That was a close fucking call. I sigh with relief but decide its best if I get out of here. I lift my bag up and over my head, so it hangs across my body, and walk to the door and listen for movement.
Silence.
I open the door and poke my head out. The coast is clear.
Slipping out of the room, I head for the exit right down the hall. Pushing out into the steamy August day, I yank out my phone.
Damn it. The image is blurry. I can only make out about six of the numbers, but the letters are lost to me. Is that an ‘o’ or a ‘d’?
I stop and look up at The Castle across the courtyard.
Think, think.
Ah! That tower. It's angled out from the building enough. I would be able to get a better view of Cannon's office. The tower wasn't utilized anymore, at least that’s Wells told me freshman year. How the hell he knew that I have no flipping clue.
The tower it is then.
I've got about thirty minutes before I risk Cannon returning from his meeting early. He normally closes the blinds in his office around four, so I need to hurry.
It doesn't take me more than a few minutes to cut across the green, lush grass of the courtyard. Everything about this campus is royal. It costs an arm and a leg to attend CamU, but I'm confident that they spend half a million a year to keep the grounds in tip-top shape.
Then again, that's private universities for you.
Walking in the side doors into the Castle, I take a moment to orient myself with the space. There are no classrooms or study rooms here, so after two years on campus, I've only been in here a small amount of time. Turning to the right, I head down the hall. Minutes later, I come to a stairwell in about the same vicinity of the tower.
Here's hoping this takes me to where I need to go.
Three flights later and slightly out of breath, I reach the top. There's a single, giant wooden door at the top of the stairs.
Yahtzee!
I push open the door and slide into the room. There are several windows, and the center is empty except for a single table. The window to the right of the door has a perfect view of Cannon's window.
Reaching into the bag at my side, my fingers brush the smooth plastic finish of my monocular. With it in my grasps, I lower my bag onto the floor. It takes only a second to zoom in on the sticky note, and I read the password out loud to myself.
Attempting another photo, I make sure the code is crisp and easy to read.
"And that's how it's done, baby," I mutter and shove my phone back into my pocket.
"Do you talk to yourself often?" I hear a light, singsong voice.
Was I followed? My head snaps up, and I glance at the door.
No, the door is shut. My gaze travels around the room, coming to a stop when it lands on... hair.
A ton of fucking hair.
It's a soft blonde color, which is normally my preference, but what I can't seem to wrap my head around is why there's so much of it. I pull my eyes away from the mass of hair and realize it's surprisingly attached to a single body. A petite girl sits in the window, her back against the wall, her legs stretched out on the sill and crossed at the ankles. She's tiny enough to fit comfortably in the window.
The hair distracts me, and I realize that while it's braided, it's thick and wild within its bind. It hangs halfway to the floor. I wonder if the tips of her hair hit the floor when she unleashes it.
"Ahem." She clears her throat.
I'm staring. Making eye contact, I'm greeted with questioning eyes and a small smile.
"So, he talks to himself and has never seen hair before." The pixie woman tucks a wayward hair behind her ear.
I clear my own throat this time. Where are my manners? I'd say my mother would be appalled, but I don't have one. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize I wasn't alone."
"You didn't hear the music?" She tips her head toward a laptop on a single square table in the middle of the room. Low music pours through its speakers, some boy band pop song. I'm surprised I didn't hear it until now.
I tug at my favorite blue T-shirt, slightly embarrassed. I'm normally on my A-game when it comes to women, and this one seems to be besting me. "One track mind it seems," I mutter.
"So it seems. By the looks of it, you were doing something you probably shouldn't be doing." She looks almost too innocent to trust, so I can't help flipping the switch on my other skill. A slow grin, one I've been told countless times is sexy as sin, slides across my face. Cocking my head slightly, I wink at her. Lowering my voice, just slightly, I say, "How's your day going?"
She stares. Her eyebrows pinch together, and she cocks her head slightly. "Did you just smolder?"
My face falls, and I feel ... out of place. Am I in an alternate universe? Since when did my smolder not work on the opposite sex? Not only did it not affect the pixie, but she also called me out on it. Is my smolder broken?
My thoughts are interrupted by an amused giggle. "Let me guess, that usually works on the ladies?"
"Yeah, I think I might be broken." I can't keep the pout out of my tone.
More giggles from Blondie.
"How about you try introducing yourself? Maybe I have to get to know you before the smolder is effective on me."
Uh, maybe she's right. I'm going to have to work my magic later on some random chick to ensure I haven't lost my smolder mojo.
Shaking off the confusion, I get my head back into the game. "Hi, I'm Ryker Stone."
3
Zella
"Well, it's nice to meet you, Ryker Stone. I'm Zella Raps." I should probably leave my perch on the window, but nothing about this greeting is formal.
"Are you new here?" He eyes me like he's trying to figure me out.
"I am... a transfer student. Third-year," I say, knowing it would be his next question.
"Really? Third-year too. Why haven’t we run into each other before?" He crosses his arms but still remains casual. The tension in his shoulders constricts, and his back straightens, like a thick board down his spine. He was trying to distract me, keep my mind off the fact that I caught him doing something inappropriate.
"You mean, how have you not laid eyes on the girl with the hair for days?" Smiling softly, I pull my knees to my chest. My hair has never not been a topic of gossip.
Ryker chuckles around a "yeah" and the sound does something to me.
Small, tiny tingles work their way up my feet to my legs, all the way to my hips and into my belly. Little sparkles of something I've never felt before break the surface, causing my heart to race. Well, at least he's honest.
I shrug a hint of disappointment off, wishing one day I'd meet someone who didn't notice the hair. "So, it's not my stunning looks and chipper personality?"
"Actually, it's all of those things. The hair drew me in. The looks made me pause, and the personality, well, it's the cherry on top." He ends his sugary-sweet compliment with the smoldering look he attempted earlier.
This time, it does affect me. I don't want him to realize it, but the knowing smirk on his face has me fighting to reach up and cover my heated cheeks.
Traitorous cheeks.
Gathering my wits with the help of a good-natured eye roll, I bring the subject back on him. "So, are you a Peeping Tom or something?"