Page 6 of Stroke of Fate

Was it her stuff we were going through?

The realization that I could see her in the flesh both terrifies and excites the shit out of me for reasons I don’t even want to dissect.

Then, an even scarier thought comes barreling through my mind. Bear could be the other girl in the picture. The one whose face I barely remember because I was so caught up in those striking blue eyes. What if the picture is the closest I’d get to seeingthatgirl?

Tapping my fingers against my knee, I fight the urge to dig the picture back out and hide it under my pillow for safekeeping.

If anyone heard my internal rambling, I’d be hauled off in a straitjacket. Crazy is what this is.

Shaking my head, I tell myself to knock it off.

She’s gorgeous, and I’m attracted to her, which is making me think with my dick and not my common sense. It’s a perfectly natural reaction. I’ve had a bit of a dry spell, and it’s fucking with my head, that’s all.

This weekend, I’ll hit up a party— one of those Mack is always trying to drag me to.

Hell, maybe I’ll get laid and forget about this whole thing.

Forget abouther.

3 | BEAR

The last class of the day is finally over, and just like that, my first day as a sophomore is done. I can practically feel the ball of anxiety I’ve had since waking up this morning unraveling and dissipating in my stomach.

Not that today was too bad. My few classes mainly consisted of going over the course outline for the semester, and some had icebreakers. Cringe. There’s nothing worse than introducing yourself to a bunch of strangers.

I stand with the rest of the students and slowly gather my things. Shouldering my tote bag, I walk past the rows of retractable seats and down the few steps to the door.

Learning from freshman year, I opted to skip the front row and made a beeline for one of the seats in the middle row. It’s far enough back that the professor won’t call on you to answer a question but not so far that you can’t hear anything—the perfect sweet spot.

When I reach the last step, I notice a guy lingering like he’s waiting for someone. I vaguely remember him from the start of class. He sat a few rows in front of me, and we did that awkward eye-lock thing before he took his seat.

He smiles, and my natural reaction is to offer him a polite smile as I pass by him. I’m nearly at the set of double doors when I hear him say something.

Not sure if he's talking to me or someone else, I glance over my shoulder and see him coming my way. In two quick steps, he's right in front of me, and deep brown eyes lock onto mine.

I immediately notice we’re the same height. He’s not short; I’m just tall. At 5’11, most guys aren’t exactly towering over me.

“Hi, sorry. I didn’t mean to weird you out,” he chuckles softly, running a hand through his hair.

“You didn’t weird me out,” I reassure him quickly, not exactly sure why I feel the need to, other than I don’t know what else to say.

Realizing we’re blocking the path for the other students trying to leave, I move off to the side and feel him follow closely behind. Once we’re a good distance from the door, he jumps right back into conversation.

“I, uh, haven’t seen you around before. Are you new here?”

“Yeah,” I nod. “Transferred this year.”

“Oh, cool.” He grins. “Where from?”

“California.”

“Ah, figures; looks like you spent some time in the sun with that tan.”

His gaze travels down my bare legs, lingering slightly too long. Suddenly, I wish I’d worn long pants instead of my cut-off denim shorts.

When I shift from one leg to the other, he quickly returns his gaze to mine, a hint of pink blooming on his cheeks. At least he has the decency to look embarrassed at being caught.

“I’m Finn, by the way.” He flashes me another smile, and yes, it’s nice, but I’m also ready to end this conversation and go home.

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