If college was supposed to be the start of my love story, then someone clearly forgot to hand me the script.
I tightened my grip on the worn leather notebook in my lap, the edges frayed from too many nights flipping through its pages. Alexandria Perry's Romantic College Bucket List - written in purple gel pen, complete with tiny hearts and glitter stickers that, in hindsight, felt a little too middle school. Still, the list was mine. My roadmap to the epic, swoon-worthy romance I'd been dreaming of since I first dog-eared a copy of Pride and Prejudice.
#1: Slow dance under fairy lights.
#2: Kiss in the rain.
#3: Receive a handwritten love letter.
#4: Watch the sunrise with someone who makes my heart race.
#5: Fall in love for real.
Simple. Sweet. Foolproof.
"I'm just saying," Danielle's voice snapped me out of my thoughts. "If you want to actually do anything on that list, you're gonna have to leave the library at some point, babe."
I shot her a look across the tiny booth of the campus diner. She sat with one manicured hand wrapped around her iced coffee and the other twirling the end of her dark curls. Danielle Jones: effortlessly confident, fashion-forward, and allergic to commitment. She loved love about as much as she loved last season's shoes - which is to say, not at all.
"I leave the library plenty," I protested.
"Mhm. To go to class," she deadpanned. "You don't get fairy lights and love letters sitting in British Lit 101."
Before I could argue, the bell above the diner door chimed. My best friend's gaze flicked to the entrance-and just like that, her smirk dropped.
I didn't have to turn around to know why.
The shift in the air was unmistakable. Laughter, louder than it needed to be. The faint smell of smoke and cologne. A low, smooth voice that seemed to slide under your skin whether you wanted it to or not.
Chris Rodrigo had arrived.
I told myself I wouldn't look. I didn't need to look. Every girl on campus knew what Chris Rodrigo looked like. Half-Spanish heartbreaker, captain of the soccer team, devil-may-care grin that spelled trouble from a mile away. And yeah - maybe once, briefly, during orientation week, I'd stared a little too long. But I'd learned my lesson.
Chris Rodrigo was exactly the kind of boy my brother warned me about. The kind of boy who made promises with a smile and shattered hearts without blinking.
He was also, unfortunately, the kind of boy who made every single item on my bucket list seem like a very bad idea.
I snapped my notebook shut and stuffed it into my tote bag just as Danielle leaned in.
"Don't panic," she whispered. "He's coming over."
I blinked. "What?"
Sure enough, the tap-tap of boots on tile grew closer. I risked a glance up-and regretted it instantly.
Chris stood at the edge of our booth, dark hair tousled like he'd just rolled out of bed (and somehow made it look intentional). His gray hoodie clung to broad shoulders, and that ever-present smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. His warm brown eyes flicked from Danielle to me... and lingered.
"Ladies," he drawled, voice smooth like honey with a bite of tequila. "Mind if I join you?"
I opened my mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.
Danielle didn't hesitate. "Depends. You planning to behave?"
He grinned, lazy and unbothered. "Wouldn't dream of it."
Before I could protest, Chris slid into the seat next to me, his shoulder brushing mine just enough to send a jolt of awareness down my spine.
Great. Just great.
I glanced at my tote bag, where my bucket list sat hidden under textbooks. My plan was supposed to be simple. My love story was supposed to be predictable.
But as Chris Rodrigo stretched his arm along the back of the booth and shot me a look that felt like a challenge and a dare wrapped into one...
I had a sinking suspicion that simple just went out the window.
END OF CHAPTER ONE