I glance over and notice Blaze has written Not fuck buddies.

“This semester we are going to focus on what people think, how they think, and why they think. There’s nothing off limits in this class, including speech. We want to understand why words have meaning and power, so we will let that shit fly. This will include taboo words associated with sex and anatomy. We do this to understand our world and to make it better, not to belittle or put anyone down. If this bothers you, feel free to leave now. I have special permission to allow anyone to drop the class without explanation this week. But, if you stick it out past Friday’s lecture, you are locked in, and I expect everyone’s honest and thoughtful participation in class discussion as well as the concentration study we will be conducting. Our goal is to understand society and, more importantly, each other.”

There is an awkward silence as Professor Cartwright surveys the room. No one moves.

“I don’t see anyone heading for the door. Good, now, let’s talk about menstruation and why this topic bothers some people. Show of hands, how many men in the room have ever bought feminine products?”

The room is as quiet as a church, and a slow laugh comes from the professor.

He points his finger at all of us. “The guys are lying, and we can’t have that. I know there are some real men in here who’ve run errands for a mom or a sister or a girlfriend. Don’t be shy. Let’s discuss.”

He proceeds to ask people to offer their opinions on why we should or shouldn’t be able to talk openly about these topics.

DING!

Real men buy tampons. Lord knows my two older brothers were all up in my business and took care of anything I ever needed growing up.

I smile down at my paper, drawn into the lesson—a great distraction from the hotness next to me.

Logical, human brain: one point. Illogical, sex-starved, lizard brain: zero.

Easing over a hair, I try to see what he wrote. Suck on a peppermint and jack off.

I bite my lip. WTH. My shoulders shake as I try to not laugh.

“Stop peeking. This is personal,” he whispers out of the corner of his mouth.

“Jacking off usually is,” I whisper back, holding my head down so the professor doesn’t notice. “No wonder you like Christmas. How many peppermints does it take to get you there?”

I sneak a look at him when he doesn’t respond. His eyes meet mine, glinting with laughter. “There’s the sassy girl I know. Smartass.”

The professor continues and I try to focus, but shit, he’s going to be in this class—right next to me—for the whole semester.

DING!

He’s going to drive me crazy.

He wrote, Where’s that Kama Sutra book? I bet she still has it. Get a copy.

I take a deep breath. This is going to be a long semester.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a piece of Big Red gum, unwrapping the red rectangle, popping it in his mouth, and chewing. How can a dude look hot chewing on a stupid piece of gum? I don’t have an answer for that, but of course he manages to pull it off.

I can’t help but see that his fingers play with the foil the gum came in. He presses it flat on the desk and runs his hands across it. Slow and easy, straightening out the lines until it’s smooth as paper. Then he picks it up, folds it, kisses it, and tucks it back in his pocket.

How…strange.

Then I remember.

My heart stops for a second before stuttering back to life.

That gum.

That wrapper.

The words I wrote—

Tears—shit—tears threaten, and I blink them away and clench my fists. Don’t, Charisma. Don’t remember.

DING!

Big Red, I write.

This time I hide my paper, and he does too, cupping his big palm over it. Guards are up. I know mine is, and I can feel his emanating from him like a force field. He doesn’t want me to read what he wrote, and frankly, I’m terrified to know what he remembers.

Did he get the note I left on his door the night he dumped me? It was after three in the morning and dark out, and his place was dead silent.

Did it blow away in the wind?

It totally blew away. It did. Must have. It was a windy evening and his door is in an alcove that invites the air—or at least that’s what I’ve been telling myself these past three months.

I bite my lip again. Dear God, Please let him not have seen what I wrote in a drunken-crying-my-eyes-out-weak moment.

DING!

He saw my note. I feel it in my bones. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He knows I begged him back.

I glance over at him, but he’s bent over now, clearly being secretive.

Somehow, I manage to push him out of my head and focus. The lecture continues for the next hour with several more dings.

Dr. Cartwright says, “Before we end class, I would like to hear a few of the random thoughts you recorded. We need honesty if we are going to better understand each other, so I would appreciate your cooperation. Here in the front row, please share your third response.”

The girl in question is next to Dillon and crosses her arms like she’s trying to protect herself as she blushes.

“Please, you’re amongst friends. There is nothing you can say that will shock or embarrass any of us.”

“Well, the third thing I wrote down was I need to pee.”

Chuckles drift across the lecture room.

Dr. Cartwright grins. “Good, good. Thank you for being honest. That is surprisingly common when we do this exercise. Now, how many others wrote that down at some point this morning?”

Around twenty students raise their hands, including Dillon. Blaze and I both give him a look, and he just shrugs. “I had a huge protein drink right before class.”

Professor Cartwright continues, “My suggestion to you all is to try to take care of pissing before class so we can better focus. Okay, now how about a celebrity in our midst. Mr. Townsend, what did you write down as your seventh response?”

He moves around in his seat and gets a hesitant look on his face before he speaks. “Uh, let me see. Seventh response I wrote down: Charisma.”

I blink.

“I appreciate the compliment,” the professor says with a smirk. “I’ve been told I have lots of charm and charisma while I teach. Feel free to elaborate on your responses next time, especially if they are complimentary of me. Let’s get one more. You in the middle…”

I glance over at his paper, and Blaze catches me peeking. He lets me see a few of his responses, but not all of them.

Charisma has been jotted down several times.

I smirk and whisper, “Please.”

“Show me yours?”

I shake my head.

He pulls out that gum from his pocket. “Want a piece?” His gaze holds mine steady, clear and wide and so blue, too damn innocent for my liking. I search his face for answers, trying to determine if he’s dropping a hint about the note, but he gives me nothing.

“No. Thank you.”

He shrugs and keeps his voice low. “Fresh breath and all that. You been hooking up with anyone lately?”

The question comes out of nowhere, and I pause and look over at him, seeing that questioning look in his gaze and the way his hand taps at his leg.

“No,” I murmur, staring down at my notebook.

“Huh. How come?”

“I’m working on it. Got a couple of chess guys calling me.”

He frowns. “Which ones?”

“Why?”

“No reason. Just curious. I haven’t seen you anywhere for three months. Thought maybe you had a guy on the line.”

“And if I did?” I arch my brows. I do have a date planned with Mike soon, but…

His gaze holds mine. “Then he’s lucky. You need a good guy, Charm. It wasn’t me.”

It wasn’t me.

I lick my lips and dart my eyes back to the front of the room.

The professor ends the class, thank goodness. “Please turn in your response notes and remember to sit in the same place on Wednesday. Thank you all.”

“Wanna walk to our next class together?” Blaze asks as we turn our papers in.

“Uh—” I’m surprised. Why does he want to?

“We can talk more,” he adds.

“Um, that’s okay. My next class is clear across campus near the planetarium.”

“Mine too.”

“Really?”

He blushes, the color rising slowly from his neck to his face. “Uh—”

“Blaze!” The girl who gave up her seat for him is back and standing close. She’s got her hand on his shoulder again, only this time it lingers, brushing him off as if he has lint on his shirt. She rambles on about the game and how great he played.

He’s polite with a grin, that usual laidback, Southern charm thing going on, and I mumble a quick goodbye then dart between other students.

Yeah, hanging out with him, even if it is just a walk across campus, isn’t a good idea.

You barely knew him before, and look how he broke you then.

10

I reach the stairwell where she’s headed. “Charisma?”

She freezes when I catch up and touch her shoulder, but she doesn’t jerk away. Progress.