“I doubt it,” Marla says. “I don’t care that he’s on the radio now and is really popular. He’s bad news, Sara, and you should stay away from him.”

I don’t know Marla well enough to know if she’s the kind of person who embellishes stories or not. “Maybe he pulled his shit together.”

“Whatevs, Ivy. You go ahead and think that, but the guy’s trouble.” Marla takes a bite of her quesadilla. “Plain and simple.”

I don’t hear the rest of what she’s saying as I stare into my half-eaten salad with unfocused eyes.

Chase’s brother used that same phrase when I ran into him at the Stop and Shop after the accident. It was the beginning of my downward slide.

Cornering me in the back next to the beer refrigerator and the popcorn machine, Aaron leaned in close. “He loved you, Ivy. Plain and simple. The two of you were meant to be together. It’s too bad you were so fucking stupid you couldn’t see what a great guy he was.”

I’m suddenly not hungry anymore.

Ivy

The Fine Arts building is located on the far end of campus. It takes me a little longer to get there than I thought it would, because when I came through the Quad, I ran into a few people I knew from a class last quarter. They were sitting on the edge of the fountain and talking about what they’d done over winter break. I hung out for a few minutes and misjudged how long it would take to get here, so I had to hoof it and now I’m a little sweaty. I’m glad I’m scrubbing and not wearing one of Cassidy’s new tops.

Through a cluster of leafless trees behind the building, cars whiz by on Monroe Avenue, the road bordering campus. On the other side is Greek Row, with its stately old mansions and covered porches. I catch a glimpse of the church steeple on the corner of Monroe and Sprague and cringe. It’s the same one I saw from the roof of the White House.

“Returning to the scene of the crime?”

I jump at the sound of the deep voice to my left. I turn slowly, as though I’m in a dream. At first all I see is chrome and leather. I blink. And then…

There, not more than ten feet away from me, Jon Priestly is straddling a motorcycle.

My jaw practically drops to the ground as I watch him swing a leg over the seat. He’s wearing dark glasses, a worn leather bomber jacket, faded jeans with a rip in the right knee, and a pair of scuffed black boots.

I have a major moment of amnesia, having no idea what he just asked or what I’m doing here. I quickly clamp my teeth together to keep from saying something that will make him think I’m a total dork. About the only thing I do remember is my name, and honestly, that’s a little iffy right now.

How did I not notice him when I was walking over here? Am I completely blind? How unaware of my surroundings am I that I didn’t notice…this? Had I seen him, I totally would’ve gone around to a different entrance or at least been prepared for what I was going to say.

He pushes his sunglasses to the top of his head, icy blue eyes squinting at the sudden light. My stomach tightens. I don’t know about you, but I secretly love when a guy removes his sunglasses to talk to me instead of leaving them on. Makes me feel like he truly wants to see me and have me see him.

His cool gaze slides over my body, giving me the sensation that he’s inches away rather than feet. My heart does a rollercoaster drop, thudding straight to my knees. Maybe that’s why he took off his shades. He wants me to see him checking me out.

Oh God.

I’m suddenly and painfully aware that I look like I’m on the verge of utter homelessness. I shift my backpack to my other shoulder.

And then I remember what Marla said about him. Arrested? Kicked out of high school? A player? I can totally see it.

My cheeks are on fire and so are the tips of my ears. I’m glad I’m not wearing a coat, otherwise I know I’d be sweating. At least my sleeve with the stain is still rolled up. I run my tongue over my teeth to make sure I don’t have a piece of lettuce stuck somewhere. I’m not sure if I’m embarrassed because I look like a slob (I’m seriously cursing myself for not listening to Cassidy) or because he’s so damn sexy.

Who am I kidding? It’s both.

Keep calm. Act normal. He’s just a guy. “Hey, Jon.”

“What brings you here?” The low timbre of his voice shoots straight to my core.

I try my best to ignore the sensation. He grins, and that’s when I notice that one of his eyeteeth is slightly crooked. It occurs to me that imperfect things are much more interesting than perfect ones.

It feels like it takes me a year to collect my thoughts. I debate whether or not to thank him again for his help on Friday night. But if I say nothing, it implies that it was no big deal. A topic not worthy of bringing up. A non-issue. Yeah, right. As if I could ever forget what happened. “I’m just—”

“What up, bro?”

I breathe a huge sigh of relief as two guys approach us. I’ll use that as an excuse to break away and get to class.

But before I can move, Jon is suddenly right next to me, his hand on my arm, like he knows that I’m planning my escape. A niggling of panic shoots from out of nowhere and skitters along my spine. I tense.

He must sense my discomfort, because he frowns and lets go of my arm.

“Hold on, okay?” His breath whispers across my cheek. It smells spicy sweet. Like he just ate a cookie.

I really should keep going. Class is about to start and I don’t want to be late. There’s nothing stopping me, but my Toms are rooted to the concrete at the base of the steps leading into the building.

He turns to his buddies. “Heading to class, then I’ve got to run to the station for a few minutes. How about you?”

“Heading home,” the tall one says, pointing to one of the frat houses. He’s got a painful looking pimple lodged between his cheek and his nose. “We’ll just be hanging out. Swing by when you’re done.”

“Will do.” One of Jon’s arms is slightly stretched out toward me, his fingers open, as if to say he hasn’t forgotten about me. Or that he doesn’t want me to go on without him. “We all set for Saturday?”

The short guy rubs his hands together and grins. “Almost.”

Must be another party.

I don’t need to hover around while they discuss their wild weekend plans. “Catch you later.” Turning on my heel, I take the steps two at a time.

I enter the building without looking back, and the door whooshes shut behind me. It feels good to simply walk away because I want to. To leave without being stopped. The sign for rooms 110 to 116 directs me to the left and I head that way.

“Ivy, wait up.”

Boots hit the wood floor behind me.

Jon comes up next to me, matching me stride for stride. “What class are you going to?”

I don’t look over. “Photography.”

“Right on,” he says, as if—

Hold it. My eyes widen and my step falters. “You, too?”

“What are the chances that Ivy on the Roof is in one of my classes? I’d say that’s fate, wouldn’t you?”

I almost choke. Fate? Ivy on the Roof? Is he making fun of me?

My slight chagrin turns to irritation. Sara said they talked about fate at the tutoring center. Does he think girls like that kind of crap? That we can’t see right through a super-lame pickup line? At least some of us can. One thing’s for sure. The last thing I need are people who believe in fate and destiny, whether it’s a cutesy pickup line or not. That BS is fine in movies and song lyrics, but in real life, not having the free will to make your own decisions is suffocating, smothering, and really freaky.

I stop in front of room 116 and reach for the door. “Fate seems to follow you everywhere.”