There’s an easy silence between us and then Connor asks, “And why are you sitting here, all by yourself, Miss Cleary?”

I wave a dismissive hand in the air. “Oh, I was supposed to take the historical tour but I missed it. I got delayed with . . .” My thoughts drift back to my previous conversation, taking a part of my comfort with it. “An ass**le,” I mutter absently.

Connor does a quick scan around us and asks with a smile. “Is the ass**le still around?”

I feel my face turning red. “You weren’t supposed to hear that.” Ever since that week when Stayner made me inject a variety of swear words—of my sister’s choosing—in every sentence that came out of my mouth, I’ve found my vocabulary unintentionally more colorful. Especially when I’m upset or nervous, though I find that I’m suddenly neither, right now. “And, no. I hope he’s far away.” Deep in a well, with a slew of girls he doesn’t regret to keep him occupied.

“Well”—Connor stands and holds out a hand—“I doubt my tour will be nearly as educational but I’ve been here for three years, if you’re interested.” I don’t even hesitate, accepting his hand. Right now, there isn’t a thing I’d rather do than walk around the Princeton campus with Connor from Dublin.

It turns out that Connor from Dublin knows surprisingly little about Princeton history. He does, however make up for it with enough embarrassing personal stories. My sides hurt from laughter by the time we reach a secluded, medieval-looking courtyard outside my residence hall, one I didn’t know existed and am glad that I’ve discovered because it looks like a perfect place to study. “ . . . and they found my roommate in nothing but black socks right here the next morning,” Connor says, pointing to a wooden bench, an easy smile on his face.

Somewhere between our meeting spot and now, I started to appreciate just how attractive Connor is. I hadn’t really noticed it immediately, but it was probably because I was still so ruffled after seeing Ashton. Connor is tall with sandy blond hair—tidy but stylish—and smooth, tanned skin. His body is lean, but I can tell by the way his pressed khaki pants fit him as he walks and how his button-down checked shirt stretches across broad shoulders that he’s fit. Basically, he’s the guy I’ve always pictured myself walking around this campus with someday.

But I think it’s Connor’s smile that makes me gravitate toward him. It’s wide and genuine. There’s nothing hidden behind it, no deception.

“How do you pass your classes? It sounds like all you do is party,” I ask as I lean against the bench, pulling one knee up on the seat.

“Not as much as my roommates would like me to.” Just hearing his easy chuckle makes me sigh. “The parties are over once classes start. Until after midterms, anyway. To each their own, but I want to go home with an excellent education, not a failed liver and an STD.”

My eyes flash toward him in surprise.

“Sorry.” His cheeks flush slightly, but he quickly recovers with a grin. “I’m still a bit annoyed with them. They threw a bloody toga party on Saturday. We’re still cleaning up the house.”

My body instantly tenses. Toga party? The same toga party where I was wasted and making out with Ashton? I swallow before I manage to ask in strained whisper, “Where did you say you lived?” I have no clue where that party was, so knowing the address makes no difference. What does make a difference is whether Connor was there to witness my spectacle.

He slows to look at me with a curious expression. “Just off campus, with a few other guys.”

Just off campus. That’s what Reagan said when we headed out that night. Maybe there was more than one toga party that night?

“Oh yeah?” I try to make my voice sound light and relaxed. Instead I sound like someone’s choking the life out of me. “I went to a toga party on Saturday.”

He grins. “Really? Must have been my house. Not many people throw toga parties anymore.” With an eye roll, he mutters, “My roommate, Grant. He’s cheesy like that. Did you have fun?”

“Uh. Yeah.” I watch him from the corner of my eye. “Did you?”

“Oh, I was in Rochester for my cousin’s wedding,” he confirms, shaking his head. “Kind of sucked that it was the same weekend, but my family’s big on . . family. My mom would have killed me if I missed it.”

I let the air release from my lungs painfully slowly, just so it’s not obvious how relieved I am that Connor wasn’t there. Although if he had been, he probably wouldn’t be talking to me right now.

“I heard it got pretty wild, though. Cops shut it down.”

“Yeah, there were some drunk people there. . . ,” I say slowly and then, wanting desperately to change the subject, I ask, “What’s your major?”

“Politics. I’m pre-law.” He watches me closely as he talks. “Hoping for Yale or Stanford next year, if all goes well.”

“Nice,” is all I can think to say. And then I catch myself staring at those friendly green eyes and smiling.

“And you? Any ideas what you’re going to major in?”

“Molecular biology. Hoping for med school.”

A rare frown furrows Connor’s brow. “You know you can still apply to med school with a humanities major, don’t you?”

“I know, but sciences are easy for me.”

“Huh.” Connor’s eyes appraise me curiously. “Beautiful and smart. A deadly combination.”

I duck my head as a blush creeps into my cheeks.

“Well, here we are.” He gestures toward my hall. “Gorgeous building, isn’t it?”

I tip my head back to take in the Gothic architecture. Normally, I’d agree. Now, though, I find myself disappointed because it means my tour, and my time with the smiling Connor, is over. And I’m not ready yet.

I watch as he backs away, sliding his hands into his pockets. “It was nice to meet you, Livie from Miami.”

“You too, Connor from Dublin.”

He kicks a loose stone around with his shoe for a few awkward seconds as I stand and watch. Then he asks, almost hesitantly, “We’re having little party over at our house this Saturday, if you’re interested. Bring that wild roommate you talked about, if you want.”

With my head tilted and my lips pursed, I say, “But I thought you said the parties were over once classes started.”

His eyes search my face, a thoughtful gleam in them. “Unless it’s an excuse to invite a beautiful girl over.” Then his cheeks redden and his gaze drops to the ground.

And I realize that, on top of being good-looking, Connor is about as charming as they come. Not sure how to answer, I simply say, “See you Saturday.”

“Perfect. Say, eight o’clock?” He rhymes off a street name and house number and, with one last, wide grin, he takes off at a slight jog as if late for something. I lean against the bench and watch him go, wondering if he was just being nice. And then, as he’s about to slip behind a building, he slows and turns to look back in my direction. Seeing that I’m still watching, he blows a kiss my way and disappears.

And I have to press my lips together to keep from grinning like an idiot.

This day is definitely looking up.

CHAPTER FIVE

Diagnosis

While I’ve attempted to experience as many of Princeton’s campus-coordinated events as possible as a way of immersing myself in the spirit and culture, Reagan has decided to immerse herself in as many beer-and-vodka-coordinated events as exist. And she’s decided that I need immersing along with her. It’s because I want to please my lively roommate that I ended up at dorm parties every night this week and in bed each morning with heavy eyelids. That, and I also hoped I’d run into Connor again. In the back of my mind, there was a fear of running into Ashton, too. In the end, hope won out over fear.