I sit there for a solid ten seconds, staring at the back of the most annoying person I've ever met. Coffee drips from my ruined sweater onto the pavement, and my copy of *The Great Gatsby* looks like it went through a blender.
"Seriously?" I mutter, scrambling to my feet.
Students walk around me like I'm a piece of furniture. A couple people glance over, but nobody stops to help. Typical college courtesy right there. I grab whatever I can save - my notebook's stained but still usable, my pens are everywhere, and the textbook is basically trash now.
My phone says 8:52 AM.
Crap.
Lurther's class starts at nine sharp, and he actually locks the door if you're late. No joke. I heard he once made a girl wait outside for the entire class because she was literally one minute behind schedule.
I practically sprint toward Morrison Hall, my wet sweater sticking to my skin in the most disgusting way possible. I smell like a coffee shop explosion, and it's all because of some stuck-up jerk who thinks he owns the sidewalk.
The hallway outside Lurther's office room is still empty when I get there. Good. I can hear him setting up inside, shuffling papers and probably rehearsing whatever intimidating lecture he's planning to torture us with today.
I push open the classroom door and slip inside, hoping to grab my usual seat before the chaos starts.
Except someone's already sitting there.
In MY seat.
The same guy from the quad - Mr. Coffee Collision himself - is sprawled in my third-row spot like he's been there all semester. He's got his expensive-looking notebook open, fancy pens lined up like little soldiers, and he's wearing what I swear is a cashmere sweater that probably costs more than my rent.
Our eyes meet across the room.
Recognition hits both of us at the same time. His mouth curves into this slow, knowing smile that makes my blood pressure spike. Not a friendly smile. More like... he's enjoying this.
"You've got to be kidding me," I say, not even trying to whisper.
He raises an eyebrow. "Problem?"
"That's my seat."
"I don't see your name on it."
Oh, he's one of those guys. "I've sat there every class for two months."
"Well, now you haven't."
I want to argue more, but I can hear Lurther's footsteps in the hallway. The last thing I need is to get caught standing here having a territorial dispute with some stranger.
"This isn't over," I hiss, grabbing the first empty seat I see.
"I'm counting on it," he says back, and there's something in his voice that makes my stomach do this weird flip thing.
The door swings open and Professor Lurther walks in, looking like he's ready to destroy someone's will to live. He sets his briefcase down with a sharp thud and surveys the room like a general inspecting troops.
"Good morning, class," he says, his voice cutting through the sudden silence. "I trust you've all prepared yourselves for today's discussion."
I slump in my borrowed seat, shooting death glares at the guy who stole my spot. He's not even looking at me anymore - just sitting there taking notes like nothing happened, like he didn't just completely wreck my morning routine.
But I can tell he's aware of me. There's this tension in the air, like we're both waiting for round two.
And something tells me I'm not going to like what comes next.