Silence. “Just being friendly, Paris.”

Great, now I feel like shit. “Want some gum?” I ask him, pulling some out of my pocket and offering him a piece to break the ice.

“Sure,” he says, showing off those dimples. He takes the piece from my hand, and my palm tingles from the contact of his fingers. This one is dangerous. The attraction is there—I can feel it, and I think he can feel it too. I offer him a slight smile, and then turn to face the front of the class.

The lecturer speaks, saving me from having to socialise. I keep my head faced to the front, my eyes locked on the man speaking. I pull out my purple pen and start jotting down notes, wanting to be on top of things from the get-go.

He clears his throat. “Can I borrow a pen?”

I put my pen down and turn my head to look at him. His warm brown eyes look at me expectantly, his dark hair curling behind his ears. I force myself to move my gaze away from his face, to stop taking in every inch of him.

“You came to your first day with no pen?” I ask, blinking slowly.

He shrugs and flashes me a boyish smile. I wonder if he knows that he could use that smile as a weapon, or if he’s somehow unaware of his charm. I hope it’s the latter, but most likely it’s the former. I open my pencil case, trying to find an appropriate-looking pen. Baby blue with sparkles, that’s going to have to do. I hand it over to him, making sure our hands don’t touch, and wait for him to complain about the girly pen. Instead, he surprises me by smiling and thanking me. I scrunch my eyebrows, turning back to face the front of the room. When I feel his gaze on me, I ignore it. When he keeps staring, I decide to say something.

I turn to him and tilt my head. “Okay, what?” I ask.

“What?” he asks, his brows furrowing in confusion.

“Why are you staring at me? Do I have something on my face?” I ask him, trying to keep my tone casual. I push my light blond hair off my face and arch an eyebrow.

He fights a smile. “No, you don’t have anything on your face.”

“Then what?”

“Then nothing. You’re just beautiful, and I like looking at you,” he says, shrugging as if it’s no big deal.

“Oh,” I reply, apparently having nothing witty to say back to him. His lip twitches before he looks down at his work. Now it’s me who’s staring at him. He smiles knowingly, but keeps his eyes on the paper in front of him, and I force myself to look away. There is seriously something about him. Sean Paul’s “Other Side of Love” plays as my phone rings. I cringe, realising I forgot to put it on silent. I grab it out of my bra and turn the volume down. I look around to see everyone staring at me. Great.

“Nice place to put your phone,” Grayson says, his eyes twinkling in amusement. I roll my eyes and slide my phone into my bag, careful not to make eye contact with anyone else. I hear the lecturer ask a question, and I slide deeper into my chair hoping he doesn’t ask me. The chances are small, but I really don’t feel like talking in front of this new group of people. I’m not surprised when Grayson calls out the correct answer and the lecturer praises him.

“So …” he says, getting my attention. I turn to him and raise an eyebrow. He’s good-looking—I’ll give him that. Those dark eyes and dimples matched with a muscled athletic body … I can’t see many girls saying no to that. He smirks, and I know that he saw me check him out. Dammit.

“So?” I reply, staring back.

“Are you single?” he asks me. Straight-out, no games. I like that.

“Are you?” I counter.

He grins. “I am, and if I wasn’t, I would be now.”

What? “Am I supposed to be charmed?”

“Yes,” he says, smiling a little shyly this time. “At least, I hope so.”

I lift my shoulder in a shrug. “I guess I’m a little charmed. But not charmed enough.”

He chuckles at my reply, shaking his head at me in an amused way. “I guess I have my work cut out for me then.”

I fight a smile in return. “You have no idea.”

The rest of the class passes quickly, and soon I’m standing and shoving my books back into my bag. Grayson moves to stand in front of me and hands me back my pen.

“Keep it,” I tell him, quirking my lip. Can’t have him going to his next class without a pen. I pick up my bag and walk out of the class without looking back.

I take a bite out of my sandwich when someone sits next to me. I know without looking who it is by the light scent of his cologne.

“I’m pretty sure stalking is illegal,” I mumble into my sandwich, not looking up at him.

“Saw you sitting here alone and thought you might want some company.”

“You took me hiding under a tree as a cry for company?” I ask, fighting a smile.

I finally turn my head to look at him. He’s sitting against the tree with one leg stretched out and the other bent. His arm hangs off the bent leg, a drink held in his hand.

He gives me a crooked smile, making one of his dimples pop. I frown at him, wondering why he doesn’t react to my comments. “Saw a beautiful girl sitting alone, and I’m not one to miss an opportunity.”

I pick up my bottle of water and unscrew the lid. “I can see that.”

“So you’re a History major?” he asks when I don’t say anything else.

“Yep,” I say. “I love history.”

“Me too,” he says, and I turn my head just in time to see his grin. “What’s your next class?”

“Methodology of History,” I say, trying to plan my escape. I look at the time on my phone—an hour until class starts.

“Shit,” he says, and I glance over to see his face momentarily fall.

“What is it?” I ask, sipping on my water.

“I was going to take that class. I should have,” he says, biting his bottom lip.

I laugh. “I think you and I have spent enough time together today, don’t you?”

“Never,” he says, adding a cheeky smile. “Plus I know for a fact that I’m great company.”

“Who told you that?” I ask with a straight face. “Your mother? Because she doesn’t count.”

Grayson laughs at my comment, shaking his head at me. “Smart ass.”

“I try,” I reply, taking a sip of water.

He tilts his head to the side. “You never answered my question.”

“What question was that?” I ask.

“Are you single?”

“Why do you want to know?” I ask him, narrowing my eyes.

“I want to know if there’s any competition I should be aware of,” he replies, straight-faced.

I roll my eyes. “I’m single.”

“How single?” he asks, now grinning.

“Very single. But I’m also not looking for a relationship,” I tell him honestly.

He studies me. “I can work with that. Casual hook-ups work for me too.”

I throw my bottle of water at his head, and he bursts out laughing. Asshole.

“This,” I say, pointing between the two of us, “is as close as you’re getting to me, buddy.”

“Is that a challenge?” he asks, a playful glint in his dark eyes.

Men and their challenges. “No, no challenge,” I quickly backtrack.

“Challenge accepted,” he says, and then leans forward and rubs his thumb across my knuckles. I shiver at the contact and gape at the fact that he just touched me after what I told him.

“Personal boundaries,” I mutter under my breath, pulling my hand away. He’s about to speak when we’re interrupted.

“Hey, Grayson,” comes a feminine voice. I look up to see two girls standing in front of us, smiling at Grayson, and looking at me, maybe hinting for an introduction and sizing me up at the same time. This is exactly what I didn’t want. I’d prefer to remain anonymous. It’s easier that way, because I don’t want people to recognise me or to find out where I work. It seems that Grayson is becoming the exception.

One of the girls has dark brown hair and eyes and is staring at Grayson. She is dressed in classy designer clothes, not showing too much skin. The blond girl, who is the one that spoke, is slim and tall, with blue eyes and freckles splattered across her nose. I look at Grayson out of the corner of my eye as he stares up at the two intruders, his expression impassive.