style="font-size:15px;"> Harmony Evans
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Sonya headed toward the classroom listed on her registration form. The hall was quiet and empty, too quiet, in fact, and she wondered if she was in the right building. Her nerves crackled in anticipation of the evening ahead.
It felt surreal, and a little scary, to be back on a college campus, but it was just one of the many steps she’d taken to create a new life for herself.
When she reached the room, she tried the door, but it was locked. There was no sign posted on the glass, and no one inside. She leaned against the wall and dug out her phone, hoping for a last-minute email informing her that the room had been changed. While she was navigating to the application, the device shut off.
She recalled reading in her information packet that any class changes would be posted in the registrar’s office. She dropped her phone back into her canvas tote bag, dug around and groaned. In addition to forgetting to charge her phone, she had left the hard copy of the campus map at home.
Back outside, Sonya zipped up her lime-green rain jacket, ducked under her umbrella and glanced around. The Bay Point Community College campus was larger than she’d expected, and was bustling with students going to and from evening classes. There was a coffee shop near the parking lot. Maybe one of the baristas could give her directions to the registrar’s office.
She hurried toward it, weaving around puddles and dodging other students. By the time she arrived, the rain was slanting sideways. Afraid of getting her newly permed hair wet, she opened the door and stepped over the threshold into the coffee shop.
“Dumb thing,” she muttered as she struggled to retract her large pink-and-brown-polka-dotted umbrella.
“Hey, watch out!”
A man’s voice, bass-low and heavy with concern, washed over her.
She shook her head to reorient herself, pressed the button a few times, and after a long agonizing moment, the umbrella finally closed.
As she lowered it, her breath caught in her throat at the gorgeous man that stood in front of her, revealed like a game-show grand prize. His grim expression and now-empty paper cup in his hand led her to believe that all was not right in his world.
Her eyes widened at the large stain snow-flaking across the middle of his light blue T-shirt, no doubt caused by her.
“I’m sorry. My umbrella jammed. Are you hurt?”
The man furrowed his brow. “I’m fine.”
But she barely heard his words. Her thoughts were consumed with the desire to allow her fingers the freedom to graze the fabric plastered to his flat abdomen.
As a former ballet dancer, she had a deep appreciation for the beauty and majesty of the human body, especially the male form. And this particular man was ripe for tactile exploration. Faded dark blue jeans, paint-spattered construction boots and rampant tattoos over dark honey arms were all reasons for an extended pause.
He is hot, hot, hot.
He waved a hand in front of her face. “Are you okay?”
She jerked her chin up and her cheeks bloomed with heat at the amusement in his eyes. “Y-yes. I was just worried that you got burned.”
“No. Lucky for me, it was just very cold iced coffee.”
As she exhaled in relief, he smiled, displaying perfect white teeth.
“Lucky for you, I like surprises.”
Before she could think of a response, he pointed down at the floor between them. “Watch out.”
With her eyes still on his, she stepped back from the spreading
