Every block brings me closer to campus—to that dreaded math class I failed last term. I can’t explain how many hours I spent last spring studying in the library, trying like hell to wrap my head around the concepts. If I still had Mr. Math Whizz in my life…
Blinking, I give my head a tiny shake. Nope. Don’t even go there, Mads. He’s better off in Michigan, far away from your mess.
Switching my major with only one year to go wasn’t the best idea, honestly. I originally chose marketing as my major for two reasons.
A- I didn’t have to take any math classes above what I learned in high school.
B- chasing the dream my mom and I shared was just too painful.
The hallway is empty as I rush towards my first class of the day. Being late just adds to my mortification of being forced to retake Math 111.
What can I say? Math and I do not see eye to eye at all. Let’s behonest: there’s literally no way I will ever use the quadratic equation or exponential functions at any point in my day to day life.
I fling open the door, my bag nearly falling off my shoulder. Professor Jacobsen looks over her dark-rimmed glasses as I step into the room, my reason for being late on the tip of my tongue.
“I’m so sorry I’m late,” I blurt. “I slept through my alarm, and-”
She tsks. “You and I both know I do not enjoy tardiness, Ms. Blake. You’d think you would remember that from our time spent together last semester, no?”
Faint snickers echo around the room, and my cheeks heat. “It won’t happen again.”
“Mhmm. See that it doesn’t. As much as I enjoy your company, I’d hate to spend another semester boring you with the same lectures.” She motions towards the desks, which are almost completely full. “There seems to be one desk left open for you near the back.”
As I turn my head to spot the desk, all the blood drains from my face. My eyes latch onto a very familiar pair of dark brown eyes.
Jaxon Montgomery.
My former best friend. The one boy who has seen me at my lowest and stayed by my side. The only guy I have ever had feelings for, the one I can’t quite fuck out of my system, no matter how hard I try.
He’s here when he should be 2,400 miles away in Michigan for his senior year playing football.
What. The. Fuck?
Professor Jacobsen begins the lecture as I slowly climb the stairs, my legs feeling like lead with each step. Jaxon's eyes stay glued to me as I make my way toward the empty desk beside him.
I slide into the seat, greeted by masculine heat radiating off his body. My stomach clenches as the familiar scent of his cologne invades my senses, bringing back a flood of memories I've tried so hard to forget.
"Hey, Mads," he whispers, his voice low and husky.
I don't look at him. I can't. Heart pounding in my chest, I focus on pulling out my notebook and pen, my hands shaking slightly. I don’t know how I keep myself from going apeshit on him, but I don’t want any more attention than necessary on either of us.
"What are you doing here?" I hiss, keeping my eyes trained on the professor.
"I transferred," he says simply, as if it's the most normal thing in the world—as if he didn't just upend my entire existence with those two words.
Gripping my pen tighter, I will myself not to react. I refuse to show the effect he has on me, even after all these years.
"Why?" I ask through gritted teeth.
“I’ve got my reasons.” His tone is light, but I know him well enough to tell there’s more to the story.
"You shouldn't have come," I mutter, finally chancing a glance in his direction.
His jaw is clenched, his brown eyes burning with an intensity that makes my breath catch. "I had to. You've avoided me like the plague for the last three years. We need to talk about what happened."
"There's nothing to talk about," I snap, louder than I intended. A few heads turn in our direction, and I slouch lower in my seat.
"Bullshit," Jaxon whispers fiercely. "You can hide all you want, Mads, but just remember: I know you better than anyone else.”
