Ruin(2)

“Um…” I laughed. “My point exactly.”
“Trust me, the only reason you don’t like tattoos is because you’ve never seen them spread over a hot body. You’ll change real fast when you see that yummy goodness on a six pack. Hell, last time I saw a shirtless guy with tattoos I asked if I could lick him.”
“What did he say?”
Lisa sighed. “Yes…” Then she shrugged. “We dated for a week, then I left him for greener pastures.”
“Bigger tattoo?”
“How’d you know!” She threw her head back and laughed. “I was kind of known for being the school slut, but it was better than not being known at all.”
I wasn’t sure how I felt about that, but I kept my mouth shut, especially considering I’d never even kissed a guy before. Too embarrassed to admit my inexperience, I just shrugged. “Well, that’s what college is for. It’s a fresh start, right?”
“Right.” Her eyes flickered away from mine for a brief moment. Her smile fell from her face. “Well, at any rate, we should get some sleep if we’re going boy-hunting tomorrow.”
“Right.” I yawned again. “And thanks, Lisa, for checking on me.”
“What type of roommate would I be if I didn’t come running?”
“One who didn’t kill lamps and wake up with two bruises?”
“Damn lamp,” she muttered. “Night, Kiersten.”
“Night.”



Chapter Two

If it looks like a rat, smells like a rat, and talks like a rat, it’s probably a freaking rat.

Kiersten
“Name?” The guy at Registration didn’t look up, merely paused as his fingers hovered over the iPad. I’d woken up at seven so I could make early registration at eight. Tables were lined outside the Student Center in prison-like fashion. At least twenty upperclassman stood in front of the tables with packets and bored expressions.
“Kiersten,” I answered.
He let out an irritated sigh. “There are over thirty-five thousand students on this campus, and you want me to look you up by your first name, Kiersten?”
“Sorry. Uh… Rowe. Kiersten Rowe.”
He typed away. “Well, Rowe Kiersten Rowe, it looks like you’re registered for nineteen credits and have yet to decide on a major.”
What was he? A profiler? “That’s right.” I leaned back on my heels and cleared my throat. He still didn’t look up.
“Hmm…” His hands moved fluidly over the screen. “Alright, I’m sending your schedule to your school email.” He set the iPad down and grabbed a packet. “Campus map, mailbox number, student email, everything you need is in this package. If you have any questions, you can ask your RA.”
I hoped he meant resident advisor, because if he meant something else I had no idea what he was talking about.
“Okay.” I took the packet he thrust in my face. “What about my student ID card?”
“Next!” He lifted his head and shot me another irritated glance.
“Excuse me.” I stood my ground. “Where do I get my student ID card?”
His shoulders slumped. “Look, Kiersten, I have a line of a few hundred students, I said everything you need to know is in your packet, so look in your packet. If you have questions, ask your RA. We…” He pointed at himself then at me. “…are finished here.”
What the hell was his problem?
I wasn’t sure if I was embarrassed or just irritated. Cursing, I held the packet to my chest and stomped off. I turned around to send him one last seething glare and ran smack dab into a tree.
Or at least it felt like a tree.
But trees weren’t warm.
And they didn’t have one, two, three, four, six, Good Lord, eight? Eight packs? Furthermore, had I actually been feeling said person’s eight pack? And, dear God, I was counting. I had touched each muscle. And great, my hand was still firmly placed against the guy’s stomach.
I jerked my hand back and closed my eyes.
“Were you just counting my abs?” His voice sounded amused. It also sounded like a movie star voice, the type that makes you want to jump into the TV screen. It was deep, strong, and had a slight accent I couldn’t place. British? Scottish?
I took my lower lip between my teeth and thought about what to say. Well, there really was no way out of it. I nodded. “Sorry, I just…” I shouldn’t have looked. If I could go back in time, I would have. I had no idea that one look would devastate me. Weeks from now I would regret that one look, for one reason and one reason only.
His eyes held my ruin.
“Weston.” He held out his hand. “And you are?”
Screwed. “Kiersten.” I clutched the packet tighter against my chest. He squinted at my hands then looked at his.
“You have a germ thing?”
“Huh? What? No?”
“You have a disease?” His hand was still between us, it was getting more awkward by the minute. Just put it away!
“Um, no.”
“Good.” He moved his hand from safe territory, and suddenly he was touching me, well, touching my packet, but I could have sworn I felt every bit of his heat as he slowly peeled it from my grip and freed up my hands. “Now,” he held out his hand again, “where were we?”
What the heck was wrong with me? It wasn’t that I didn’t want to shake his hand. It was just that I was embarrassed and I wanted to leave, and I wasn’t sure if he was just being nice to me to be nice or — wow, I needed therapy.