As a woman who drew admirers like bees to blossoms, I rarely pursued men. Plant myself anywhere, and they'd come flocking.
River South was different. I hunted him.
Back then, my favorite puppy boy had irked Promise Hollow. On my birthday, the pup dared touch Hollow's sacred necktie—a cardinal sin. Hollow demanded I cut him loose, partly to retaliate for my earlier stunt: I'd extorted two limited-edition Chanel bags from him by claiming his mistress used my perfume.
The bags convinced me. Easy trade.
Pretty boys were plentiful, but rare were those who stirred me. My drinking buddy suggested scouting the nearby university: "Go hunt among those sun-kissed, sweat-glistened young gods. One's bound to fit your taste."
So I went.
C University's athletes were legendary. I scanned the campus—dozens of radiant bodies, none sparking interest. Regret gnawed at me for ditching the pup too hastily. Then a shadow flickered past, smelling of old paper and ink. My regret vanished.
A lean boy with sleep-tousled hair. Youthful innocence clung to him like dew. Half-lidded eyes, two books under his arm, shirt billowing in the wind. Heads turned as he passed.
I watched him enter a lecture hall. After a pause, I followed. My eyes skimmed the sign-in sheet. Fresh ink spelled three characters:
River South.
I mouthed the name. On impulse, I signed for Promise Bloom—a name that screamed "please forge me!"—then slid into the seat behind him.
The whole hour, I stared at the back of River South's head. His cowlick bobbed as he scribbled notes. When Sage Lens took attendance, I answered "Here!" for Bloom.
Silence.
River South echoed me.
He glanced back, baffled. Why'd he answer for Bloom? I wondered. Is Bloom a guy's name?
Sage Lens chuckled. "River South, didn't your roommate tell you he hired a proxy? Lack of communication backfires, young man."
Laughter erupted. River South scratched his neck. "Professor, spare me. I'm as clueless as you."
Sage Lens turned to me. "Which department, miss?"
Truth? "Oh, I graduated five years ago, just nostalgic?" Ridiculous.
I pointed at River South. "I followed him in."
The professor blinked, then roared with laughter. Whistles and knowing smirks filled the room. Only River South remained bewildered.
After class, he nodded stiffly and turned to leave. I blocked his path. "Your roommate's named Promise Bloom?"
A wry smile. "A name destined for misunderstandings."
I checked my watch. "Lunch?"
"We don't know each other."
I leaned close. "Then let's fix that."
He claimed he needed to fetch Bloom's lunch. Rejected.
Unfazed, I snatched his phone, dialed myself, and walked away.
The Waiting Game
Three days. Nothing.
My friend doubled over with laughter at the bar. "Clarity Deer, rejected? The day hell freezes!"
"Shut it," I dropped ice into my drink. "Was I too bold? Do students fear grown women now?"
"Maybe he wants a lovesick schoolgirl—the type who waits at his classroom door, feeds stray cats with him." She shuddered. "Imagine you doing that."
I rolled my eyes. I'd graduated at twenty. Five years later, I was hardly ancient. River South couldn't be much younger.
"Not about age. You're too busy for childish games. Cut losses. Find another."
I almost agreed. Then, through the crowd, I spotted him.
At the bar sat River South, hair still delightfully messy. Black shirt. Gold-rimmed glasses. Sipping whiskey like a seasoned philosopher. Girls nudged each other, stealing glances. One blew a kiss.
Hypocrite. Clear-eyed in class, but playing mysterious here?
I drained my glass and strode over.
---
The Takedown
I "stumbled" into his lap—a masterpiece of faux drunkenness. Tonight, I'm unstoppable. God or demon, I'd blaze through. This boy's mine.
My arm hooked his neck. My lips branded his throat.
Bar cheers were far bawdier than classroom snickers. River South froze. I pressed a key into his palm. "My friend's bar. Take me upstairs."
He half-carried me up, enduring my "accidental" touches. When he laid me on the bed, his ears burned crimson.
"You alright?" He dabbed my face with a damp towel. "Should I call your friends?"
Playing innocent? Or truly naive?
He reached for my phone. I slapped it away, yanked his collar. "Don't. He... he doesn't want me anymore."
A pause. "Did he... break up with you?"
I've never been dumped—I do the dumping. But I nodded mournfully. "All men are trash."
He choked. Then, staring at the ceiling, mumbled: "I'm... not that bad."
The light caught his lashes, casting shadows. My breath hitched.
Then—the alcohol won. I passed out.
---
Morning After
I woke to a headache. Memory flooded back: I seduced a boy and napped mid-seduction? Pathetic.
I sat up. River South slept slumped at the desk, peaceful as a painting.
Delighted, I showered, then prodded his waist with my towel-clad foot.
He jolted awake. Three seconds: drowsy to stunned. His gaze locked on me.
"Thanks for babysitting me," I said lightly. "Didn't expect you to stay."
"Drunk people choke if they vomit," he muttered.
Adorable.
I kept my face neutral. The lipstick mark on his neck remained. I swiped it off. "My treat next time we drink."
He grabbed my wrist. "I missed curfew. My roommate needs an explanation."
I raised an eyebrow.
"Last time Sage Lens caught us, Bloom joked for weeks. Now..." His eyes burned into mine. "Fix this."
I understood. "How?"
He inhaled. "Sister, don't pretend. You owe me."
Checkmate.
I straddled his lap, tilted his chin up. "Your sister's here. Claim your payment."
His breath quickened, but he avoided my eyes. "I meant... maybe we could start with the library?"
...
Seriously? He wanted textbook romance.
Who has time for library dates?
That's what I thought then. But later—well, there's a universal law about such things, isn't there?