Page 44 of Wish You Were Mine
Still locked.
I leaned back against the cinderblock wall, exhaling slowly and trying to shake off the nerves twisting up in my stomach. I wasn’t normally anxious about school. Gymnastics meets? Sure. Big presentations? A little. But something about this chemistry lab had me way more jittery than I wanted to admit.
Probably because I’d never done one before.
Not in real life, anyway.
My entire high school experience had been online—out of necessity. There hadn’t been time for traditional school between hours at the gym, traveling for meets, and competing at the elite level. So I’d done what any athlete with Olympic dreams and no life balance would do: I clicked my way through chemistry labs in a browser window while icing my ankle and watching floor routine replays on loop.
So, yeah. Hopefully, I wouldn’t mix the wrong chemicals together and blow a hole through a lab table.
I glanced at my watch. Still fifteen minutes until the lab was supposed to start.
I’d rushed through lunch, thanks to the pit in my stomach, scarfing down half a protein bar and a handful of grapes before bolting over here early to scope out the lab room. Now I was just waiting…trying not to psych myself out more.
Not that I should have anything to be nervous about. Yesterday’s class had gone fine. I’d slipped in late, stayed quiet, and bolted as soon as the lecture ended. Nothing weird happened.
Nothing aside from the fact that my heart had raced every time Owen looked in my direction.
Not that anyone noticed. I was chill. Collected. Totally unaffected.
Hopefully.
Okay, maybe I’d laughed just a little too hard at his dumb chemistry jokes. But seriously, he was funny. And that whole “hot nerd” vibe he had going? It was straight-up dangerous if I wanted to keep any forbidden crushes at bay.
Especially when I’d met him as a flirty, confident bartender with a chest tattoo and lips that made me forget my own name.
I sighed.I really need to stop thinking about that night.
Replaying those memories wasn’t going to help them fade.
A pair of footsteps echoed up the stairwell and I straightened, tugging my hoodie back into place. But it was just another student passing by, probably on their way to some other lab.
I exhaled and pulled out my phone to scroll through Instagram. Maybe checking out a few puppy reels would distract me from the fact that I was slowly unraveling over freshman-level science.
But just as my finger swiped up the screen, a figure appeared in front of me.
I looked up—and there he was.
Owen.
Professor Park.
Looking unfairly good in a navy sweater and dark jeans, leather messenger bag slung over one shoulder, keycard already in hand.
Our eyes met and something caught in my chest—like I’d forgotten how to breathe for a second. He cleared his throat and glanced down, then said, “Hello, Lucy.”
“Hi,” I said, my voice a little too quiet, a little too breathless.
He stepped past me and tried the lab door. When it didn’t budge, he tapped his keycard against the panel, the small light flashing green.
“How’s your semester going so far?” he asked, his voice casual. Polished. Just a normal professor talking to a normal student.
“It’s going all right,” I said, matching his even tone.
Which was mostly true. But standing this close to him again—seeing the details I couldn’t make out from the back row—was throwing me off.
I hadn’t realized how striking his eyes were—warm brown, almost golden when the light hit them just right. Oval-shaped, with smooth lids that gave him a quietly intense look.
