CHAPTER ONE
Juliette stared at the course syllabus, the confusing words and nonsensical terms swimming before her eyes. Phrases like quadratic equations and rational expressions.
Why had she put off college algebra until her very last semester before student teaching?
At the front of the room, the professor droned on and on, his thick Eastern European accent testing the limits of her concentration. Had he just said matrices? The word had her entire body breaking out in a cold sweat.
This was why she’d put off college algebra—the nauseating frustration that had her praying for the sweet release of death. Well, okay, maybe not death. That was perhaps a bit dramatic. But why did she have to take college algebra, anyway? Juliette was going to be a high school English teacher, not an accountant. Did accountants use linear equations, or whatever the professor was talking about? She wasn’t really sure.
Her mind wandered to the book she was reading—a toe-curling romance where a prince pretended to be engaged to a commoner to satisfy the press. The couple was so perfect for each other, but the lines between reality and fantasy kept blurring and both the hero and heroine were afraid of admitting their true feelings for each other.
Maybe if she pulled out her tablet, she could read the last few chapters under the guise of taking notes.
“Your grade will be fifty percent tests, thirty percent quizzes, and twenty percent homework,” Professor Horvat said.
Juliette blinked, focusing again on the syllabus and trying to push the book out of her mind. She had to pass this class—the only one she was seriously concerned about this semester. If she didn’t pass, she couldn’t do her student teaching next semester and graduate. She’d also lose her scholarship, along with the internship she had lined up for next fall at a prestigious private high school that heavily emphasized liberal arts. Not only did it fulfill her student teaching requirement, it paid half salary and gave her an in with the principal should an opening arise.
Not passing this class wasn’t an option.
“We’ll dive right in then,” Professor Horvat said. “Let’s start by reviewing basic algebra so that we’re all on the same page, and then next class we’ll jump into graphing.”
Juliette barely held back a sigh. It seemed not even a day’s reprieve would be granted to the prisoners. The professor intended to commence with the torture immediately.
He uncapped a dry erase marker, the tangy chemical scent wafting to where Juliette sat on the front row. She usually loved that scent. Today, she loathed it. The fumes were already giving her a massive headache. Or maybe that was from the equations Professor Horvat meticulously scrolled across the whiteboard.
Ten minutes later, despite her best attempts at concentration, she was already hopelessly lost. The endless parade of numbers swam before her stinging eyes.
Romantic heroines never had to deal with this kind of crap. Juliette devoured more than a hundred books a year, and she had yet to read one where a character had to worry about something as mundane as math—not unless it was in direct relation to money, which those heroines always seemed to have plenty of.
She was totally jealous of those heroines right now. They always got to embark on amazing adventures with swoony hunks, and they did it all without ever using a single rational expression. Did you use a rational expression, or did you solve it? Juliette was pretty sure she’d never figure it out, and she didn’t really care.
Except she did care, at least a little. Because she cared about the internship, which meant she cared about passing this class.
By the time Professor Horvat dismissed them for the day, Juliette could already feel the tension forming into a knot behind one shoulder blade. Her backpack made the spot ache as she trekked across campus toward her dorm. Brilliant white and pink blossoms clung to the trees lining the sidewalks, the green of leaves just poking through the flowers. The warm late-spring sun shone brightly overhead, and Juliette could hear the chaos of California traffic in the distance. But the campus seemed blanketed in a calm that only ever seemed present during the less-crowded summer semester of school.
Why couldn’t life be like a romance novel? Juliette could do with a hunky heartthrob sweeping her off her feet. Instead, she had to put up with Troy, her roommate’s obnoxious best friend who seemed to think their kitchen was his personal all-you-can-eat buffet.
At least he was nice to look at, even if he drove her crazy more often than not.
The elevator in her apartment had been out of order for nearly a year, so Juliette trudged up the three flights of stairs to her floor. She threw open the apartment door and dropped her backpack on the floor. With a dramatic sigh, she flopped onto the couch.
It was only day one of classes, and she already felt more stressed than she ever had been by midterms.
“Is that you, Juliette?” Erica called from the direction of their shared room.
Juliette almost asked Who else would it be? but stopped herself. She knew who else it could be—Troy. By this point, Erica had probably given him a key to the apartment.
Juliette and Erica had met last year in one of their child development classes—Erica was also a secondary ed major, although her subject was health and physical education. They’d become fast friends, and when Erica’s roommate had gotten married over Christmas break, Juliette had bought her contract and gratefully moved in. The apartment was cramped and dated, but thanks to campus housing, it was also affordable. The tiny kitchen and private bathroom felt like a luxury after spending three years in the dorms.
It wasn’t until moving day that Juliette had realized that Troy and Erica were kind of a package deal. They’d been friends since they were in diapers, and the two were attached at the hip.
“Yeah, it’s me,” Juliette said. “Are you done with classes for the day?”
It only took two steps for Erica to cross from the bedroom threshold to the living room. She had on tight exercise capris and a racer-back tank. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and a thin sheen of sweat covered her forehead. She’d probably just come from a run.
“I’m done by two o’clock every day this semester,” Erica said.
“Nice,” Juliette said. “I’m done by three.”
Erica grabbed a water bottle from the fridge, unscrewing the cap. “Should be a pretty easy semester, then. I can’t believe we start student teaching in four months.”
Four months. On the one hand, Juliette knew the time would fly by. But on the other, she had a feeling every minute spent in college algebra would feel like an eternity. “An easy semester for you, maybe. It’ll be a miracle if I pass this math class.”
A short knock sounded on the door, then it swung open without waiting for a response.
Troy waltzed into the room like he owned the place, instantly raising the temperature inside by ten degrees. He was tall and lean, but not lanky—sometimes, when his shirt stretched across his chest just so, Juliette could see the definition of the muscles underneath. His dark hair was trimmed short on the sides and a little longer on top, and those green eyes…
Juliette swallowed hard, unzipping her backpack. Really, there was no justice in this world. It wasn’t fair that such a thorn in her side was so drop-dead gorgeous.
“Afternoon, ladies,” Troy said with a knee-melting grin. The dimples that popped in both cheeks when he smiled made her heart pound every single time.
He headed to the fridge and pulled it open, rifling through the contents. What was it about college boys that made them constantly hungry?
“Out of food again, Troy?” Juliette quipped. “You know, they have this marvelous invention called a grocery store that can help with that.”
“Yes, but the cashier there never treats me to sarcastic remarks.” Troy shut the fridge, a bag of bread with Erica written in black marker across the top in one hand and a smirk on his lips. He lived in the apartment complex across the street—a dorm with no kitchen facilities. California rent rates were insane, especially near campus, so a lot of upperclassmen still lived like Freshmen to save money. “Okay if I make some toast, Erica?”
“Sure,” she said easily. “Make me a slice, too. Want some, Jules?”
Juliette imagined Troy eating the toast, crumbs clinging to his full lips. She swallowed hard, forcing herself to give him a falsely sweet smile. If he knew how attracted she was to him…
“No, thanks.” Juliette smirked. “Suddenly I’ve lost my appetite.”
Troy leaned against the counter, his arms folded across his chest. It took a lot of effort not to stare. “Perfect—I’ll have your slice, then. I’ve got a date in thirty minutes to some grandparents’ wedding anniversary, and food is really hit and miss at those.”
Ah, yes. Troy’s ridiculously absurd business.
“Still only dating girls who pay you?” Juliette asked.
Troy grinned. “Always."
Boyfriend-for-hire. Juliette hadn’t even known that was a job until she met Troy. It was part of what drove her crazy about him. What kind of person let women pay to date him? He certainly never seemed to have a shortage of clients.
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