He takes my hand slowly, almost as if he’s afraid I’m going to turn and run. “My first name is Lee.”

Lee. I savor it, testing it out in my head. It fits. Strong. Silent. Sexy as fuck.

His eyes are gray, his face chiseled and cut with lean cheekbones and a blade for a nose. There’s dark scruff on his jawline and he rubs at it. Not once does he take his gaze off mine.

Someone brushes past me, but I hardly notice.

Is the sun brighter? Are birds singing in the trees?

My legs feel weird, like I’m not really standing there. I swallow the lump in my throat.

The universe just…shifted.

“Lee.” Stupid me. I say it again.

His full, wicked lips twitch. “Yeah. And you’re Ava, AKA Tulip.”

“Hey, are you ready? We’re late,” the girl says from behind him.

“Your girlfriend is calling you,” I murmur. “Better go.”

“Not my girlfriend.”

“Is that right?” I realize I’ve taken two steps toward him. If I reached out, I could touch his well-defined chest. “She’s pretty.”

“Hmmm. I prefer blondes.” His gaze sweeps over my long hair, and dang, I admit I preen a little and toss it over my shoulder. It is glorious, long and wavy and brilliant in the sunlight. No more dark or bleached hair for me. I’m glad I wore it down today.

“She insisted on walking with me. My cousin actually.”

The girl in question rolls her eyes, says she’s ready and if he isn’t then he can find his own damn class by himself.

“Go on,” he replies without glancing at her. “I’ll manage.”

I stare at him and he stands perfectly still, as if he’s afraid to move, while I…well, I’m the idiot girl who spends a full minute—when I’m late!—taking in every single inch of him. He’s tan like he’s been outdoors a lot. His eyes are crinkled at the corners from squinting at the sun. His hands are strong-looking, his fingers long and lean.

“Do I pass inspection?” he murmurs.

“Yeah.” I pick up his book and hand it to him, our fingers brushing.

His sensuous lips part, his chest rising, and he looks as if he might say—

Someone hits my shoulder to get around me, and I apologize. Dang. We’re standing here in the middle of heavy foot traffic.

Someone calls my name, a girl from the pre-med program, and I start then send her a wave, secretly hoping she doesn’t walk over. I come back to his face watching mine as an unsure expression flashes briefly.

“See you around,” he finally murmurs before turning and walking toward the buildings at the end of the sidewalk.

I watch him until his body grows smaller and the heads of other students overtake his. With a sigh, I gaze around at the world. Wow. The sky is incredibly blue, the grass is greener, the trees lush and full of vibrant color as they sway in the late summer breeze.

I laugh.

I just met a guy.

I just met a guy.

By the time I exit the restroom, where I did my best to dab the coffee off my shirt and walk into class, the lecture hall is packed. I prefer to sit up front, especially if I need to stay awake, but I’m out of luck, and it doesn’t bother me one bit because I’m floating on air. I hitch my backpack up and find a seat in the last row at the top. At least it’s the aisle and the exit is behind me in case I need to dash out quickly for my next class.

“This professor is supposed to be awesome,” says the guy next to me.

“Oh?”

“Sociology of Men and Women.” He winks at me, and I read the gleam of interest there.

He’s cute with black glasses, a designer shirt, and super white teeth. Rich guy. Lots of money at Vandy, yet where people come from and what they have doesn’t annoy me anymore. We’re all here to learn, and I fit in just fine.

Even in my shabby Converse, pink now instead of black.

He leans over closer. “You wanna study together for this class sometime?”

I shake my head. “Um, I’m seeing someone,” I tell him, being blunt. Might as well let him know. My heart is taken.

His smile falters a bit. “Oh. Cool. Sure, yeah. Me too.”

I look up at the professor who’s walked into the room, and my eyes land on a gold shirt near the front. I sit up straighter. I have to angle my head and peer past a coed with some giant hair—

But, oh, I see him.

My first name is Lee.

My lips curve.

The professor introduces himself and breaks down the coursework, and I take notes on my laptop without looking, watching Hot Guy.

Did he see me walk in?

The professor begins talking, and before long I’m sucked in, especially when he throws out the term mating rituals. I grin, thanking my advisor in my head.

Later, I’m halfway into my shift at Blue’s when Carla, a graduate student and my manager, walks over to the bar and points at me. “Your turn to take the mic.”

“I sang one already!”

“You know the drill, missy.”

I groan, set down my bar cloth, and make my way to the small raised stage inside Blue’s Bar.

“Part of the job, Ava,” she calls. “Only way to get those other people up to sing is if you do.”

“They just need to be drunk. You should do a dollar beer night.”

She huffs. “As if. Now, go sing your tits off.”

I’m thrown back to Camden when Miss Henderson said something similar over the intercom before the first football game. The memory doesn’t prick like it used to, and I laugh.

“She just likes hearing you sing,” Piper says as she brings back a tray of beer and wine glasses. “And you know you like it too.” She gives me a questioning look, and I shrug. She’s right. I didn’t sing for a long time, but once I started working here a year ago, it just seemed natural to hop on the stage and belt one out. There’s a piano, but I can’t play it. I can strum a guitar, though, thanks to Wyatt.

I’ve gotten through two songs when a big group comes in. Girls and guys, they’re wearing Vandy colors. Blue’s Bar is a block from campus, and most of our clientele are coeds.

Carla signals for one more and I nod.

Dipping my head, I sit on the stool and strum the first few bars of “Mercy” by Shawn Mendes. Humming, I start the lyrics, melancholy verses about a guy who needs the girl he loves to show mercy for his heart, to take their love slow. He’s prepared to sacrifice it all, but he needs to take some time.

The crowd gets quieter, and I sing the melody, giving it all I have.

A piano begins to play.

Pulling myself from the lyrics, I look over, and Hot Guy has gotten on stage. He’s playing, his fingers stroking the keys in time to my words.

Ah, we meet again. A shiver ripples over my skin.

Red colors my cheeks when he pops an eyebrow at me. I realize I’ve stopped singing.

Well? Aren’t you going to finish? his eyes ask.

Why? my face says.

He shrugs effortlessly as his fingers pause over the keys. “I like how you sing,” he says softly.

Good enough. I look back at the crowd and sing the rest.

The song ends to a smattering of claps, hardly enthusiastic.

“Ava! I need you! Get over here!” Carla waves her hands at the line of people at the bar.