Page 63 of Broken Prince

Yet, somehow, lately, I find myself smack dab in the middle of it.

Here in Rose Briar Hill, I haven’t had much luck on my side.

“If you see her coming, don’t make eye contact. Just turn around and walk the other way.” Winter looks up at me with panicked eyes.

Grabbing her shoulders, I hold her stare. “I’ll be fine. Stacy is two years ahead of me. We don’t share any classes as far as I know. I’ll avoid her the best I can.”

It’s Wednesday, and I’ve attended all but one of my classes at least once, leaving me flying blind when it comes to World History.

“Okay.” Winter takes a deep breath and nods.

“I better get going or I’m going to be late. I’ll meet you after your class, and we can hang for the afternoon.”

Her smile brightens. “Okay.”

I like her. She’s fun to be around and easy to talk to.

Leaving Winter, I head towards the building for my third and last class of the day.

Cursing as I look down at my phone, I realize I have less than five minutes to get through the building and into the room.

Rushing, I manage to get there on time, but the class is already pretty full. With a heavy feeling in my gut, I head towards the front and take a seat in one of the few empty seats in the first row.

No idea why this class would be so full, it’s not a class most people need to graduate.

Quickly, I open my bag to dig out a notebook and pen.

“Welcome, everyone, to World History,” a deep, booming voice flutters through the classroom. It takes me a second for the sound to register in my mind. My movements slow, my hand tightening around my notepad.

That voice. I know it.

Buried deep down in my mind, the familiarity comes drifting forward.

“My name is Professor Malachi Krane, but you can call me Professor Krane.”

Slowly, still hunched over with my hands in my bag, I look up towards the front of the class.

When my eyes meet the tall, looming figure standing on the little stage next to the massive whiteboard, my whole body freezes.

No. No, this can’t be. I have to be dreaming, hallucinating, anything but being stuck in this reality.

Because if this is real, and my eyes are not playing tricks on me, then that would mean the man standing before me, my World History professor, is the sexy stranger I hooked up with.

The new star of my dreams, the best sex of my life, the man who was only meant to be a fucking one-night stand in passing, is my professor.

This has got to be some kind of sick joke. What have I ever done for life to keep throwing this kind of shit at me? Am I paying for someone else's Karma?

He continues to talk, but I’m not understanding a word he’s saying.

The shock I’m feeling is slowly morphing into horror as the situation sets in.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck! If he sees me, he’s going to know I was lying.

Not that he would have much to say, seeing how the fucking asshole lied to me too!

Grabbing my pen and notebook, I carefully sit back in my chair and slouch down, hoping he doesn’t see me.

While I might be in the front of the class, thankfully, I’m more towards the outer edge of the room and could easily be passed over.