I turned to leave and caught Marcus Jackson’s eye. I’d say your little snooze lightened it up.” “The discussion was getting pretty heavy. “Don’t feel too bad about it, Christina,” he chuckled. I appreciate you making an exception to let me into this seminar. “Seriously, I never fall asleep in class. “Sorry again about earlier,” I said breathlessly. The seminar room was overheated on this wintry Friday afternoon, but I shivered.Īfter class, I knotted my scarf around my neck and approached Professor Lowe. Pale blue eyes watched me fumble, amused. Stupid.Īs the discussion continued and I paged though my book, all I saw were letters on paper. He shook his head, amusement crinkling his eyes. It was January, the second week of spring semester. I was the girl who’d fallen asleep while people discussed the tragic deaths of the Bronte siblings, the girl who was currently checking page 178 for drool. Sitting in back meant every face in my Victorian Literature class was turned toward me. My book lay open, a pillow I’d faceplanted into. Laughter broke over me as I raised my head. Manufactured in the United States of America No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.Ĭover photography by Gabriel Georgescu/Shutterstock Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.Īll rights reserved. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner.
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