Good Guy

Part Ten

Scotch should've been ashamed of himself. Instead of listening to Professor Solis' lecture, he had allowed himself to be distracted by the memory of a certain someone and her kiss. Granted, it had been on the cheek, and he'd certainly locked lips with two other girls in high school, but they weren't the Cleo Hilard, freshman extraordinaire with the pretty eyes and witty banter. Even Professor Solis and his boring lecture couldn't compare to her. Scotch took down notes whenever he remembered to, but for the most part his head remained stuck in la-la land until the professor ended class.

Funnily enough, he wasn't the only one who'd skimped some effort on the lecture.

"Oh man..." Art groaned beside him, digging his fingers into his scalp and almost knocking off his sunglasses. "My frigging head..."

Scotch snickered, leaning back into his chair and observing the self-induced torture his friend was experiencing. "That's what you get for being an idiot."

"How's Shayla holding up?"

Scotch raised one brow and turned to check on Art's girlfriend, the latter having seated herself beside him after coming in late. Her head was tucked into her folded arms, and her eyes were shielded by shades that matched Art's. She was lucky she didn't snore, otherwise Professor Solis would've given her a field day for sleeping in class.

"Out cold," he informed Art, holding in his laughter as they both noticed the bit of drool at the corner of her mouth. "I told you going to that bar was a stupid idea."

Art attempted to roll his eyes, but didn't get to finish because the act only exacerbated his hangover. He winced, and suffered the pounding in his head while he took out a clean hanky for his girlfriend. Scotch scooted back as his friend reached over him to wipe clean the corner of Shayla's mouth.

"I'm just glad this day is over," Art said, his eyes straying to the doorway as he tucked Shayla's tresses behind her ear. "Hey. Isn't that your girlfriend outside our door?"

Scotch frowned. Either Art was still drunk from his night out, or hang-overs had the uncanny power to make any person hallucinate. He briefly considered running to the university clinic and securing his friend another dose of ibuprofen. "My what?"

"That Cleo girl," Art replied just as Scotch himself turned his attention to the door.

Sure enough, Cleo stood outside the room, looking for all the world like a sweet, innocent angel in her cream-colored shirt and capris. The way she peeked into the lecture hall, lower lip bit between her teeth, was the most adorable, amusing thing he'd seen all day. She looked like she was searching for someone or something, a hunch proven true when she waved in his direction after spotting him.

Shit! Scotch mentally swore when he realized Cleo had been looking for him. He quickly scrambled from his seat, making sure not to bump into the still sleeping Shayla as he skirted her chair. He also gave himself a much-needed pep talk while he made his way down the center aisle. Okay, Scotch, keep it cool! You've got this. You're not some hormone-driven teenager—well. Okay. You are. But you get the point! At least pretend you're not a hormone-driven teenager.

"Freshie," he greeted Cleo once he was close enough, hoping against all hope that she didn't sense how jittery he'd become. He was going to act smooth, dammit, just like he always did when faced with a pretty girl.

Cleo grinned up at him, and 'smooth' almost ran out of the building. "Sopho."

"Are your classes over, Cleo?" Scotch went for the most obvious question, just so he could have more time to gather his wits. "You better not be skipping."