Lunar Crest University (Forbidden Fruit)

Chapter One

FINLEY

MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 25TH, 2023

S tupid.

Stupid hair.

Even at twenty-four, I still can’t manage to tame my hair into submission to feel the slightest bit pleased. It’s my fault for waking up late, I’ll admit to that, but the least my hair can do is cooperate, especially on the first day of fall classes.

With a disgruntled sigh, I tug the hair tie from my waves, pouting as my raven-colored locks cascade down my shoulders. Any other girl could pull off a cute bun, so why did mine have to make me resemble a founding father? Unfortunately, my semblance to Christopher Columbus will have to do—I’m already ten minutes late and can’t spare any more time.

And, of course, my first class of the day is British Lit, which has just been reassigned to a new professor. Professor Kline wouldn’t have cared whether I looked ready to board the Mayflower , but a new professor meant making first impressions, and every organized, perfectionist bone in my body screams at me for being late and gross.

She’s an older, white-haired woman I had grown to love. I looked forward to her classes and listening to her ramble on about five different things at once or her literary puns. I was required to take six credits of British Literature, and I’d already completed half of that last year. Still, much to my disappointment, the eccentric woman had taken quite the fall over the summer. An email had been sent out last week informing us that a new professor would be assuming the class this year, throwing my beloved schedule off.

And now, I’m late.

And my hair isn’t immaculate for impressions.

Dammit, Professor Kline.

I also blame the handsome grump in my bathroom the other night for the discombobulation. It had been an entire week since the encounter, and I still can’t manage to sleep at night because of it. Thoughts rattle my brain for hours—making me toss and turn and toss and turn . What is his name? What was he doing in that alley? Why did he refuse to go to the hospital? Why did he affect me like I was a smitten sixteen-year-old girl?

The questions were on a loop as I scrubbed the blood stains from my carpet and put new bandages on the cut on my hand. It was healing okay—fully scabbed over now, but still tender and a constant reminder of that night.

Whisking my hair up into another bun, I huff quietly as I scramble to grab my bag and coffee before busting out of the front door.

As if things can’t get any worse, it’s raining. The leaves scattered across the ground are soaked and sticking to my shoes. Hurrying down to the bus stop, I shake my leg irritably, attempting to fling off the drenched leaves as the bus pulls up. I can already feel my baby hairs sticking up in every direction from the humidity, making me grumble as I climb onto the bus and slump down in the nearest seat.

Tugging my uniform skirt down, I tiredly sip at my coffee while gazing out of the window.

My planner said nothing about rain, bad hair days, or running late.

The bus doesn’t take very long. Lunar Crest University sits on the outskirts of town—one of the largest colleges in Maine. The Gothic architecture is stunning, with its long, pointed arches, large stained glass windows, and ribbed vaults. It is mostly made of dark brick and ornate stone with gargoyles perched at the top of every towered arch, resembling a majestic castle. It’s particularly suited for the dreary day.

It’s strangely empty on the bus for a Monday morning, but perhaps the weather is to blame.

As the bus comes to a halt in front of the English Hall, I suck in a deep breath as I gather my things and rush to class. Mentally crossing my fingers that the professor will let me slide for being late on the first day, I find the room number, whisk open the door, and hurry inside.

The relief that washes over me once I realize the professor still hasn’t shown is insurmountable. I have to keep myself from breaking into a happy dance as I find an empty desk and slide into it.

“Finley Dunaway. Ten minutes late for class?”

My head whips to the side to see my best friend, Levi, smiling devilishly at me in the seat next to mine. As he leans back in his chair, a whoosh of air leaves his lips, blowing pieces of the curly brown mop on his head out of his face before he flicks my nose gently.

“It’s been the worst morning,” I groan, taking a long sip from my coffee. “You wouldn’t believe how terrible it’s been. Do you see my hair?”

“I think it looks?—”

“Chaotic?”

“I was going to say fine,” he chuckles softly, pressing his lips into a thin line. “But I see we are being a perfectionist this morning.”

“ Fine? ” I scoff as I shove his shoulder. “That’s even worse.”

His hazel eyes study me with playful sympathy as he ruffles my baby hairs around, making me scowl as I swat his hand away. Lifting my coffee for another sip, I almost have a pulmonary embolism as I set it back down to see him walking into the classroom.

Mystery alleyway guy.

Handsome, grumpy guy.

Guy who called me princesa and left my apartment in a bloody mess guy.

“Good morning, class. Sorry I’m late.”

I sputter on my coffee, coughing loudly as my cheeks burn, hurrying to look down at the wooden desk in front of me as I regain my composure.

There’s no way. Why is he here?

My eyes hesitantly lift to meet his dark ones. They widen for a fraction of a second before he clears his throat, tearing his gaze away as he sits his things down on the desk in the center of the room. I can feel a dozen eyes on me as I recover from my coughing fit, and my face feels like it’s quite literally on fire.

“Jeez, Finn. Are you okay?” Levi whispers to me under his breath.

I nod a little too quickly.

“What’s your name?” he asks from the front of the room, staring down at his papers for a few seconds before he lifts his head to look at me expectantly.

“Finley,” I rasp.

“Finley…”

I want to palm my forehead as hard as possible as I realize he’s waiting for me to tell him my last name.

“Dunaway.”

“Ms. Dunaway,” he says coolly, and I want to melt at the sound of my name leaving his lips. “Next time, leave the coffee at home. No drinks in class.”

“Yes, sir.”

Completely mortified, I sink further into my chair, letting my face fall into my palms as I groan internally. A few snickers sound around the classroom as I push my coffee to the edge of my desk, as far away from my view as possible. Meekly pulling out a notebook and pencil, I chew at the inside of my pursed lips.

Racking my brain, I wonder what I’ve done to receive a fate like this. How could it be possible that the same guy who left his DNA all over my carpet is also my British Lit professor? The guy I’ve seen half-naked. Okay, not half-naked , just shirtless—but still.

He doesn’t even look like he’d been sliced up the other night. His walk is normal, at least from what I can tell.

Chalk tapping against the chalkboard captures my attention, and my eyes flicker to him, watching him intently as he writes his name.

Professor Serrano.

I feel like I’m being strangled as he turns around, glasses perched on top of his large nose. His hair sits in messy waves on his head, his five o’clock shadow gone, his mustache thick above his full lips. Picture perfect, as if nothing ever happened to him. He dons a tightly fitted suit that doesn’t leave much room for imagination, and I try not to focus on how muscular he is. Not only do I have these inappropriate thoughts about a stranger, but that stranger is now my college professor.

Get it together.

“As you all know,” he states, his voice carrying around the room as he places the chalk down. “Professor Kline won’t be able to teach this year, so you’re stuck with me. I’m Professor Serrano.”

It’s truly pitiful how distracted I am for the remainder of class. Although he only talks about the syllabus, rules, and expectations, I feel like a failure for getting so caught up in him, I couldn’t even pay attention. This has to be detrimental to my health. I can’t breathe properly.

I’m not like this. Why am I reacting this way?

His voice is captivating, rich and deep. His looks are captivating. Even the way he walks back and forth in front of his desk, stopping to perch on it as he speaks… captivating .

Something is wrong with me. I’m broken. A piece of my brain has stopped working; it had to. That’s the only reasonable explanation.

His presence in this classroom only riddles me with more unanswered questions. What is a guy like him doing here? As a professor at a prestigious college?

Levi’s voice pulls me from my thoughts, which I’m thankful for in an annoyed kind of way.

“Look at Genevieve. She’s smitten by the guy. Why can’t I get her to look at me like that?”

Levi has been vying for the platinum blonde’s attention for the past three years—failing miserably every time. It had been sad watching him follow her around like a lost puppy, only to come back each time with his tail between his legs. Genevieve Pierce is known to go for the sports guys—star of the football team, captain of the hockey team, you name it. Unfortunately, Levi is the polar opposite: the guy who writes poetry, drinks coffee all day while typing away, and has a soft spot for Wuthering Heights .

“Go join the football team,” I offer. “Or the lacrosse team.”

Levi narrows his eyes. “I’m being serious, Finn.”

“Ms. Dunaway. How many times do you plan on interrupting my class today?”

I freeze as I peek up at Professor Serrano leaning up against his desk again, large hands gripping the wood on either side of him as he raises his eyebrows petulantly. His tongue flicks out to lick his lips as he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to?—”

“See me after class,” he interrupts crossly.

My mouth clamps shut as I nod solemnly, averting my eyes to stare down at the spiral bound of my notebook. Is he giving me a hard time because of the other night? Or is he just doing his job?

He’s just doing his job.

I focus on my notebook for the rest of class. My eyes don’t lift when class is dismissed, when everyone gathers their things to leave, not even when Levi tells me he’ll see me tomorrow with a swift peck to my forehead. I keep them down as I pick up my bag and half-empty coffee cup, chucking it in the trash on the way down to the front.

Standing in front of his desk, I look up to see he’s staring at me already, and his lips press into a thin line as he waits for everyone to filter out of the room. Only then does he speak.

“How is your hand?”

Blinking slowly, I glance down at my bandage before looking at him, perplexed.

“How are your ribs?” I counter.

He doesn’t respond as he sits in his chair, and his hands lay on the armrests as his fingers tap against them faintly. Sucking in an irritated breath, he finally clicks his tongue.

“Listen, Finley,” he says. “The other night didn’t happen.”

My brows furrow. “But…it did.”

“Then let’s forget about it, shall we?”

Something in his voice makes my stomach churn. Is it because I allow myself to care about how he speaks to me?

I don’t care.

“And what happens if I don’t forget about it?” I question casually, adjusting the strap of the bag on my shoulder. “What then?”

“You’ll forget.”

He sounds confident.

“Why?” I bite back, my skin prickling with heat as I cross my arms over my chest. “Because you’ll threaten me if I don’t?”

“No,” he snaps quickly, standing from his chair as he leans over the desk toward me, pressing his palms flat against the wood. “Because I’m asking you nicely. And I’ll only ask once.”

I hadn’t noticed how close we had gotten until I could feel his breath fanning across my exposed neck. Once the realization dawns, I step backward in a huff, hoping the blush creeping into my cheeks isn’t noticeable.

“Fine.”

“Good.”

“ Great ,” I grumble, blowing the stray hairs from my face.

I refuse to spare him a second glance as I shove open the door, storming down the hallway and out into the cold drizzle. Pulling my blazer tighter around me, I squint against the rain that seeps into my hair and clothes.

He pinpointed me because he wanted to make sure I wouldn’t go running my mouth. It wasn’t because I had done anything wrong, but because he was protecting his own ass. This is what I get for getting caught up in brown eyes and pet names instead of keeping my guard up and calling the police like any normal person would have done.

Jerk.

Hot. Grumpy. Professor. Jerk.