I wasn't sure which lifeless prick in UCLA's School of Law decided that my only class started at nine am every day Monday through Friday, but my first day of class I woke up early, tiptoed around the dorm room like an academic-driven fairy, dressed in the clothes I'd picked out the night before, put on makeup and styled my hair, sat for a nice hot breakfast in Feast downstairs, walked comfortably to the law building, and arrived ten minutes prior to class.

After I set up my desk with my notes, sifted one more time through my color-coded notebooks, I glanced over the pre-readings that were assigned for today's homework before class started until I already had them memorized.

Just fucking kidding.

"Harper?" The soft finger pad from one of Li's tiny fingers poked my cheek as her voice filtered into my ears. "You have class at nine, right?"

"Fuck, what time is it?" My heavy eyelids fluttered as I stretched up my arms and knocked my knuckles against the ceiling that hung just three feet over my lofted bed. My belly was down on my bed, face sideways based on the strain in my neck, and drool pooled in the corner of my mouth.

"Eight-forty five." Her dark eyes looked over a piece of notebook paper that was the same one I assumed she'd scribbled my schedule on last night. "You have class in the School of Law, right? Room one hundred and eight. That's on the east edge of campus so you have to run down Bruin Way."

"Fuck." I palmed both hands into my face and groaned when I realized I'd pressed them right into my overnight face mask. "Thanks, Li."

So instead of an academic equivalent of a Snow White wakeup, I flew out of bed, wiped my face while I peed as my only bathroom activities, grabbed my bag with whatever laid inside, and slipped on a pair of shoes.

Instantly, I remembered exactly why I hated running as I ran to class, dodged around people who mingled together or walked on the sidewalks. I groaned as I ran around the football stadium, a straight shot past the library, hooked a left on Portola Plaza then right on Dickson like Li had shown me on our walk, wheezed like an asmatic, and blinked away the lightheadedness that fogged my brain as I walked up the School of Law's tiered front stairs.

Along the way, one hand clutched my braless chest in a two-fold effort that avoided straining my back as well as possibly giving myself a black eye. My other hand shoveled in a granola bar and I chugged a Red Bull in between my raspy breaths.

I was still five minutes late and ceremoniously crashed into the classroom like a wild banshee and slid into the furthest seat near the back that was available. My skin was soaked in sweat, a hot burn seared my lungs with each now emphysemic breath, and my dignity long forgotten.

"You okay?" A boy two seats over asked me as his eyes, so dark brown they almost looked black, studied me.

I squinted at him while my heartbeat wildly pulsed in my neck. A small bead of perspiration slid down the side of my neck and snaked right between my breasts as I got a better look at him. All my crevices were damp with perspiration, from behind my knees, under my arms, and a small heating pad had taken up residence between my legs. Thankfully, I wore a black tank sleep shirt but internally I cringed at the reminder I was due for a Brazilian.

Another attempt that obviously hadn't deterred me enough from Officer Davis.

My classmate was obviously more of a morning person, since he looked bright-eyed and well put together in a solid black setup and thick gold chain with a cross on the end. His black hair was very short in a caesar cut that faded towards his ears and neck. Perfectly white teeth flashed in contrast against his dark skin as mouth gaped at my current state. The obvious musculature tone he carried under his fitted T-shirt and sweatpants hinted he was either one of those annoying people who got up early and started their days at the gym or, at worse, an athlete.

I gave him a cross look but bobbed my head a few times. As my lower back arched and my elbows lifted overhead while I tugged my hair into a messy 'I'll deal with you later, hair' bun, I was extremely aware that I'd caught his immediate attention.

"You're umm..." The tips of his ears reddened as one of his hands gestured at my chest. His jaw ticked, he visibly swallowed, and I saw the restraint as he fought not to drop his dark brown eyes.

I groaned inwardly when I remembered the thin material of my black tank top pajama shirt, which now clung to my sweaty chest like a wet T-shirt contest loser. My breasts ached from running and my nipples felt raw from the friction that had rubbed up against the material that had also caused quite an obvious reaction.

Most girls would have felt mortified to be in front of a cute guy, tits practically on display with their nipples popped out of their shirt.

But it's me, so...

I knew what his reaction meant and felt flattered because his heated gaze meant he found me attractive. To test my suspicion, I pretended I turned my head slightly away but kept him in my peripheral vision. As his eyes dropped obviously to my chest and his lips parted slightly further in surprise, I slightly arched my lower back and pushed the girls further outwards.

My movement seemed to have snapped him out of his trance. He shook his head, ears definitely pink. I turned my head back towards him and just winked.

"Girl, you're crazy.'" The guy next to me chuckled as the class of two hundred hopeful future paralegals stood up with collective relief. The bustling sounds of items put away, crinkles of zippers pulled, and chairs dragged away from the tables filled the lecture hall.

The paralegal certification program, taught by Dr. Mavis, one of UCLA's School of Law Professors, was pretty straight forward. There were two options for Law 406, a five-month program for three and half hours per day, five days a week, or an eleven-month program with courses two evenings a week.

Since all of my Cabrillo general education credits sort of transferred in a limboland of UCLA's admissions database and while UCLA also had a bachelor's option in paralegal studies, I'd arranged with Dad that I first attempted the certification program. While I'd practically begged him for the two-evening course option, since his money footed the eight-thousand tuition and one-thousand books bills, he'd told me I had to try the five-month one first.

Not sure if Dad realizes how much of a morning person I'm not. Nine am is not my friend.

"What do you mean?" I smiled up at my physically closest classmate then stuffed my lecture materials into my bag.

While all of my Cabrillo classes were fifty or ninety minutes, I thought I'd done pretty well for my first three-hour class. The applicability of the paralegal certification class grabbed my attention and held it longer than any previous subject but even I had my limits.

My ass, along with possibly the rest of me, had fallen asleep just once and that was before our stretch break. I'd nearly fallen out of my uncomfortable seat when Mister All-Up-In-My-Business' patted a large palm on the top of my head.

"Seems like we're the youngest here," he pointed out the obvious in his deep, gravelly voice.

My eyes traveled to where he nodded at the sea of heads below us, mostly women's and several of which were lined with grayed hairs. During the rounds of introductions, several students admitted they'd been stay at home moms who returned to the workforce once their kids had grown older.

Totally respect that.

"Seems like," I echoed flatly, zipped up my bag, and stood up.

He held out one hand for me to exit first, which I nodded curtly at until I realized he probably just checked out my ass, but obliged since he seemed polite enough.

Absolutely no interest on my side, I have enough common sense not to fuck other students... Even if they are ripped and probably packing -

"Good class for a football player though," he joked with a megawatt smile that now none of me trusted and followed me up the rest of the lecture auditorium's stairs in silence.

At the top of the steps, my eyebrows couldn't have shot any higher at his shameless self-promotion. "And what is a UCLA football player doing in this class?"

"I'm a fifth-year player, bachelor's all done," he replied quietly with an unexpected sense of humility. "Football might not be forever so just padding myself with possibilities."

"I... respect that." My lips curled upwards into a genuine smile as my hands pushed open the exit doors and the lunchtime sun flowed over my forearms. Internally, I groaned at the waves of hot, humid air that fanned over my finally cooled off body.

"We're not all brainless." As we stepped down the stairs, one of his long, stacked arms thrust forward at me, his hand outstretched. "EJ Campbell, cornerback."

Right when I placed my palm against his, my eyes tracked a weird smattering of guys that weaved through the crowd of students that exited the Law Building. Before I noticed any details, a faint voice called out.

"Hey, I think that's her! Fuck, it is!"

Both EJ and I turned in the source's direction, a tall, muscular guy with a mop of brown hair and pointed one finger straight at me. His brown eyes, white T-shirt, and black athletic shorts couldn't have made him any less nondescript.

Oh fuck, if this is about the tomato video...

"I didn't do it," I assured EJ, dropped his hand, and clenched my fist tighter around my bag's strap over my shoulder, then turned on the sidewalk and stepped away. His long legs quickly joined me for a few steps, until we got near where the guy stood and furiously typed away at his phone.

"Girl, you in some kind of - wait one fucking second," EJ cursed under his breath and stopped walking like he'd hit a wall. In one movement, one of his large fists circled around the guy's T-shirt with impressively bulged muscles in his bicep and forearm.

The contact definitely wasn't appreciated, as the guy dropped his phone and shoved EJ's hands off him. His voice was cool-toned and level headed but anger definitely flashed in his 'still-can't-place-them' brown eyes. "Don't fucking touch me, bro."

While I still had no idea who this guy was, EJ obviously did as he gritted out, "Griff, the fuck is your sorry bitch-ass doing here!?"

First name basis sounds like... not my business.

"Go compare dick sizes without me," I replied with a huff, rolled my eyes, and stepped past whatever the hell this masculine pissing match was before they really whipped out their dicks.

As whatever shit-talk words they chirped in exchange dissolved into the airspace behind me, the muscles in my legs relaxed the more long steps I took down the sidewalk. I only got about thirty paces when another tall, broad figure stood straight in my path. His long legs parted wide enough that he completely blocked my escape and my stomach dropped so far that my belly button greeted my asshole.

Two chiseled arms crossed over his puffed up chest, his mouth was tightened into a scowl, and two dark brown eyes glared at me. A faint breeze lifted up a few strands of his dark hair and my throat dried up, followed by my movements, the closer I approached him.

My lips parted on their own and the soft voice that passed through them sounded nothing like my own.

"Jake."

Without a shift in his angry expression, he spat out, "Reynolds."

I'm sure if this had been a love story, then a paused or slow motion scene where I absorbed every ridiculously attractive detail on Jake's appearance would've occurred. Perhaps I counted his freckles or noticed his white, straight teeth, or how the sunlight glinted highlights in his dark brown eyes and hair, or the way his chiseled physique stretched his tightly fit clothes with no secret left to one's imagination of what muscles he packed underneath.

Or how muscular his thighs were if I dragged my hands up -

Nope, definitely didn't notice any of that.

One wrenched sideways pull of my lips snapped me back to my senses and I resumed my steps until my shoulder bumped his upper arm while I stepped around him. The annoyance that flared inside me was reflected in my bitter follow up, "You look happier than an anal porn star with extra lube."

"Fuck no." His palm circled around my upper arm while his long legs and bigass feet stepped in sync with mine. I ignored the warmth that flowed into my skin at the contact and instead focused on the fact Jake now led me down the sidewalk. With what sounded like an annoyance level that actually exceeded mine, his deep voice vibrated my closest ear, "I didn't come here to be ignored."

"Then I hope you came to be insulted." I yanked my arm back, which only earned me a tighter hold and clench of his jaw until a small crease appeared near the closed side of his mouth. "Hands off because we both know yours has been saucing your taco lately."

"Don't ignore me," he gritted out.

Let's see if I can pop out his temple vein, one insult at a time.

"I'm not ignoring you," my voice bordered a whine while I unsuccessfully jerked back my arm again. "Just prioritizing you. Last, if that not obvious."

Ten more clumsy steps down the sidewalk together, Jake dropped some of the edge in his voice. "I need to talk to you."

"If this is about your billboard, I'm not sorry," I deadpanned in a bored tone. "Otherwise, leave me alone."

"Fuck, you're so difficult," he cursed.

"Sarcasm is the body's natural defense against stupidity," I retorted into Jake's apparently deaf ears. With my arm still clutched tightly in his grasp, he steered me to the side of the nearest building.

By the short distance we'd walked, I assumed we stood at the side of the library. Surprisingly, in the shaded privacy the building granted, not one student passerby looked in our direction.

That's not comforting.

Before my brain registered our movements, my back met rough brick and Jake's palms slammed into the wall outside my shoulders. My eyes traced up the small vein that popped out on his right forearm and the light dusting of hair on them. They lifted up over a tightly clenched bicep muscle that curled out like a wave from under his deltoid, where his arm pinched into the angular shoulder muscles that hunched up his T-shirt sleeves with the same tension that now outlined a cord in the side of his neck.

I stopped my visual tour short of his sharp jawline, dotted with faint stubble associated with the fact Jake was no more of a morning person than I was.

"It's not about the billboard." The heated airspace between us narrowed as Jake leaned his head down closer, too close, until the warmth waves of his breath, thankfully toothpaste scented faintly with the smell of coffee, flowed over my lips. His eyes darkened as his pupils dilated, even as they narrowed down at me with the familiar storm of emotions they always greeted me with.

There it is. The struggle between I want and I hate.

Feeling's mutual, dick for brains.

A tiny sliver of a part appeared between his lips, where he gently flicked out the tip of his tongue and wet them. "But it is about you, Harper."

My brain searched for the right insult but fogged over temporarily when his left hand slipped lower, hooked behind my lower back, and yanked me a couple inches off the wall. His eyes dropped to my lips, which parted in a silent gasp at the contact of my pelvis smashed into his and the familiar, spicy scent of sandalwood filled my nose.

I silently cursed my lady bits for how they pulsed with life at how Jake's pelvis rubbed perfectly against the thin material in my pajama pants. He quietly grunted on impact before his right hand palmed right over the left side of my ass while both his other hand and heated gaze clutched me in place.

Right when my mouth opened but before my protest for personal space came out, Jake drew back his hand from my ass, with my phone in his palm. Impressively, he glared at me while he typed one-thumbed away at my phone screen.

How the fuck does he know my password?

"Boundaries, asshole?" I narrowed my eyes and grabbed at my phone, but his damn reflexes were too quick and he snapped it up out of my reach.

How his thumb worked over the screen with his arm stretched that high, I had no idea but I wasn't going to stand and do nothing. My left hand, the weaker one unfortunately, reached right between his legs for a junk grab to his senses but his other hand left my lower back, caught my wrist, and squeezed it immobile.

"Fixing a mistake first," Jake grumbled absently, like he spoke more to himself about my fucking phone.

"Give me my -" My right hand now dropped down between his legs for a more compelling motivation that he listened to me when a shrill, chirpy voice grated on my ears.

"Babes!? Is that you?"

My eyes shifted to a blue-gray eyed, platinum blonde-haired girl that bounced in our direction in a low-cut shirt and skirt so tight they looked painted on and five-inch Manolos. Her pink acrylic-nailed hands actually clapped before she squealed and her giant breasts bounced as she stomped some weird, girly jog at Jake.

Despite the sweltering heat that was completely caused by the outside temperature, I still felt the cool sensation of rejection and hated myself for noticing when Jake stepped back from me. A snort left my lips when he quietly groaned like he wasn't excited to see this girl, removed his hands from around me, and palmed his hips.

I snatched my phone back right when he looked sideways. A hint of guilt threaded through his voice at, "Brit?"

Why is none of me surprised here?

My left eye twitched at the high-pitched shriek and loudly squealed, "Oh my gosh! Babes!" that this bimbo erupted. In a flash of boobs that spilled out over the top of her tight, peach-colored corset top, she flung herself onto Jake, wrapped her arms around his neck, and pressed her lips against his.

While she latched onto Jake like a vacuum attachment, visually, my eyes bounced around her appearance since it was a lot to take in. Among the acrylic nails, false eyelashes, obvious white-blonde hair extensions, and giant silicon melons, I had to admit she looked a lot more put together than my rolled out of bed appearance.

Thankfully, I have zero fucks to give.

With gently applied pressure, my own lips rolled inward at the slight horror that flashed in Jake's eyes as they met mine over the girl's head. A soft pop sound later, she broke off their kiss, snuggled her hair extensions under his armpit, side-squeezed him, and batted her blue-gray eyes at me.

"Please Babes..." I coughed out the hearty laughter that I really wanted unleashed and looked up at Jake. "Introduce us."

It's gotta be B-something like Bambi, Buffy, Brittany, Bianca...

Jake's eyebrows drew together and mouth corners curled down in an expression like he preferred drinking battery acid, but Blondie palmed her top hand on his chest like she held him back.

In a sugary voice that sounded way too excited to meet me than I believed, she rushed out, "Brittany Manfeld, Jake's girlfriend but I'm sure you know that."

It was in the list of possibilities, yes.

For one brief moment, I hated myself for the disappointment I felt in Jake that this silicon copy of a girl was his girlfriend. Fortunately, I only needed one blink of my eyes and reminded myself of the obvious fact.

His choice, his funeral.

I flipped my eyes up to Jake's and stated, not asked, "How would I know that."

A microscopic 'Don't do it' head shake from Jake, plus the koala-like grip Brittany tugged around him, were all the cues I needed before I knew this relationship was full of more shit than a manure pile.

Not my business. She can have him.

I must've worn an unpleasant look on my face because Jake's gaze hardened into a 'don't say anything' glare.

"Of course you are, Brittany." I pulled out the falsest, sweetest voice my throat pushed out. "So lovely to meet you. Where are you from?"

None of me was surprised when she responded, "Beverly Hills."

I fought the internal urge that I checked if she also had ass implants in her silicon collection.

"Of course you are. I'm Harper," I stated flatly with absolutely no desire that this girl knew my last name. "I'm friends with Ellie."

I couldn't have better scripted how blankly her eyes blinked when she asked, "Ellie?"

Ahh, one of his lower-half only girlfriends.

"My sister, Brit." While on the surface to the casual observer, Jake had no reaction but I definitely noticed how his spine straightened up until he stood as stiff as a corpse and a slight strain came over his eyes. My ego reveled in the tiny details of how uncomfortable he really was.

"Oh yes, Little Ellie!" Before I reacted to a nickname choice that Ellie for sure would've hated, Brittany purred out the one sentiment Jake and I probably both agreed was a horrendous idea, "Any friend of Jake's is a friend of mine. Do you go here to UCLA too?"

My eyes blinked as Brittany's words wiped my mind blank. While I was definitely a less than model student, not even my imagination pictured this girl sitting through lectures, doing homework, or... thinking.

While internally I was proud of my friendship progress barometer that read Li still tolerated my existence, I crossed my arms over my chest and dragged my eyes down her perfectly put-together appearance.

UCLA was located in a very close proximity to Beverly Hills. In my limited experience from Li's walking tour, which offered a trip through some nearby mansions and shops, I'd noticed at least fifteen carbon copies of this girl.

"I do." I internally high-fived myself at my unusual amount of restraint. "And let me say how I just love your clothes, Brittany."

"Oh thanks! All new, hot off the racks." She tucked her chin head down and dropped her eyes, which allowed me to shoot a smirk directly at Jake.

"I really do," I pressed out in the sweetest, fakest voice I mustered. "Did they come with a pole?"

"A what?" Her head shifted slightly sideways like I'd asked a dog if it wanted to go for a walk and her eyes looked blankly at me before she erupted in giggles. "You're so funny, no bestie."

Oh fuck, she did not just call me that.

My limited patience evaporated like a puff of smoke shot off inside my brain and I narrowed my eyes at Jake. "Listen this has been very... educational but I need to leave while I still have functioning brain cells."

"Harper wait -" Jake started when Brittany pressed another kiss on him, this time right under his jaw. By the one blue-gray eye that stayed trained on me, I knew exactly what she did with that move.

Marking her territory.

Joke's on her, she can pee on that hydrant all she wants.

While I simultaneously debated how successfully I bleached that mental image out of my brain, struggled with actually being impressed that Jake had a girlfriend, and confused as to why he'd sent me a nude if he had.

Unless... someone's being cock-blocked. Now why does this scenario feel familiar?

A quick glance over my shoulder at the now very apparent space between Brittany and Jake verified my suspicions. Another quick look down at my pajama-covered state cemented the ridiculous irony here.

Not making the same mistake twice.

One dismissive hand wave and exactly six steps later, an obnoxiously shrill wail with a decibel level that probably shattered glass rang out from behind me.

"Wuuhhhhhyyyyyyy Babes!?"

My lips twitched sideways as I walked away with my chin lifted high. With one fist wrapped tightly around my backpack, the other lifted up higher than my shoulder with a middle finger salute, just in case Jake spared me a second look.

The brief moment of triumph lasted as long as I needed before I pulled my phone out of my pocket and saw he'd not only unblocked himself but also renamed his contact and left a message on my background.

Block me again and I'll see you tomorrow, firecracker.

I groaned and shook my head a few times at how Jake played me better than I'd thought.

Contrary to my viral tomato-tossing video, which thankfully had been taken down from the site where Gas Station Perv posted it, the last thing I wanted was unnecessary attention drawn towards myself. While I was still new to UCLA, like anyone with a meme fetish, I was well aware of the Bruins' rivalry with USC and wanted nothing to do with that unnecessary drama.

Jake knew how I felt about being sprung with unwanted attention and that angered me more than the fact he'd texted me a nude picture while he had a girlfriend. Yet, I couldn't help myself and gave credit where credit was due.

Well played dickhead, well played.