Stepbrother Broken (The Hawthorne Brothers Book 2) (3 page)

“
It
’
s
not even noon yet,
”
Danny points out.

“
One word: Mimosas,
”
I smile, shrugging into my backpack.
“
Acceptable at any time of the day. Or morning.
”

“
Don
’
t
you have class or something?
”
Danny asks.

“
Not for another hour,
”
I reply,
“
Plenty of time for a good
whistle-wetting.
”

“
You
’
ve
got a problem,
”
Danny laughs, shaking his
head.

“
Come on,
”
I smile, lacing my arm through his,
“
Day drinking is what college is for. If not now, then
when?
”

“
That
’
s
funny,
”
he says, letting me drag him toward
the exit,
“
I thought college was for building
a practical skill set and
—”

“
Danny. We
’
re in
drama
school,
”
I remind him,
“
Practicality has nothing to do with
it.
”

“
Fair point,
”
he relents,
“
Lead on, Sophie. Isn
’
t that kind of your thing?
”

“
Dickhead,
”
I mutter, giving my friend a playful shove as we set
off for our favorite taqueria. Nothing like pre-gaming an economics lecture, am
I right?

One
hour and two drinks later, Danny and I have eased the sting of our botched
final rehearsal with a visit to P
eque
ñ
o, home of the best tacos (and
tequila) in town. We
’
ll have another shot at performing
tomorrow, anyway. No harm, no foul. I was lucky enough to be spared the
competitive perfectionist gene that my older sister Maddie most certainly
inherited. It
’
s a good thing, too
—
you can
’
t afford to be too precious about
rejection when you
’
re trying to be an actor.

“
So is your class this afternoon the
one with Professor Sexy Pants?
”
Danny asks, polishing off the
last sip of his drink.

“
It is indeed,
”
I grin,
“
I have to say, I never thought I
’
d actually enjoy one of my general education courses
so much.
”

“
Well, it doesn
’
t sound like it
’
s the class you
’
re enjoying, so much as the eye candy,
”
Danny points out,
“
You
couldn
’
t stand going to lectures when that
crusty old dude was giving them.
”

“
Thank god for jury duty,
”
I laugh, stretching my arms up over my head.
“
Having Sexy Pants come in to sub was the best thing
that could have happened to my semester.
”

“
Does Sexy Pants have a name, or do
his parents just have a sick sense of humor?
”
Danny
asks, lounging back in his chair.

“
I believe it
’
s Luke,
”
I reply,
“
Lukas Hawthorne.
”

“
Professor Hawthorne,
”
Danny repeats with relish,
“
Super
hot.
”

“
You don
’
t have to tell me,
”
I
laugh,
“
I can
’
t
hear a word he
’
s saying about personal finances, I
’
m too busy staring at that tight ass of his.
”

“
That
’
s
why I
’
m surprised you
’
re skipping class today. I would have thought that you
’
d want to take one last gander before the semester is
over,
”
Danny says.

“
I
’
m
not skipping class,
”
I reply, sitting up straight
in my chair.

“
Uh, yeah. You are, as of now,
”
Danny says, holding up his cell to show me the time.
It
’
s 1:00p.m. The appointed hour of my
last economics lecture of the year.

“
Shit!
”
I
cry, jumping to my feet and snatching up my backpack,
“
I
’
ve got to go!
”

“
I
’
ll
just put these on your tab,
”
Danny replies, nodding at our
empty glasses.

I
dig a couple twenties out of my purse, chuck them in my snarky friend
’
s direction, and take off like a shot out the door.
The lecture hall is all the way across campus. Good thing I
’
ve already got my sneakers on. I race across the
grassy lawns that sprawl between the buildings of Sheridan University, dodging
picnic blankets, study sessions, and more than a few Frisbee games. Everyone is
out and about, celebrating the end of the semester. But not me. Hell, I
’
ll be back here in no time to take some summer
performance courses so I have the option of graduating early next year.
Besides, I
’
ve never been one for school
spirit, so the festivities are rather lost on me.

Panting,
sweaty, and a little tipsy, I finally lunge into the economics building and
wrench open the lecture hall door. A hundred people swivel around in their
arena-style seats to face me as I step through the doorway, still wearing my
skintight dance clothes. I know they say first impressions are the most
important, but this last impression might do a number on my classmates
’
opinion of me, too. Of course, it isn
’
t really my peers I
’
m
concerned with just now.

“
Nice of you to join us, Ms. Porter,
”
says the tall, cut figure facing the whiteboard at the
front of the room. When that figure turns to face me, I have to brace myself
against the doorway to keep from tumbling down the stairs that lead to him.

Lukas
Hawthorne stands there in all his glory, as enticing as he was the first day he
showed up to take over our economics lecture. He
’
s
about six two, with a broad but balanced body. He wears his chestnut brown hair
cut short, and sports the tiniest hint of dark stubble on his distinct jaw. His
muscles have been honed by years of training for just about every sport there
is. I know, because he did that training right here at Sheridan. He
’
s a legendary athlete around here, particularly in
track. His gorgeous face is plastered all over the marketing materials for the
school. Those dark greens eyes of his probably convince more people to enroll
here every year than the course offerings.

And
right now, those eyes are trained on me
—
looking like a proper hot mess.

“
Sorry I
’
m late,
”
I breathe, transfixed by Luke
’
s steady gaze.

“
Don
’
t
worry about it,
”
he replies coolly, giving me
a searing once-over,
“
I hear that Jazzercise classes tend
to run over now and then.
”

Stifled
laughter rings out through the lecture hall as I glance down at my dance
attire. No choice but to own it, I guess. Tossing my messy braid over one
shoulder, I straighten my spine and shoot Luke an easy smile.

“
Yeah, well. It
’
s a lifestyle,
”
I say, walking confidently to
the last empty chair in the room and sinking down with a satisfied smile.

But
Luke takes no notice of my slick response. He
’
s
already turned away from me and resumed his lesson, as if I
’
d never appeared in the first place. I let the smile
fade from my lips as he goes on. I have to admit, I
’
m disappointed in his disinterest. Since he first
showed up a weeks ago, I
’
ve been doing everything in my
power to catch his eye. But no matter what I do, I can
’
t seem to snag his interest. I
’
m not saying that I
’
m
man bait or anything, but I
’
ve found that guys are typically
responsive when I give them an opening. Not Luke Hawthorne, though. He
’
s barely spared me a passing glance.

Oh
well. At least that gives me more time to stare unabashedly at him.

From
what I
’
ve been able to glean from campus
gossip, Luke is back at Sheridan completing his MBA after attending undergrad
here a few years ago. He
’
s not an official employee of the
school, he just stepped in to teach this class as a personal favor to an old
professor. He
’
s a Montana native, a beast on the
track, and apparently brilliant.

And
naturally, he
’
s a
total
womanizer.

Every
other week, he can be seen around campus with a new main squeeze. I swear,
there must be a waiting list or something
—
he turns ladies over like clockwork.
But to be perfectly honest, it doesn
’
t bother me one bit that he
’
s an expiration-dater. I
’
ve
always preferred short, sexy flings to long, dull relationships myself.
Especially since my dad passed away, the last thing I want is to be with a guy
who insists on getting all emotionally invested from the get go. Give me a
passionate tryst over commitment any day.

So
consumed am I by thoughts of Luke Hawthorne
’
s
romantic preferences that the lecture flies by. In no time at all, the students
around me are gathering their things and chatting about their plans for the
weekend. This place is going to be nuts starting tonight, it being the last day
of the year and all. Keg stands, streaking, and drunken frat bros will be the
name of the game around here. For my part, I
’
d
just as soon skip it. My body is only 21, but I think my soul is somewhere in
its mid-30
’
s and completely over its
binge-drinking college days, thanks.

“
Sophia,
”
I hear that familiar, rich baritone say from the front
of the room. I turn to see Luke Hawthorne waving me down toward him as the
class disperses.
“
Would you stay behind for a minute?
There
’
s something I want to discuss with
you.
”

My
stomach does its best washing machine impression as I freeze in my tracks. What
could Luke Hawthorne possibly have to discuss with me? My imagination runs wild
as my classmates file out around me, stealing curious glances as I make my way
toward Luke. Does he want to discuss the seven digits of my phone number? Or
where we should meet up for a drink later? Or how he
’
d like to see me bent over his desk while he
—

“
What
’
s
up?
”
I ask him, straining to make my
voice sound even remotely casual.

He
leaves me hanging until the lecture hall door has closed behind the last
student. Finally, it
’
s just us. I can feel my pulse
quickening with every second we
’
re alone. I
’
ve been fantasizing about this for weeks, but I
’
d given up hope of it ever happening for real. But now
that this smart, sexy, unattainable man is standing just a couple of feet away
from me, I
’
d say things are getting very real,
very fast.