"Ohm'god!" After her initial shock wore off, the young woman covered her eyes and spun away. "I'm so sorry!"

"Wait!" Michael called out. "Please don't go. I need your help."

The girl paused, then stole a glance at him from around that potted tree.

Slumped against the wall, with his hands folded and one leg raised, he gave her a weak, exhausted smile. "I'm locked out of my room."

She lowered her thick lashes with a conflicted scowl. Adorable.

Michael knew how he must seem to her. For a young woman, any strange man would pose a certain threat. He happened to be larger than most, even seated. And he was naked. Before he could assure her, a pressure and tickling in his throat sent him bolting headfirst into that potted tree.

He would have felt humiliated if he wasn't too busy retching and heaving. There was no time for embarrassment. No time for anything when everything he consumed that night burst forth. He knelt there, naked, as bitter chunky sludge poured out his mouth and burning nostrils. Swigs and nettles poked at his face, but there was nothing he could do about that when the deluge wouldn't stop.

There was a shift in the air beside him. Soft hands glided over his back, making a circular, soothing motion.

"Do you want me to get someone for you?" she asked. Her soft, whispery voice tugged on his insides along with the roiling in his stomach. "I can get—"

Michael waved a limp hand in her direction as he spat out some rough, bitter chunks. He wasn't sure if he was telling her not to go, or if he was trying to keep this lovely thing from his filth. But she knelt beside him to continue to rub his back. And at that moment, her gentle touch set off something in him, he had never felt before. It made his knees weak and his stomach flutter in a way he didn't recognize.

"It's okay," she said, in that soothing voice. "Let it all out. I got drunk for the first time a week ago, and I felt so much better once I puked. Oh, here! I think I have some water in my bag."

Sound of rustling. Then, more loud drunken voices and hurried footsteps came toward them and hurried past without stopping. Somewhere a door opened, letting out a blast of music and loud voices before it slammed shut again.

Finally, stomach empty and exhausted, he dropped back against the wall. He could still taste vomit, and smell mustard. But the cold, hard surface of the wall gave his feverish skin unbelievable relief. Something covered him. He opened his sore eyes to see the girl had draped her peacoat over his front and used the sleeve to clean his lips and chin. In that dim light, the shadows across her face made her look even more angelic as she held up a plastic bottle of water to his lips.

He finished the water in one gulp. The burning sensation in his eyes, lungs, and nostrils wasn't nearly as painful.

"Oh! I think I have some leftover fries!" She rummaged inside her hobo purse. "Sorry, they're squished, but it should settle your stomach."

He turned her chin to face him. "Have you been crying, sweetheart?" he croaked, lungs still raw from vomiting. Now that he felt better, he took a closer look at her. "Not because of me, I hope?"

"No." Stringy dark hair fell forward like curtains around her face. She reached up with slender fingers to hook loose strands behind an ear. Her delicate movement drew his attention to the gentle curve of her neck. Perhaps she was that graceful, or perhaps it was his drunkenness that turned her every gesture into a captivating show. "I'm—I'm looking for my friends —"

"Come on, college girl! You're not crying because you lost your friends." He nodded at her jersey. "Did your team lose or something?"

His teasing made the corners of the girl's lips twitch. "If you're locked out of your room, I can go—"

Michael wanted more than to remain in the moment with her. But he was too exhausted to stop her. "You've seen me at my worst," he noted with a weak smile. "We're pretty much friends now. Come on, tell me what's wrong."

From the way she bit a corner of her lips and her cheeks flushed as she stole several glances at him. He was used to stares, but coming from such an exquisite girl, he suddenly felt self-conscious. It was not a feeling he was accustomed to. Then again, he'd never met anyone wearing nothing but crusty mustard and vomit.

"My — I just— it's nothing," she stammered.

"Boy trouble," he guessed. "Give me his name, and I'll— go confuse the shit out of him for you."

His pointed glance downward forced a surprised laugh from her.

She pressed her fingers to her lips, then averted her eyes to stare down the empty hall. "Anyway, I'm supposed to meet my friends so we can take the last shuttle back to campus. If I miss it, my mom's going to kill me if I have to pay for an Uber back."

"Well, I'm sorry to add my problems to yours."

He gingerly climbed to his feet and tied her coat around his waist. When he flicked his gaze to her, he caught her gawking up at him wide-eyed and slack-jawed.

She stood up too. "It's — I'll be alright. You sure I can't go find someone—?"

"Life is all about learning from your mistakes," he offered the platitude as another wave of nausea hit him. He swallowed quickly and the feeling passed.

"Speaking from experience?" Then she tossed her hair back with a haughty little smile. "And our team didn't lose."

He smiled back at her. "Well, whatever is going on, remember this: Men are idiots. Doesn't matter how old we are. If something seems dangerous or generally a bad idea, we just have to try it. That's why women live longer than us."

The girl lowered her long lashes and laughed despite herself. Then, that laughter gave way to a wobble in her chin and her shoulders started to shake.

"Hey!" he called out softly. "Hey, now. Don't cry, sweetheart."

Embarrassed, she clasped her hands over her face. Before she could turn away, Michael reached for her shoulder and drew her against his chest. He savored the feeling of her soft, slender body and took a deep whiff of her sweet-smelling hair. "Don't cry, sweetheart. It's going to be alright. I promise."

She wiped at her eyes with a grateful smile. But she took a nervous step back, only to be stopped by the wall behind her. "College was supposed to be a new start. Everyone says these are to be the best years of our lives. But — Everything's—just—it's just—"

He placed one hand on the wall over her head and stroked her arm with the other. "Now think about it. Wouldn't it be pretty sad if these were the best years, when you've got many more decades to live after you graduate?"

There was nothing devious or scheming in those trusting eyes. The way she looked at him, released a primal urge inside him. And it wasn't lust. Well, not entirely. He felt a need to comfort and protect her.

She gave a little frustrated sigh. "I don't know what I was expecting. I worked so hard, for so long, to get into college. Now that you finally arrived, you— I don't know. It's not what I expected. Nobody ever means what they say, do they?"

There was a lot he could say, but words failed him. Entranced, his fingers slipped away from her hair to cup her chin. His thumb traced over her jawline to caress her plump lower lip. An invisible cord was pulling him to her.

The girl's eyes widened under the heat of his half-mast gaze. With a small gasp, she pressed her back against the wall. Just as he angled his head down to the girl, the door to his room flung open with a gust of cold air. Michael jumped back, but not quick enough. Payton stood fuming in the doorway.

"You are fucking unbelievable!" she shrieked, flinging something against the wall behind him, shattering it. Then she slammed the door once more before Michael could reach it.

"Fuck!" Michael threw his hands up, then laced his fingers behind his head as he spun away. He paused, then dropped into a crouch to pick up his shattered phone on the ground.

"Oh, gosh!" The girl pressed her fingers to her lips with a horrified, guilty-riddled expression. "Was that— your girlfriend?".

"Ex," he assured her with a pained smile. "All my shit is still in that room, but I doubt she'll let me grab them."

The girl tugged on her sleeves. "I'll go downstairs and get someone—"

"Don't." He stood up, dragging one hand down his face. "This has all been embarrassing enough. I just want to get out of here without anyone else seeing me."

"But—"

Michael tapped on the shattered phone screen. It didn't respond. Disappointment and a wave of dizziness made him grab the wall again. He rubbed at his eyes to stave off an oncoming headache. When he glanced up, he caught her staring, wide-eyed, at his toned stomach. He lifted a brow as so many conflicting emotions danced across her small face. Then, the flush in her cheeks spread to the roots of her hair. He couldn't hold back a smile when she shuddered before tearing her eyes away from him.

"You're right. You shouldn't go down there like this," she agreed as she fanned herself with her hands. "But what should we do?"

He held up his phone. "Well, this thing's useless. And fuck if I can remember anyone's number. Can you call me an Uber?"

"Sure, but you'd still have to get down to the lobby so you can leave."

He nodded toward a marked stairwell. "I'm sure they have a side door. Can you set the pickup location there for me?"

The girl took out her phone and slid her finger across the screen to unlock it. "Here, you can enter the address of where you want to go. Only—please don't take a cross-country trip or anything. My mom would kill me if I maxed out her card again. "

"Of course not," he promised. "I have a friend who lives not far from here."

As Michael fiddled with her phone, she surprised him by draping his free arm around her slender shoulders. He wasn't so drunk that he couldn't walk. Yet he allowed this slender girl who barely reached his chin to guide him down that hall. He liked the feel of her curves pressed against his side. Oh, yes! He enjoyed it very much. And her soft aroma that reminded him of Fall afternoons with warm cookies and cold milk for some reason— He closed his eyes and took a deep whiff.

As they made their way down the stairs. Every movement gave off a hollow echo. Even the sound of their breaths bounced off the concrete walls.

Halfway down the stairs, he made them stop. Then craned his neck to look up the shaft. The prickle on the back of his neck made him feel as if someone was watching them. When he looked back, he half expected to see the balding man in the dark clothing again. But there was no one there.

They reached the last landing too soon for him and exited to another empty hall. This one was much wider, with lighted signs pointing to the lobby. In front of them was a small side door marked exit. The girl stopped. She trusted a small, greasy brown bag to him, then found a wallet in her bag. "In case your friend isn't there," she said, fishing out some crumpled bills. "And eat those fries, okay? It'll soak up the alcohol."

Michael Langdon rubbed the crumpled paper between his fingers, then flicked his eyes up to meet hers. "I can't take this."

She misunderstood the meaning behind his look. "It's okay. I don't expect you to pay me back since we probably won't see each other again."

"You've helped me enough." His voice broke on the last syllable at the thought of never seeing her again.

She gave an off-handed shrug. "Sometimes we can all use a little help."

He reached for her shoulder and pulled her to him. He held her tight, but not out of desire. There was her unusual scent again. He couldn't identify this feeling.

She pulled away, but he was reluctant to let go. "I'm sorry for leaving you like this, but I have to catch my shuttle. Will you be alright?"

"Oh, don't you worry about me," he assured her, even as he swallowed by an indescribable yearning to make her stay

She hesitated for a moment, then gave him a half-wave. "Well, good luck with everything."

"Wait!" he called after her just as she turned. "I don't even know your name!"

She turned back with a whirl of her straight brown hair, to flash another dazzling smile. "I'm Farrah. Farrah Leigh.