Campus Bookworm, page 1
Table of Contents
Title Page
Campus Bookworm (Curvy College Reunion)
Copyright © 2022 by The Arrowed Heart
BOOKS BY THIS AUTHOR
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
EPILOGUE ONE
EPILOGUE TWO
THANKS FOR READING & DON’T FORGET TO RATE/REVIEW!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
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Copyright © 2022 by The Arrowed Heart
All rights reserved.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover Design by The Arrowed Heart
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BOOKS BY THIS AUTHOR
Standalones
Batter Up
Wood Lessons
Tees & Jeans Series
The Brother Bias
The Boss Bias
The Bad Boy Bias
Lumberjacks of High Ridge Series
Kept by the Beast
Claimed by the Woodsman
Found by the Loner
Curvy College Reunion Series
Campus Good Girl
Campus Queen
Campus Bookworm
Campus Professor
Christmas & Curves Series
Festive Fever
December Desire
Peppermint Passion
Mountain Men of Suitor’s Crossing
Protected by the Mountain Man
A Date with the Mountain Man
For the bookworms dreaming of a happily ever after.
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PROLOGUE
LIAM
PE SUCKS.
The gym smells like body odor and rubber from the black mats laid out in the middle of the floor, and it makes me wish I’d skipped class again. Especially since today we’re doing a marathon of events to test us for some national survey.
Six obstacles. Ten minutes each. Varying from how many jumping jacks you can do to how long you can hold a stretch.
Because this matters in the real world, I scoff, completing my round of pull-ups on the metal bar hanging from the wall.
A shrill whistle echoes in the cavernous space, halting everyone in their tracks. “Switch! Next set!” Coach Corcoran yells from her place in the center of rotating students. We’re all fucking adults, yet still being treated like cogs on an assembly line.
Isn’t college supposed to differ from high school?
I trail behind my group to the second to last drill: jumping jacks. Thank fuck, this hell is almost over. I’m not against physical exertion, but corporate exercising isn’t for me. It’s why I’m not on any sports teams. Well... that and my aversion to people.
But PE is an easy A and a required credit, which is why I pushed it off for three and a half years—saving it to pad the breezy second semester of my senior year.
“Morrison!”
Coach C’s loud voice rings in my ears. Who’s Morrison? “Sit down, Morrison!”
She’s getting nearer, focusing on one of the students in the group next to mine. A short, curvy girl with a ponytail full of frizzy curls, and at the moment, she doesn’t look too good. Her cheeks are pale. Ghostly white. And Coach C’s commands don’t seem to register.
“Morrison, can you hear me?”
Suddenly, the girl’s eyes flutter closed, and the breath shudders out of her frozen body in an unexpected faint. Hurrying forward while everyone else remains stuck in place, I instinctively wrap an arm around her waist, bracing the other at the back of her head as we both crumple to the ground.
“Kennedy, are you alright? How’s Morrison?” Coach C squats before us, whistle dangling around her neck, and I take stock of our positions.
“I’m fine. I tried to protect her...” Movement catches my attention as the girl moans and shifts from her prone state on the gym floor next to me. Immediately, I roll to my elbow and lean over her, my shadow shielding her face from the fluorescent lights above.
“Hey, how are you feeling?” The color’s coming back to her cheeks as her confused gaze meets mine before flitting away to observe the crowd surrounding us.
“What happened?” Her soft voice is mesmerizing—a gentle melody of chimes swinging in a summer breeze—but it’s the trust in her blue eyes that shakes me to my core. No one’s ever looked at me with such innocent faith except for my little sister. But even Nicole’s sisterly trust is jaded with knowledge about the type of men the Kennedys are. From my grandfather to my dad and uncles, we’re a long line of addicts, whether it’s alcohol, women, or building financial empires.
My vice is the only unknown.
Or it was.
Because I’m afraid I just met my drug of choice.
“You passed out,” I say, reeling from my epiphany.
“Mr. Kennedy caught you. This young man saved you from a knock on the head.” Coach C pounds my shoulder in a ‘good boy’ kind of way. “You must’ve overexerted yourself. Cut off the oxygen to your brain, and it blacked out to protect you. You need to be more careful in the future.”
“Yes, ma’am... I felt dizzy, but before I could rest, it was too late.” Morrison pushes to a sitting position while I support her spine, though I’m unsure of what I should be doing. If I should still be touching her.
“Let this be a lesson for everyone. Pay attention to your body’s cues. It will tell you when it’s had enough.” Checking her watch, Coach C sighs and dismisses class a little early, allowing everyone to trek back to the locker rooms.
That’s it? Shouldn’t she call for a nurse? Double-check the girl’s okay?
“I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
The quiet question redirects my focus, bafflement furrowing my brows. “Hurt me? Baby, you’re the one who blacked out. Are you sure you’re feeling alright?” I don’t know where the endearment comes from. I’ve never called a girl ‘baby’ in my life. But it suits her, and I can’t deny the warmth in my chest as another blush—this time a sweet pink—blooms on her face.
“Yeah, I just meant when I... When you caught me...” She stumbles over the words, arms moving to hug her round stomach, knuckles turning white. “It couldn’t have been easy.”
What the hell? I think I understand what she’s trying to say, and I don’t like the implication. “Coming to the rescue of a beautiful girl? Nothing easier in my mind.” Flirting feels unnatural. I don’t get much practice since I keep to myself ninety percent of the time, but something from all the Korean dramas my little sister makes me watch must be influencing me. “I’m Liam, by the way. Liam Kennedy.”
“Mae Morrison.” I offer a hand to help her up, and we stand alone in the gym—uneasy, hesitant. Has she always attended Trinity College? How have I missed her for nearly four years? It’s a tiny fucking campus!
“Thanks for—”
“Should we—”
We both stop. Awkward smiles follow.
“Ladies first.” My chin dips in a bow while my arm flourishes forward like I’m a damned knight instead of a twenty-one-year-old guy from Ohio.
“Thank you for catching me, though I’m sorry it happened at all. It’s pretty embarrassing to faint in front of the entire class.” A trembling hand brushes a wayward wisp of hair off her forehead. “Not something I want to be remembered for, that’s for sure.”
“It could’ve happened to anyone. These ridiculous tests they put us through are dumb, anyway. I wouldn’t sweat it.”
“Easy for you to say. You’re the hero in this story.” Adorable creases form at the edges of her eyes as she smirks.
I’m not a hero.
But I don’t voice the denial. I like that she thinks I’m good. Gallant. Even if it’s bound to be short-lived.
Our privacy’s broken when squeaking tennis shoes erupt from the back corner where a swarm of basketball players floods into the gym. Were these guys standing at the doorway waiting for our class to end or something? Because practice seems underway with little fanfare as orange basketballs fly around the gym.
Looks like my time with Mae is up.
“Guess that’s our cue. Thanks again.” Mae shyly retreats. And before I can summon a witty remark or at least ask for her phone number, she’s gone. Curly ponytail waving goodbye.
“Hey, get off the court!” Some giant runs by me with a basketball in hand, and I heed his command, shoulders hunched as I shuffle to the men’s locker room for my things.
It’s a small campus. You’ll see her again.
But the question is: should I?
Does she deserve to be saddled with a Kennedy man?
A man whose tendency towards obsession could smother and crush her?
CHAPTER ONE
MAE
TEN YEARS LATER
“WE COULD SKIP THE REUNION and spend the weekend relaxing... anywhere but here,” I finish lamely, slumped on the end of the hotel mattress, waiting for my best friend Laura to change her mind about tonight. It’s our ten-year college reunion, and doubts about attending have plagued me since receiving the invitation.
College was a lot like high school for
Water under the bridge. Forget about it.
She’s the only close friend I’ve stayed in touch with from my time at Trinity, so tonight’s cocktail and dinner to kick off the reunion weekend? Not something I’m particularly excited about. Especially since Laura wasn’t a hermit like me. She actually has people to catch up with, and I don’t relish the idea of being the silent observer by her side all night.
I’d much prefer staying inside our hotel room cozied up with a book.
“Stop stressing. This weekend’s going to be fun, and you’re going to experience college like you should have when you actually attended. It’s my mission to make sure of it.” Laura grabs her purse from the hotel dresser, and we head down to her car—she's dressed to the nines in a glittery strapless dress and sky-high heels, while I look like a conservative nun in a black wrap dress with flats. Why didn’t I pack something prettier?
Because black is classy... and you didn’t want to draw attention to yourself.
“What exactly is my experience going to be?” I question, wary of the mischievous sparkle in her eyes as my seatbelt clicks into place.
“Oh, you know. The usual. A casual hook-up, for starters.”
“What?”
“A casual hook-up. A one night stand. A dirty fuck with a stranger. Take your pick because it’s happening. Little Miss Virgin will be a virgin no longer.”
Not this again.
I groan in disbelief, banging my head against the back of the car seat. In retrospect, I should’ve seen this coming, since Laura’s convinced sex will loosen me up. Relax me enough to feel comfortable around others because I won’t be so caught up in my thoughts.
I don’t believe that’s true for a second, but it hasn’t stopped her from trying to set me up on dates or pushing me towards male friends. “I’m not going to sleep with someone because you will it.” Incredulous laughter bubbles over at the idea. I haven’t been hanging onto my virginity for any particular reason; it’s just hard to lose when you’re uncomfortable around strangers.
It takes persistence to stick around long enough for me to feel safe around someone, but most people don’t care to put in the effort. And I don’t blame them. My life would be much easier if I could force myself to rush the process, diving right into conversations and relationships.
But that’s not me.
And even if it were, you know how badly things can still turn out.
“We’ll see,” Laura mutters, parking at the Basil Center on Trinity College’s campus. The cocktail party started about twenty minutes ago, but stragglers are still traipsing across the quad, sparkling dresses and dapper suits parading before our eyes.
Damn, I really am underdressed.
“Don’t underestimate my determination or your allure. Because trust me, these guys have no clue what’s about to hit them.”
A black cloud based on my appearance.
Though I appreciate the vote of confidence, even if the compliment’s unwarranted, under no circumstances have I ever been described as alluring.
Cute? Maybe.
Pretty? Possibly.
But never so breathtakingly gorgeous that men fall at my feet.
Searching for a way to discourage whatever Laura has planned for me, the short trek inside hardly gives me enough time to bolster myself before we—Laura—are bombarded by hugs and smiles of welcome. A couple of recognizable faces float in my periphery, those who lingered in my social media friends’ lists, but for the most part, everyone’s a stranger.
“Laura! Come here, girl!” Excited squeals erupt, and Laura’s enveloped in another embrace as I hang back from the growing crowd. It’d be nice if someone said hello to me, too, but everyone’s focused on Laura—a confirmation of how I feared tonight would go.
Surveying the room with a resigned sigh, I admire the effort put in to create an elegant cocktail party, despite its less-than-ideal location on campus. Bouquets of orange and white roses decorate each table, and servers rotate through the guests with trays of champagne. The school’s colors grace every spare inch of space, making me feel a bit like a pumpkin with my black dress and the room’s orange motif.
Fitting for October.
Unflattering for a woman.
“Kayla Grisham. Is that you? You haven’t changed at all!” The exclamation comes from a few feet away, where three women and their respective partners gather around two combined tables.
Kayla, Angie, and Naomi.
I used to be a part of their group—one of their best friends, especially with Kayla. But everything fell apart the summer before senior year, thanks to me.
Water under the bridge, remember?
Ignoring the nauseous roiling in my stomach, I sidle closer to Laura, who’s animatedly sharing her latest trip to South America for a photoshoot with some high-profile soccer player. As a professional freelance photographer, she’s always jetting around the world on unique assignments, which means she’s an expert at socializing—never short a funny or interesting anecdote.
I let the easy conversation distract me from the past, determined to not reopen old wounds again. That’s what therapy’s for. Not that I’ve gone in a while, but that’s a whole other issue.
Eventually, cocktail hour bleeds into dinner, where I haven't spoken more than five words the entire time. Not a unique situation, since this is how every group event I attend goes, but I always hope someone will notice me on the outskirts. That someone will want to get to know me. Even if the possibility also scares me because what if I mess up and say the wrong thing?
My old therapist's advice filters through my thoughts—essentially saying I need to learn to be okay with feeling uncomfortable, learn to not place such importance on how other people view me. Unfortunately, despite multiple sessions, I’m still not brave enough to follow her wisdom.
Shame coats my insides with the bitter pill of knowing how to change but unable to enact it. It’s one of the reasons I quit seeing her; I felt like too much of a failure.
"You're being too quiet. Speak." A guy across the table flicks a hand in my direction and all eyes turn to me.
Oh, no.
Squirming under the stares like an insect stuck beneath a microscope, I shake my head and force a smile. "I'm good. Thanks."
"Come on. Just say something. Anything."
"I don't have anything to say." God, I hate this. Every once in a while, there’s one person who tries to push me into conversation. As if shoving me off a cliff will teach me to magically swim... or, in this case, transform into a social butterfly.
"Gage, leave her alone." Laura steps in to defend me. "She doesn't have to speak if she doesn't want to."
Gage raises his hands in exasperation. "I'm not trying to be a dick, but seriously, why are you here if you're going to sit there like a statue? You were weird like this in class, too."
Icy dread trickles down my spine despite my heart pumping double time, heat rising to the surface, searching for an escape. I wanted to be noticed, not harassed. Not pressured.
Everyone stares at me.
Some look sympathetic, but others wear a similar annoyed expression as Gage. God, I can't even sit in silence without bothering people, and it'd almost be funny if it wasn't so pathetic. If it didn't confirm once again how undesirable people find me.
My family.
Former friends from Trinity.
And now these ex-classmates who probably thought the same thing back then as they do now.
"How dare you—"
"Excuse me." I interrupt Laura's mounting anger by getting up from the table. She tries to stop my escape with a hand on my arm, but I shake her off and a silent conversation quick fires between our eyes before she lets me go with a sigh of understanding. Gage scoffs and mutters something under his breath, drawing Laura’s ire again, and I swiftly maneuver around the dinner tables set up in the banquet hall.
Double doors stand sentry at the back of the room, a beacon of safety calling my name. It may be cowardly to avoid Gage’s pointed questions. It’s definitely cowardly leaving Laura to fight my battles for me. But I hate conflict, and what can I say to satisfy him? He already thinks I’m weird for being quiet—I can’t suddenly morph into something I’m not.
