chatting since we were five’. But his suggestion that I would make out with him in the hall actually
pisses
me off
.

“I’m not going to be making out with you in class,” I tell him, crossing my arms and directing my attention toward the front of the room. My first full sentence to Grayson Waters today and it comes out completely judgmental and scolding. Great.

It just occurred to me as he leaned over, whispering his suggestion into my ear, that he thought I might be like one of his groupies. One of his many fans who will do whatever he suggests. I am
not
going to corrupt my sanctuary to be one of his football groupies. The coffee girl might be willing to hand over her goods, and Marissa might be willing to be one of many, but that wasn’t me.

He was my dream for sure.

But his pretty eyes wouldn’t fuck with me or disrespect the one place that makes me feel smart and comfortable.

“Stars, I’m just kidding,” he says, leaning back in his chair, his arm brushing against mine.

I feel this electric current from the point where we touch. Hot. Fast. Consuming. It causes parts of my body to shudder and strongly demand that he start making out with me despite us being in my holy grail.

“Oh.”

Great. Now I’m back to breathless syllables.

I’m looking straight ahead, but I’m not really seeing anything. Instead, I’m focused on the warmth of his body and the reaction my pulse is having to being so close to him.

“So, Stars, I’m happy to keep sitting here, but it looks like class is over,” he tells me as he tilts his head sideways, throws his arm across the back of my seat and tries to dim his shit-eating grin.

Crap
.

I look around this time, actually seeing the classroom and what I’ve been pretending to stare at, and realize the hall
is
, in fact, empty. So apparently in the time I spent waiting and watching for Grayson, I missed the introduction of the lesson. Then when he finally arrived, I watched him find me and locate a seat right beside me, which caused me to miss the middle of the discussion. And as he pressed against me and whispered in my ear, I seemed to have been so consumed in his presence that I didn’t notice the lecture ended and everyone left.

Well, great.

I really thought I had hit my quota of embarrassing activities in this lecture hall.

“Oh, um, yeah.” Awesome. He just grins at me. Way too pleased with himself. I reach down for my handbag and begin to put my laptop away. Letting my curly hair hide my face as well as the mortification of my stupid mumbling and actions. When I stand up and straighten, he reaches out and shifts the hair that has fallen in front of my face to behind my ear.

“Highlight of my week,” he says softly. His face has lost all prior cockiness, instead appearing fervent and attentive.

“Um.”

“Should probably know your name though,” he tells me, his eyes filled with humor.

“Parker.”

At least I finally managed to get my name out.

“Okay, Parker. So as much as I want to make out with you right now, I’m not going to. You seemed a little pissed at that suggestion,” he states, teasing me a little as he looks into my eyes. Then he reaches for my hand. “But I’m going to kiss your palm. If it’s going to be a whole week before I get to see you, I need to at least have a little taste. Don’t run.”

I can’t do anything except just nod and remain transfixed, standing completely still in our small corner of the lecture hall. The little part of me that was never totally healed from being ignored by my first crush vanishes. In its place, the fact that I finally managed to tell the angry eight-year-old boy my name fills me with shock. I was also completely bewildered by the fact that Grayson was looking at me as if I’m the most amazing thing he’s ever seen. I was actually witnessing the unattainable boy-next-door softly pressing his lips to the inside of my slightly shaking palm, while we stood alone in my divine sanctuary.

If I had just met him, having no idea who he was, and was faced with this tall, handsome stranger with ocean eyes kissing my palm, I’m sure my heart would have fallen for him. But my heart was already slightly his because I knew who he was; I knew how special, thoughtful, funny, athletic, strong and caring he could be.

So instead of falling in this moment, my heart crashes at his feet.

Completely obliterated.

A thousand tiny pieces scattered across the polished concrete floor of the lecture hall.

GRAYSON

I’m stalking her. I followed her after spotting her walking into Reed Hall, and now I’m waiting for her class to finish. Fuck. I think the police would absolutely classify my actions as stalking. I do have coffee though. Surely, it doesn’t count as crazy, possibly homicidal pestering if you bring a hot beverage. I’m pretty sure none of the chainsaw-toting, knife-wielding serial killers I’ve seen in the movies brought a caramel latte to their victims. Yep, she won’t freak out. Maybe I should have also bought her a pastry?

This is Marissa’s fault. I tell her I met a girl in class, who is unlike all the others. She hasn’t shoved her phone number in my back pocket, so she can
really
feel my ass. She hasn’t accidently dropped things in front of me so she
has to
bend over and pick them up. She is the first girl, besides Marissa, who hasn’t given me sex eyes and nodded when I explained this would be a one-time-only thing. Although, with all the fantasies I have been having about Stars, I probably wouldn’t give her the ‘one time only’ spiel.

I keep imagining her silky brown curls spread over the leather seats of my car, her amber eyes looking up at me as her head rests on the pillows of my bed and her legs wrapped in those tight jeans around my waist as we lean against the library stacks. Not that I’m sure she wants more than one time. She did let me kiss her hand in class, smiled at me then walked out. I also think I heard her whisper, “Bye, Grayson,” but other than that, she hasn’t said anything to let me know she’s interested.

She is the first girl I can’t get out of my head. Sure, last lesson I was certain she had been waiting for me, but Marissa said if she hadn’t said anything concrete then Parker might not be into me. Apparently, Maris had read a book all about how to tell if someone isn’t interested. And if someone wants you, they do whatever it takes to show you how much.

Shit, only chicks would read a book about how to tell if someone
didn’t
like you.

Marissa suggested that the next time I see Stars, I bring coffee and try to ask her questions about herself, like where she’s from and what her major is, to get to know her. Show her I’m hooked on her. So here I am, skipping my first classes to lean against the sandstone exterior of Reed Hall with coffee, waiting to ask Parker about her major and her life.

Marissa went on and on about how I had to actually
listen
to Parker’s responses, and that some guy she was interested in never listened to her. To be honest, she started ranting and I completely blocked her out. I started picturing the new brunette heroine with golden eyes I had been writing in all my stories. I was completely inspired and couldn’t wait to have another opportunity to be near her.

PARKER

If Tuesdays are my favorite days for classes, Fridays are my least favorite. Sure, Reed Hall is pretty and the teacher can be amusing. But my self-absorbed, pretentious classmates suck ass. Or at least the ones in front of me do. I am stuck sitting right behind nearly the entire cheerleader squad. And unlike Elle Woods, none of these plastic Barbies are cute and witty and demonstrate their hidden intelligence through their stimulating conversations. I really hate when bad stereotypes have living representatives.

Every Friday, like clockwork, they talk about their last manicure, current hairstyle and their upcoming weekend plans—or, more accurately, whom they think might sleep with the Grayson Waters. “So, he has been with Tiffany, Sarah, Ashley and Britney this month alone. He is such a dick. He slept with me last semester
and
Nicole. It’s like he plans to work his way through our entire team. If Tiffany says one more word about her awesome experience, I’m pretty sure Ash is going to hit her. He is causing problems with our solidarity.”

“That’s why he’s so hot though, because he’s such a bad boy. I really hope he comes to Dylan’s frat party. ”

“Have you heard that he tells all the girls he sleeps with that he only does one-night stands?”

“And he never goes to Lucky’s, so you never have to worry that he’ll have a limp dick from alcohol.”

I can’t help but roll my eyes at their ridiculous chatter. I pull out my iPhone and ear buds and spend the rest of the lecture listening to Taylor Swift’s “You Belong With Me”. I love the song, but mostly I listen to it out of habit. I’m not so delusional that I believe that Grayson really
belongs
with me, even if I did occasionally daydream about the future we could share. All through high school, when I would over hear the girls talking all about Grayson, like they knew him and how he was a bad boy they would change, I would pop in my ear buds and hum along with Taylor Swift.

Thinking about how wrong all the girls he went on dates with were for him and how little they really knew. Grayson wasn’t bad. Sure, he was spoiled when it came to the girls who threw themselves at him and as a result often didn’t respect them. He was completely hopeless when it came to personal security. Way too arrogant for his own good. But he wasn’t a stereotypical bad boy. He spent too long trying to protect anyone who looked like they may be picked on. He never drank. He used his spare time to cheer his mom up by dancing around the house and singing old Frank Sinatra songs to her. He was a football star who preferred to talk about the accomplishments of his teammates over his own skill set. He also liked to keep a diary. Well, I
think
it was a diary. He was always writing at home in a black and white notebook, and he seemed to hide it whenever anyone walked into his room.