First Love: A Superbundle Boxed Set of Seven New Adult Romances (53 page)

"How many tequila shots have you had?" Liz asked.

"Less than I'm going to have tonight." Jenny leaned into the wall.

"Can you stand up straight? I'm pretty sure that your neck is going to ache tomorrow."

"No, but seriously. You should totally flirt with him," Jenny said.

"An old wealthy benefactor who bought a directorship? As tempting as that sounds, I'll pass."

"No wrinkled old cocks for Liz to suck on?" Jenny asked, tilting her head playfully.

"I'll suck wrinkled old cocks when I'm old and wrinkled, and not a second before."

"He's not even that old," Jenny said. "He's just five years or so out of college—well, he dropped out of college—"

"Oh, a college dropout," Liz said. "What did he do, play videogames until he failed out of class?"

"Kind of," Jenny said. "I mean, his whole business was digital renditions—"

"Excuse me." A couple of guys walked up to them, looking decidedly sketchy in tight hipster jeans and leather jackets that smelled like cigarette smoke. The one who spoke leaned on the wall near Jenny.

"Yes?" Jenny said.

"Hey loves. You're looking cute tonight," the guy said. His breath stunk like the cheap three-for-a-tenner gin and tonics that seemed to be ubiquitous in the pub.

"We're just here to dance," Liz said. With her eyes she tried to message Jenny:
No!

"Then let's go dance," the other guy said, touching Liz on the elbow. Liz shrugged off his hand. Jenny was checking her phone, ignoring the guy next to her.

"We're both staying here," Liz said, shooting a pointed glare straight into the face of the slouched figure against the wall. He got the message, straightening his jacket as he stood up from the wall.

"You sure you two don't want to party?" the man near Liz asked. "We have things to party..."

"No," Liz said. The word came out softly but fiercely, like the low hum in a lion's throat when she threatens to roar. She clutched her lab notebook to her chest as if to ward off the guys with her academic rigor. It worked surprisingly well.

"Let's go," the man said, hitting his friend on the shoulder.

"What? Okay, yeah." They walked away and didn't look back.

"What was I saying?" Jenny put away her phone, seemingly oblivious to the guys who had just interrupted them. "Oh, right. Anyway, the director is kind of cute if you like that look."

"What look is that?"

"Billionaire playboy." She grinned.

"Shut up."

"No, but really. He's got like, harems of girlfriends."

"Ugh, like Hugh Hefner in his mansion?" Liz said. "That's horrible. I would never date anyone like that."

"Oh yeah? Who would you date?"

Liz's ears burned red and she tried not to let the sudden scratching in her throat turn into a coughing fit.

"Come on, Liz," Jenny said, poking her in the ribs. "What's your type?"

"A-ahem," she stammered. "The academic type."

"What, like a sexy professor?"

"Yeah, sure," Liz said, relieved when Jenny finally turned her questioning to the kind of beer Liz was drinking and how it compared with the beers they had back in America.

Liz really didn't know what kind of guys she would date. None of the guys at her undergraduate college had been interested in her, which was probably a good thing. They all seemed immature, wanting to party more than study. Liz had paid her own way through school, and she didn't have time for anyone who wasn't serious. And all of the serious boys were...well, they were
too
serious. It seemed like all of the cute and funny guys were on one side, and the studious, ambitious types were on the other, but there was nobody in between. No, the person Liz would date was nonexistent.

After finishing her pint of ale, Liz begged out of the pub and found her way back to the small apartment by herself. She tripped over a pile of clothes on the floor on her path to the bedroom and cracked her head against the wall. She scowled, rubbing her head. She would have to talk with Jenny about being neater. A shirt on the floor was one thing, but Jenny was her lab partner as well as her roommate, and Liz did
not
want to spend the rest of the year working in a sloppy lab.

Picking up the discarded outfit and slinging it over the back of the couch, Liz made her way through the tiny apartment to her room. She threw her notebook onto her desk.

The first time she'd seen the London apartment, she was astounded at how tiny it was. The living room doubled as a kitchen, with the TV perched precariously on top of the microwave and the fridge shoved up against the back of the sofa for space. The fridge door, when opened, blocked the hallway to the bedrooms that were so small as to be closets.

Jenny seemed to be used to living in such cramped quarters, but for Liz it came as a bit of a shock to see what a month's pay could rent you in London. But she was close enough to the university to walk, and that was what mattered most. She could get to her experiments at any time.

In the morning, Liz woke up to a slight hangover. She swung her feet out of bed and gulped down some water from the bottle she'd left on her bedside table, and took a couple of aspirin for good measure. The dawn light streamed in through her window, making bright pinpoints out of the floating dust in the room. Liz's feet were cold on the hardwood floor, and she shivered before pulling on her socks and getting dressed. Today she would meet the director of the lab! Liz hoped that he would be excited about their research. She and Jenny would be able to tidy up everything and get the lab perfectly ready!

Fully awake, she tiptoed into Jenny's room and set down the water and aspirin bottle next to her roommate’s bed. She'd be grateful when she woke up.

Jenny stirred in her sleep, and Liz realized with a jolt that her roommate was not alone in her bed: alongside her, another person shifted under the covers. Embarrassed, Liz backed away, hoping not to wake either of them. She stepped on a pen cap—ouch!—and bit her lip to avoid squealing. Backing quickly out of the room, she shut the door behind her.

"There goes that plan," Liz muttered, scooping up a protein bar and another water bottle and dumping them into her bag. She would just have to get the lab ready by herself. First, though, the library.

At the library, Liz found that the librarian had already picked out the chemistry reference books she'd placed on hold and was waiting on the library assistants to unpack the morning shipment for the last book.

"Fifteen, twenty minutes, dear," the librarian said, looking a bit frazzled. "Sorry, we're behind today due to the dedication ceremony." She motioned at the workers setting up chairs.

"No problem."

Liz wandered through the library. It was kind of nice to get a bit of a breather after such a stressful week. She'd arrived in London excited to explore the city, but she'd spent the first few days getting all of her graduate classes scheduled and registered, and then they'd had to clean the lab for the beginning of the semester. There had been no time for sightseeing. And she loved visiting libraries. Especially here, in London! There must be a thousand old libraries to explore...

Liz walked up the stairs where there were a number of private collection rooms. Curious, she tried the door to one of them, but it was locked.

"Rats," she said. Antique books were so fun to flip through. Especially the old science texts, with their hand drawn illustrations of plants and dissected animals.

She noticed an open door at the end of the hallway, and she walked down to check it out. Poking her head inside, she was confronted with shelves upon shelves of old books. Though the room was not large, it was packed to the brim with...poetry, it looked like. Liz leaned over to see how far the shelves of books ran, and her heart jumped into her throat. She quickly ducked her head back out of sight.

There was a man. He was lying down on a couch in the back. Liz was about to leave when she heard him whisper a few words, and she peered back around the shelf.

He wasn't talking to her. No, he was—he was reading aloud. His lips moved only slightly, and Liz found herself leaning forward to hear what he was saying.

The summer night waneth, the morning light slips,

Faint and grey 'twixt the leaves of the aspen, betwixt the cloud-bars

That are patiently waiting there for the dawn.

Liz found herself holding her breath as she watched him. His body was splayed casually over the couch, and his profile was handsomely square. At least as far as Liz could see.

Stop being a creep
, Liz, she told herself. She really should just say hello and introduce herself. Maybe he was an English major at the university. No, he looked old enough to be in grad school, at least. An adjunct professor? His dark hair fell slightly over his cheeks—he needed a shave. But damn, he was handsome. Way too handsome.
Out of my league.

Before Liz could steel herself to say a word to him, she saw a tear run down his cheek. He was crying.

Oh, god. She was spying on someone while they cried. How utterly lame could she get? She wanted to go and hug him, comfort him, but instead she ducked her head back and let out a breath. Stepping backward, she accidentally knocked into a stack of books. Her hands stretched out but they fell through her fingers, the whole stack topping over in a loud crash of paper and dust. Ancient dust.

"What are you doing here?"

Liz looked up to see the man standing over her, frowning. He wasn't so cute now that he was angry. His eyes were dark, so black that the pupils were swallowed whole.

"I—I—"

"You knocked over the Browning collection," the man said.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt." Liz continued to pick up the books that she'd knocked over. He didn't make a move to help her at all. Instead, he leaned against the bookshelf, glaring. She could see the moist smear on his cheek from where he'd wiped away his tears, but the sorrow in his eyes had disappeared for good.

"Nobody is supposed to be in here," he said. His voice was irritated and smug, and any kind of attraction she'd had to him quickly evaporated.

"Then what are
you
doing here?" she asked, putting the last book back.

"Did you see the name on the plaque outside the door?" he asked.

"No."

"No
?"

"No. Who reads plaques?" Liz shrugged.

Robb sighed and rolled his eyes. "What's the use of donating a ton of money? Nobody ever reads plaques."

Ah, a trust fund student.
Sure, she'd knocked over some books.
So what?

"The door was open. I was just curious."

"That's a dangerous thing." He stepped forward, and she got her first good look at him. He was wearing suit pants and a tie over a crisply pressed white shirt. His dry cleaning bill was probably half of her rent for the month. His cologne had a strange smell to it, something familiar that she couldn't put her finger on. And yes, he was handsome.
Very
handsome. Unfortunately, he was also very much an asshole.

"It's dangerous to be curious?" she asked.

"You heard what happened to the cat," he said, a slight sneer on his face.

"Poetry. Truly the most dangerous volumes of all the history of literature." The snarkiness slipped out of her before she could stuff it back in. Oh well.

"Some of these volumes are thousands of years old, you know," he said. "They're
important
. Unlike your curiosity."

Such an asshole.
Liz decided right then and there that she didn't care how snarky she was to a rich, stuck-up grad school kid. She was in grad school here too, and she had just as much right to be in the library as he did. She put one hand on her hip.

"Well, I'm
so
glad your family donated them. It must make your thesis a little easier to defend with so many excellent primary sources right here for nobody to use except you."

"They're here for safekeeping, not so some clumsy girl can knock them on the floor."

"I said I was sorry!" Liz said, fuming. "I didn't mean to knock them over."

"Whatever. I don't have time for this." The man pulled out a key from his pocket and tossed the book he'd been reading back on the shelf. "I'm leaving now, which means
you're
leaving now."

"Fine," Liz said. "
I
don't have time for
assholes
." She stormed out of the room, not bothering to read the plaque on the wall outside. She had to get back to the lab. Why

did cute guys always have to be such
jerks?

Chapter Three

Robb rested his arm on the shelf. The encounter with the girl had shaken him, and he didn't know why. The fiery way she'd shot insults at him, her bright green eyes, her American accent. Despite her clumsy mistake, he could tell that her beautiful face hid an intelligence behind them. He'd been taken aback by her sudden appearance, and he'd snapped at her before even thinking.

He regretted it immediately—as soon as he'd seen the hurt in her eyes. And just as immediately, the hurt he'd seen had been covered up by a hard shell of sarcasm, and she'd snapped right back at him. If it was any other girl, he would have forgotten her the second she left the room, if not before. But this one had thrown his words back at him, hadn't let him run all over her like the fawning women who would lick his shoes if he asked them to. That was why he'd been shaken by her—he simply wasn't used to having women stand up for themselves.

And, too, yes, there was a similarity that he could not dismiss. For when he had looked up from the poem, tears blurring his eyes, he had thought for an instant that it had been Eliza standing there in front of him.

A mere coincidence. He shook it off and headed downstairs where the library director was running around frantically as guests from the university sat down in their folding chairs. He looked around for the girl he'd berated, but she was nowhere to be seen. He felt oddly disappointed. For a moment, he'd hoped that she would see him on stage and he could get a second chance to make a good impression.

As he stepped up behind the podium and cleared his throat, he scanned the crowd again for the beautiful American girl with the dark hair and green eyes. Nothing. He fixed his eyes onto the second row of the audience and launched into his set speech.