Emily: Hello Kitten (The ‘Hello’ series)

1. Chapter 1

one

T his is it, right? The walk of shame? My tongue tastes like disgusting tequila and my ass is somehow sore as fuck. But perhaps that’s my punishment for waking up ten minutes ago in some stranger’s bed.

My head pounds and the morning sun prickles my eyes as I run over the sidewalk to my dorm. Rubbing my eyes, hoping to clear the fog that clouds my mind, I glide my hand in my small bag, rummaging through it in search of my phone.

I must have been more drunk than I thought last night since I forgot to go home instead of spending the night. I never spend the night.

My phone buzzes in my bag and draws my attention, I slow my pace and pull it out, the screen of my phone lights up, and a single text pops up.

Where are you going, Kitten?

My face heats as I remember that nickname, how he whispered that in my ear, praising me as his touch roamed over my body.

If only I could remember what he looked like or what his name was. Because I’m sure it isn’t the one I put in my phone.

A soft giggle escapes as I read over the name again. Stallion. How drunk was I to put that in my phone?

The sound of chatter lures me in, and I glance up, noticing students wandering toward the main building. My dorm stands high to the right of the university. The dark brick, tall windows, and the perfectly manicured trees around it make it look perfect. Nothing is out of place, except me, as I wear the dirty dress from last night. My thighs stick together, and I don’t even dare to look at my reflection as I push open the double doors, already knowing my hair is a rat’s nest.

Taking a quick left up the stairs, I hurry to my dorm room and storm inside, not even daring to glance around.

The room is flawless, thanks to my roommate, and smells like lavender soap. The open curtains let enough morning sun in to roam around. And without missing a beat, I strip off my dirty clothes, running a quick washcloth over my skin, and fix the mess that is my face.

It takes some forcing, stumbling, and wiggling, but I pull myself into some denim jeans, a cute top, and toss a notebook into my backpack with my laptop and a handful of pens. I shouldn’t need anything else. It’s day one. I got all my books online, so I don’t have to heave around text books and…

Two steps out the dorm room tells me I need shoes and my keys.

“Damn it,” I mutter and grab some sneakers from the hall and stuff my keys in my back pocket. With that, I race across campus, more focused on getting to class on time without tripping over another student than on what happened last night.

Ten minutes later, I burst into the classroom, then stare at the front of the room. No professor. Thank God.

I still have five minutes to put my shaking self back together. Maybe I should work out more so a ten-minute run doesn’t murder me.

Brushing my fingers through my hair as I walk to the third row, I find Beth sitting there and crash into the seat next to her. It’s a fight to catch my breath.

“You should join me on my jogs,” she jokes and pokes my arm. “You’re sweating like crazy, you know that?”

She reaches into her bag and pulls out a little hand towel for me. Once I feel almost human with the help of some eyeliner and lip gloss, I toss my messy auburn hair into a bun.

“What happened to you last night?” I finally ask.

“That’s what I should be asking you,” she says, her brow arched.

I blink at her. I’m sure I had fun. I know I had fun. I don’t have that gross, nasty feeling that comes with striking out and settling for throwing up or something.

Beth snorts as I don’t respond. “You don’t remember?”

I shrug. “It’s still a bit fuzzy.”

A laugh falls from her. “One second, we’re doing our second tequila shot and the next, you were making out with some guy in the corner.”

Her words bring it to life as memories of me doing shots of tequila, then spotting a sexy guy. Really hot, a bit older, and eyes that will haunt you. That’s all I get at first.

More images surface. Me gripping his black hair as he groaned in my ear, felt his muscled biceps as he held me against a wall, then wrapped my legs around his tapered waist as he carried me to bed. I stroked over his abs, tossed glasses to the side, eagerly tasted myself on his cock after I came so hard I soaked him.

Oh, shit. I grip my shirt just like I gripped his sheets as he went down on me, making me come on his tongue and lips. I can’t put the memories in any kind of order, but I definitely had a good night.

I remember his dark jeans, rubbing myself on his thigh, rubbing his pecs and abs, remember his scruff against the insides of my thighs, his soft lips against my nipples. It’s just a haze of pleasure.

“Ooh,” I breathe, almost groaning.

“I’m assuming that means you had a good time?” Beth taunts.

“Oh, God, yes. He was so sexy and a bit older. Like maybe thirty? And he knew what he was doing.” I giggle.

“Everything?” she asks suspiciously.

I grin at her. “Well, I don’t remember dirty talk or anything but his intense green eyes, but that man… oh, I’d love to do it again sober.”

She blinks at me a few times, considers it, and gazes around class.

I shove her. “What are you doing?”

“Just checking if there’s anyone here that matches your description.”

I shake my head as I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I’m sure he isn’t in our Reading Narrative 102 class.”

She nods. “Right,” she says and leans back in her chair as she chuckles. “I think this is a sign.”

I roll my eyes. “Don’t start that again,” I groan.

“I’m serious! It’s a sign that we’re going to have a great year. Don’t pop it.” She points at me with a purple pen and her eyes drop to my cleavage.

Beth adjusts my shirt slightly, and I arch an eyebrow at her. “Yes?”

“You should hide your bite marks. Don’t be that girl on the first day of classes,” she chastens.

Beth is all about modesty and keeping whatever happens in the bedroom a secret from the rest of the word—other than me, of course. But I don’t care. Let people look and wonder. I’m not ashamed of the fun I have.

“The professor is late,” she notes as she stares down at her watch.

I slump in my chair. All that rushing for nothing.

“Did you get a name and number this time?”

“I have a number,” I say victoriously as I unlock my phone. “But I’m sure his real name isn’t Stallion.” I laugh as I show her his contact information.

“Ew,” she notes, pointing at me. “Don’t tell me you actually call guys that.”

“I don’t have a name.” I shrug and am about to tell her some other details I remember when the door opens.

“Apologies for being late. Early mornings aren’t easy on anyone. Now, are we ready to dive into the syllabus?” the professor asks. “First things first, this is Reading Narrative 102. So, if you’re here for anything else, you’re in the wrong place.”

As our professor’s voice fills my ears, I slowly lift my head to stare at him.

No. It’s not possible. It can’t be.

Dark hair, those intense green eyes, a black button-up that has to stretch around his biceps, a perfect pair of jeans, stubble on his face and… and a bite mark on the base of his throat.

“Emily? Em, pull out your syllabus,” Beth hisses.

I melt into the floor. Because the second Dr. Adrian Hayes meets my gaze, he’s going to know I’m the reason he’s late this morning, that I’m the reason for the mark on his neck.

And that I’m now a problem. I’m definitely in trouble.

Beth tries to say something, but I grab her hand tightly. I almost choke out the words, but then Dr. Hayes stares our way, and I duck down to pull out my laptop.

What a way to start the year.