Page 4 of Apparently, I’m Trouble

I scoffed. “If there was more to them, they’d be part of the syllabus.”

“But there is more. Romance is about change. And healing. We could teach a whole unit on transformation through positive relationships.”

“They get their fill of that with Shakespeare, and we give our students too much of him as it is.”

She blew a breath through her nose, and my phone made that awful staticky noise in my ear.

“That’s a fair point.”

I could practically hear the gears turning in that people-pleaser brain of hers. After that meeting with Rutton yesterday, she was on edge. I had to talk her down, or she’d shackle herself to her laptop, and then I wouldn’t see her until the semester started.

“I know Rutton messed with your head, but you’re thinking too hard about this. Our classes are set for the rest of the semester. Just enjoy it.”

She scoffed. “Oh, like you’re enjoying it? What’re you doing right now?”

“I’m buying one bloody book, Lilly. It’s not like I’m donating a library.”

But expectations were pretty high.

It wasn’t lost on me that, though she could’ve handled it better, Rutton was right. The A.P.P. was the most prestigious program we offered at our private school, and after what happened last semester, our reputation couldn’t afford to take another hit.

But my mind was on Lilly.

For the sake of her career, she needed this class to go well. She was counting on me.

And I was going to teach the shit out of this program.

Every year, a select group of private schools competed for advanced placement into Ivy League universities, and this time, the theme was Breakouts: Texts That Shatter the Cultural Glass Ceiling. My class was going to study a literary fiction piece titled Misplaced–a story about a teen going through loss.

I had a new student joining us on Monday and didn’t have a single copy I could loan her, which was why I was on my way to the closest bookstore I could find. My students wouldn’t show up to my class with blank faces. Not even the girl I hadn’t met yet. Too much was riding on this.

“It’ll be fine if she doesn’t have the book for a day,” Lilly reasoned. “She’ll probably need time to settle in.”

Not on my watch.

Lilly’s argument was a moot point anyway, because there it was–the bookstore sign. I’d never been happier to see the words Wrinkled Pages in my life. I turned the corner into the sliding glass doors, desperate to get out of the heat, and smacked straight into someone.

Immediately, my stomach dropped, and so did my tote bag. But I couldn’t look for it until I’d dislodged myself from this bulky blue wall of a person. He smelled of musky soap and felt firmer than anyone had a right to be.

The bulky wall grunted, took half a step back, and gripped my elbows. As I looked up, the surprise of seeing Theo’s face made me forget about my tote. I didn’t even notice that something had rolled out of it.

Still holding my arms, Theo led me away from the entrance as Lilly asked, “Mia? You okay?”

“I’ll call you back,” I answered, jamming my thumb on the end-call button.

As he let me go, I watched, stunned, while he bent to pick up my things.

Well. What were the odds?

I’d just been talking about him with Lilly. The last time I’d seen him was onstage during the fundraiser. He was a tattooed, broody nightmare. When it ended, I thought I’d never have to see him again.

And really, what was the point of living in a city as big as this if I was just going to run into him anyway?

His broad shoulders were tense as he handed me my bag, his blue eyes refusing to meet mine as he said, “Is this yours?”

Sitting in the palm of his hand was my purple bullet vibrator. Of course it slipped out and rolled across the floor–because why wouldn’t it?

I snatched it from him and refused to feel embarrassed. A woman does what she needs when she needs to, and no one was going to make me feel bad about it, especially not some asshole guitarist in an expensive blue polo shirt.