King of Campus

By: Jennifer Sucevic

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.

"Don't worry about it, Mr. King. See me after class and I'll get you caught up to speed on what you missed."

In response, he dazzles her with a full blown smile. Even though the look isn't directed at me, I'm embarrassed to admit that my panties instantly flood with heat. I think a good number of the females sigh in response as well.

"Thanks, Dr. P." He gives her a little wink. “You’re the best.”

This guy is totally shameless.


Again I cover my face as he glances around the room before sauntering up the first row closest to the door and parking himself near the front. All the girls in his general vicinity gravitate towards him as if he has some kind of magnetic pull. All the guys give him fist bumps and back slaps.

It's all a little ridiculous.

Who the hell is this guy anyway?

"You don't know who Roan King is?"

Surprised, I turn towards the girl sitting in the row directly across from me. Unless this chick is a mind reader, I must have muttered the question out loud. Silently I shake my head.

She gives me an odd look like I must have crawled out from under a rock just to attend this class. Which prompts me to say with just a touch of defensiveness, "I did a study abroad program last year. I just got back to town yesterday."

Apparently this makes perfect sense and I am no longer a huge loser who hides under rocks.

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