So why is he standing so close to me today?

“I don’t know. I told you to fuck off. You’ve had it coming.”

“Maybe I have.” He smiles, but it isn’t a charming one; no, it’s lethal. He really means it. We are enemies. His gaze skates over me, coming back to my face then lingering on my Kappa pin. “I tolerate you because you wear his pin. Otherwise, I don’t want to be near you.”

“Hmmm, you’re in my space bubble. Is there a reason?” I snap.

Another dangerous smile. “Torture, isn’t it?”

Before I can reply, the classroom door opens.

“Ms. Bailey and Mr. Tate?” Professor Whitman’s sharp voice makes me start. “We can hear you talking through the door. Plan on joining us today?”

River’s jaw pops, his gaze still on me. “Coming, sir.”

The professor looks at him with beady eyes. “I hope so. You and I need to chat after class.”

I look at River, searchingly, but he dips his head and brushes past me into the classroom, broad shoulders swaying.

I bump into him when he comes to a halt. Easing up next to him, I see the problem. Our usual seats are taken. Two stadium-style seats are vacant in the front row—where no one wants to sit. I scan the place again, hoping for a spot near the back or any place that isn’t near him. I exhale. Nothing is free. It’s nearing finals of the winter semester, so everyone is here and present.

I push past him. “Looks like you’ll have to sit next to me. Try to endure it, baby boy.”

4

“Your research paper counts as your exam grade. I expect topnotch themes and exemplary writing,” Dr. Whitman says. He runs through various topics we can choose from, and my heart lifts a little. I’m pre-law but seize every opportunity to take an upper-level lit class.

River sets his phone out on his desk and hits the record button. Does he always record the lecture? I’d never know since we don’t sit together, but I find it curious.

I flick my eyes to him. Even unsmiling and looking broody, his face is a work of art. Sunlight from the window creates a shadow on his chiseled face, leaving half in light, the other side in shadow. A fallen angel turned into the devil.

“Some of you,” the professor continues as his eyes sweep the room and linger on River, “seem to think you can skate by in my class. I’m not sure why you took it.”

River exhales, his leg accidentally pressing against mine before he pulls it away.

I shift around, trying to put space between us. His eyes dart my way, then he inches away as well. I imagine what we must look like, each of us hugging the opposite side of our desk.

“He’s talking about me and you, River,” a male voice whispers from behind us. “We’re the oddballs. This class is wall-to-wall English majors.”

I throw a look over my shoulder at Benji Williams, River’s little brother. Not an actual brother, but a Kappa one. He’s a junior, tall and handsome, with shoulder-length wavy blond hair, and the third guy from the night at the library. He’s looking at River, who doesn’t turn around. “I took this class because you did, and now we’re both screwed,” he adds with smirk, then gives me a chin nod. “Hey, Ana. How you doing?”

“Good. Ready to write this paper.”

He rolls his eyes. “Nerd. Poker night soon?”

“You always win, but yeah. I will beat you one day.”

He waggles his brows. “Good at cards, unlucky in love. You need to hook me up with one of your roomies, Ana. Sweet girls. You and Donovan—man, couple goals.”

“I know your rep,” I say with a small laugh. “Stay away from Colette and Lila.”

“Can you two shut up?” River grouses. “Some of us are trying to listen to the professor.”

“Sorry to disturb your concentration, baby boy,” I hiss at him as I turn back.

Benji snorts. “Oh, man, I must have missed something out in the hall.”

Dr. Whitman’s voice slices through the air. “Ms. Bailey? Care to talk to the entire class? What’s your topic for the term paper?”

Dang it.

I smooth my hair down as I squirm in my chair and clear my throat. “I chose Lady Chatterley’s Lover.” We started the semester with several famously banned books including American Psycho and Lolita, but Lady Chatterley’s Lover was the one I was drawn to.

“Topic?” he asks again.

I pause. “Um, ‘The Power of Restorative Sex.’”

A few chuckles come from the other students, ears perking up at the word sex. I sigh. It’s one of the most common themes of the book, so I don’t see the issue. Sex. Everyone does it. Even amoebas. My parents, well, they’ve made no secret of their penchant for inviting others into their bed. It’s fine for them and they are devoted to each other, but I long for a guy who wants only me.

River’s eyes flash over at me as his fingers hover over his notebook, which is covered in doodles and squiggly lines. I admit to an interest in what he’s writing.

The professor walks forward. “Explain to the class. They seem to be slightly interested today. In case some of you have forgotten, that particular novel was banned for forty years in the US. It was dubbed as pornographic and it took a Supreme Court case to finally get the book published here. Ms. Bailey? Care to elaborate?”

I nod. “Connie, the female protagonist, is in a loveless marriage in the twenties in England and longs for true passion. When she meets the gamekeeper of her estate, Oliver, in the forest, they have sex, which hints at the premise of baser instincts and nature. The experience awakens her spirit and she heals from her depression, hence restorative.”

Dr. Whitman purses his lips. “There are explicit sex scenes. What did you think of them?”

I feel my face reddening. I can debate books all day, and normally I wouldn’t be embarrassed, but River is next to me. “A bit over the top, yes. Did D.H. Lawrence set out to write a titillating book? Perhaps. He was dying of tuberculosis and couldn’t perform sexually. His own marriage was failing.”

“Dude,” Benji whispers so only River and I can hear. “That would suck.”

I ignore him and carry on. “The sex scenes aren’t explicit by today’s standards. The book is more a statement about the characters’ unhappiness. It was a sexual awakening for both of them, but they aren’t together at the end.”

“They orgasm at the same time. Pretty sure I read that part a few times. That’ll restore my faith in sex,” Benji cuts in with a laugh.

“What’s your topic, Mr. Williams?” the professor asks, his voice sharpening.

Benji clears his throat. “I went with American Psycho. Haven’t chosen a topic, sir. Mayhem and serial killers probably. He murders lots of people. Blood and gore. I can get behind that one hundred percent.”

“Indeed.” Dr. Whitman compresses his lips. “Perhaps focus on the shallowness of capitalism in that novel, hmmm? Not the serial killer aspect. Mr. Tate?” He looks at River.

River straightens in his chair, pauses, then leans in over his desk. There’s a coiled tension in him, a storm waiting to erupt. He seems to battle it, his hands fisting. “‘The Power of Restorative Sex’ from Lady Chatterley’s Lover.”