Page 6 of The Casanova Complex

My attention tends to wander quickly, and sometimes in moments like these, I have to redirect and force myself to focus.

My neurospicy brain makes everything in my life ten times harder, especially when it comes to school.

God, I’m just so fucking tired.

I feel like I can’t focus on anything except how badly I want to crawl into my bed and disappear for the next seventy-two hours.

A literal dream.

What would I give to have a single day off from everything. Class, studying, working, keeping both Elliott and Dad alive on top of myself.

I think I’d do unholy, dirty things that I would likely be ashamed of when it was all over, to be honest.

The sound of the lecture hall door clicking shut tears my attention from the doodle I was scribbling at the top corner of my notebook, and my eyes roll when I see Bennett Legros slipping into a seat at the end of my row.

My preferred spot is always at the very back of the auditorium because that means less distraction.

Usually.

But not when everyone’s favorite hockey heartthrob golden retriever shows up to class twenty minutes late and flashes Professor Hart a sheepish grin and lifts his hand in a wave.

Of course, she simply shakes her head in response and continues on with her lecture.

I glare at him.

Not that he’s paying attention. He probably has no idea I even exist outside of his perfect, carefree little bubble that he lives in.

God, I can’t stand guys like him.

The ones who skate through life without a care in the world. Who have the privilege to show up late to class with zero repercussions. He probably stayed out all night partying and drinking and rolled out of bed too hungover to actually show up on time.

But he’s a hockey player, and at OU? He’s royalty.

A king among his loyal subjects, ready to kiss the ground beneath his feet.

I’m fairly sure he could get away with murder, and no one would even bat an eye.

If I sound bitter, it’s because I absolutely am.

We’re halfway through the semester, and I’ve never even seen him take a single note. Most of the time, he shows up after class has already started and then spends the rest of the class flirting with the girls sitting beside him and scrolling on his phone, not participating in the lecture.

Then there are people like me. The ones who have actually had to earn their grade. The ones who show up to class on time and actually make an effort.

I can guarantee he’s never pulled an all-nighter to finish an essay or raced against the clock to turn in an assignment by 11:59 p.m.

Even right now, after interrupting the entire class with his late arrival, he’s not taken out his laptop or even a damn notebook. No, he’s currently wearing his signature playful, boyish grin, whispering with the busty redhead sitting beside him. I watch as he reaches out and grabs a piece of her hair, twirling it around his finger, and I genuinely might gag.

It’s hard enough for me to pay attention to what’s happening when I’m not being distracted by blatant favoritism from our professor and unbearable incompetence from the golden boy.

I force my gaze away, dragging it to Professor Hart, and try to ignore Bennett.

I wish the only thing I had to be annoyed about when it comes to Bennett Legros is that he’s privileged to have zero responsibility or accountability in literally anything.

But it’s also because, like every girl in this class that he effortlessly charms into using their notes, or into their pants… I was also one of those girls who stupidly fell at his feet.

To be fair, I was much younger and much, much more naive back then.

Two years makes a lot of difference.