Free Stars (Penmore #1) by Malorie Verdant Page B

wasn’t bad. Sure, he was spoiled when it came to the girls who threw themselves at him and as a result often didn’t respect them. He was completely hopeless when it came to personal security. Way too arrogant for his own good. But he wasn’t a stereotypical bad boy. He spent too long trying to protect anyone who looked like they may be picked on. He never drank. He used his spare time to cheer his mom up by dancing around the house and singing old Frank Sinatra songs to her. He was a football star who preferred to talk about the accomplishments of his teammates over his own skill set. He also liked to keep a diary. Well, I think it was a diary. He was always writing at home in a black and white notebook, and he seemed to hide it whenever anyone walked into his room.
    If he was a bad boy, I was going to be a cheerleader. And after the mindless dribble the girls in front of me spewed constantly—well, that and my poor sense of body coordination—there wasn’t a chance in hell I would ever be a cheerleader.
    When the class ends I am so bloody relieved. I might love learning new things, but all I’m learning in that class is not to use hairspray indoors without proper ventilation. I really should start just watching the online lectures on Fridays. I’m one of the first students to step outside the glass doors and I immediately stop, causing the girl behind me to bump into my back and give me an evil glare as she walks around me. Not that I care, because I’m stuck staring at the vision in front of me. Oh, God, I’m hallucinating again.
    Grayson Waters is leaning against a pillar, his brown hair slightly falling in front of his eyes and his checkered shirt rolled up at the sleeves, exposing the white shirt he’s rocking underneath. He looks relaxed, and a little like he just stepped off a yacht or possibly a Ralph Lauren advert. My mouth drops open a bit over the fact that he has two coffees in his large hands and is staring straight at me. A small smirk pulls at the edges of his lips.
    “Parker.”
    And now he’s saying my name.
    There is no flipping way Grayson Waters is saying my name and waiting for me outside my class with coffee .
    I really need to get my brain injury checked out professionally. This was going too far.
    Before I can unfreeze myself, Grayson saunters toward me, puts one of the coffees in my left hand and says, “So, I bought you coffee. Hope you like caramel lattes. The coffee girl said they were most of the girls’ on campus beverage of choice. Not that I think you’re like the other girls on campus. Anyway, I don’t suppose you mind walking me to my next class? I really wanted to talk, but now I’ve got about ten minutes left before it starts and I’ve already missed two classes hanging out here.”
    Before I can process the words coming out of his mouth, and the fact that Grayson Waters is asking me to walk across the quad, he takes my right hand in his and starts directing us toward his next class. I guess it was less of a question and more of a statement.
    “So, I forgot to ask you last time we saw each other what you’re studying. Do you have a major yet?” he asks while sipping on his coffee and strolling along the path. As if this, him walking hand in hand with me, wasn’t a sign of the world coming to an end. Seriously, I do not know what I’ve done that might make him want to ask me questions. Acting like he’s interested in me.
    Okay, I’ve never made eye contact with him before last lesson and yeah, I’ve always hidden from him, but surely eye contact, a pair of tight jeans and curling my hair suddenly didn’t make me interesting. “I’m pre-med,” I reply, thinking maybe he’s doing some sort of weird community outreach program. Maybe all of the football players have to do some sort of school survey, which okay, wouldn’t exactly explain the coffee, but I makes much more sense than the notion that he’s trying to flirt with me.
    “Very impressive. Almost as