Chapter 3 Of All the People

Blair's POV

I knew something was wrong the second Professor Graham walked in with that awkward little smile.The kind of smile teachers wear when they're about to ruin your life in the name of "collaborative learning."

I sank lower into my chair, pulling my hoodie tighter around my face like it could protect me from whatever group activity was coming.

"Alright, class," he began, clapping his hands. "You'll be working in pairs for the next three weeks on your social psych project. I've already pre-assigned partners to make it more interesting."Of course he had.

A quiet groan passed through the room. I could practically hear the thoughts buzzing: Please not with the guy who never shows up. Please not with that girl who doesn't talk. Please not Bryan Carter.

Me? I was just hoping to get someone who could spell their own name.

The professor started reading names off the list, completely unaware that he was casually ending lives one announcement at a time.

"Michelle and Darren. Paige and Eli. Aaliyah and Mark..."

Each name chipped away at my fragile hope.

"Blair Monroe and... Bryan Carter."

I didn't breathe.

I didn't move.

I swear, the entire room tilted sideways for a second.

I slowly turned my head toward the center row, and sure enough, there he was lounging like he didn't have a care in the world. But his smirk told me he'd heard.

And worse he liked it.

He turned his head lazily and caught my eye. Raised one eyebrow. Smirked wider.

No. No, no, no.

Why me?

Why not someone else who wanted to be near him, who giggled at everything he said and melted under his attention?

I was already stuffing my books into my bag as if I could run and rewrite the rules of fate.

"Looks like you're stuck with me, Hoodie Girl," came his voice. Smooth. Infuriating.

I flinched.

He was suddenly there next to my desk, all swagger and confidence. His cologne smelled like trouble, expensive and unnecessary.

"I'll do the work," I said flatly, not looking at him. "You can just show up and not ruin it."

"Aw, come on. That's no way to talk to your new favorite person."

"I have a chronic allergy to arrogance."

"Ouch."

He held up his hands in mock surrender, but there was a flicker of something in his expression surprise, maybe? Like he hadn't expected me to bite back. Again.

I zipped my bag and stood, turning to face him properly for the first time.

"I don't like games, Carter," I said quietly. "I don't like attention. And I don't like you."

His smile faltered just a crack then returned, cooler this time.

"Well," he said, walking backward with that cocky stride, "maybe by the end of this project, one of those things will change."

I sat back down hard, heart pounding.

This was going to be a disaster.

A very loud, annoying, playboy shaped disaster.

And somehow... I already knew he wasn't going to leave me alone.