Drew
Book One of the Perfectly Independent Series
Amanda Shelley
Copyright © 2020 by Amanda Shelley
All rights reserved.
ISBN
E-book: 978-1-951947-12-5
Paperback: 978-1-951947-13-2
Editor: Renita McKinney
A Book A Day
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Editor: Sue Soares
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Proof Reader: Julie Deaton
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Cover Design: Amy Queau
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks isn’t authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
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Contents
Connect with Amanda Shelley
About the book
1. Drew
2. Abby
3. Drew
4. Abby
5. Drew
6. Drew
7. Abby
8. Drew
9. Abby
10. Drew
11. Abby
12. Drew
13. Drew
14. Abby
15. Drew
16. Abby
17. Abby
18. Drew
19. Abby
20. Drew
21. Abby
22. Drew
23. Abby
24. Drew
25. Abby
26. Drew
27. Abby
28. Drew
29. Abby
30. Drew
31. Abby
32. Drew
33. Abby
34. Abby
35. Drew
36. Drew
37. Abby
Epilogue
About the Author
Acknowledgments
Also by Amanda Shelley
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About the book
My heart races, palms sweat, and knees go weak.
I’ve never seen anyone like Drew in a science lab. He’s made me a firm believer in chemistry existing outside a textbook.
Then his ego and entourage show up.
Nope - No, thank you. Moving on. I mean… who has an entourage in college?
When our professor announces we’ll be stuck as lab partners, I nearly lose my mind—and not in a good way.
I can’t afford the type of distractions Drew brings.
1
Drew
Dammit, I’m late.
I hate being late.
Glancing at my watch, I know class hasn’t started yet, and I still have some time, but it’s been ingrained into me since I can remember—always show up early. Being on time is late—and today of all days, I need to be early.
I inwardly growl and readjust my backpack to pick up my pace.
From the moment I’ve walked into this building, I’ve been bombarded with fans. Sure, this is a D-1 school. I’m the captain of the basketball team and the lead scorer, so it’s to be expected. But enough is enough. Of course, I’m noticed. It’s not like I can help it. Being nearly six foot five is something I’m using to my advantage. I need to keep this scholarship and graduate with honors to get into med school. I know playing ball will only get me so far, and my dreams are bigger than that.
I like basketball, and I happen to be great at it. But ever since my sister died of Hodgkin’s when she was twelve, I’ve had my heart set on becoming a doctor. I want to treat kids like her, with hopes of different outcomes. With her illness, my parents were up to their ears in debt. I’ve had to use my height and athleticism to get me where I am today—And I’m not taking any chances.
I’ve heard to choose my seat wisely on the first day of class. I need to get there to scout out the room. Not wanting another person to stop and discuss my last game, I keep my eyes trained on the floor, until I make it to the door.
Once inside, I’m relieved there are plenty of vacant seats still available. As I stop to look it over, I immediately notice a guy’s face light with recognition, and I quickly dart my eyes away.
Nope. Not a chance.
Unfortunately, I’ve learned the hard way some fans can’t get past my stats when I’m off the court. I need a partner who’s focused. So, without a second’s hesitation, I continue to survey the room for the person least likely to be a distraction.
Then I spot her.
From behind, she’s non-descript. Her brown hair is tied into a ponytail, and she wears a plain white t-shirt, jeans, and Chuck Taylors. She isn’t socializing with anyone, and with her large-framed glasses, she fits the bill for being the stereotype of studious.
As I approach, I find her focus unyielding. With her eyes locked onto the textbook in front of her, I can’t help but smile. I need someone like her. When I pull out my stool and sit beside her, she doesn’t even glance my way. It isn’t until I greet her with, “Hey,” she looks in my direction for the first time.
I smile and nod in greeting.
No recognition.
But her eyes lock with mine, and we stare at one another for a long moment.
Great. Maybe she does recognize me.
Should I look for somewhere else to sit? I glance around and find the tables around us are filling up.
But she grabs my attention when she finally mumbles, “Hey, I’m Abby.”
I nod and grin in her direction. She clearly already knows my name.
A flicker of annoyance crosses her features before her expression turns blank, and she quickly returns her focus on her book. The corner of my lips pull up without my consent, but the moment I recognize it, I quickly school my features. She’s just what I need her to be.
While we sit here, a guy I don’t recognize stops by our table and high-fives me as he gushes, “Great game, man. You had me on the edge of my seat.”
Not wanting to be rude, I
shrug and accept the compliment. “Thanks. We were on fire last night. That’s for sure.” Then I make an exaggerated effort to pull out my notebook from my backpack.
I exhale heavily as he takes the hint and says, “You sure were. I’ll see ya around.” He looks in the direction of a vacant seat a few tables down, then returns a smile back at me. “Good luck next week.”
“Thanks, man.”
Abby continues reading her book in silence. But when a string of people stop and congratulate me on our latest win, I notice when she balls her hands into fists a few times. I try to keep my conversations short, but as soon as a person leaves, I’m greeted by another. It’s not like I can help it. I’m not about to be rude to fans, and it’s not like class has started yet.
When another person approaches, I hear a loud huff from my side. But I do my best to ignore it. She’s obviously annoyed and just as focused as I need her to be. I grin in amusement. My gut has never steered me wrong.
As this new guy greets me, the professor walks into the room, and relief washes through me. At least with class in session, people will leave me alone, and I can focus on why I’m here.
The professor stands in the center of the room for just a moment before clearing his throat. Everyone scatters to their seats as the aging man in the tweed jacket gathers some papers to put onto a podium. Once everyone’s settled, the professor stands in front of the room and announces, “Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. Look to the person next to you. This is your permanent lab partner. There’s no switching unless you want a ten percent reduction of your grade.”
Gasps are heard around the room, and a light chuckle escapes from me as I glance to the girl next to me. Her jaw practically lands on the table, and it’s all I can do to contain my amusement.
I manage to mumble, “It’s a good thing I chose you for a partner then, isn’t it?” as the professor launches into discussing the syllabus as well as his expectations for the semester.
Somehow, Abby manages to regain her composure, and the two of us spend the remainder of class taking copious notes. Abby’s diligent, and that’s just what I need with the season getting started and my full course load to stay on track for graduation.
Typically, athletes take fewer credits during the season, but if I’m to graduate on time and get into the school of my dreams, I can’t afford to slow my pace. As it is, I’m already busting my butt and have had to take summer classes to get the extra classes necessary for admissions.
When class ends, Abby quickly gathers her things and abruptly stands. She won’t even look in my direction as she makes her way out of the room. I can’t help but stare after her and wonder what our next class will bring.
2
Abby
When I return to lab the following Tuesday, I’m quickly reminded of how I left. To avoid any conversation with my extremely popular lab partner, I stormed out of the classroom, wondering how I’ll get through this semester.
He might not be that bad, but the string of people who kept stopping by… No, thank you.
Unfortunately, I remember the professor’s words all too well. I can’t afford a drop in my grade, especially this early in the semester.
It’s only one semester, Abby. You can do this.
Of all the places he could sit, why did he choose my table? When he mumbled something about specifically choosing me, what the hell did he mean by that?
Shit, is he planning on using me like Toby did my sophomore year?
Christ. I can’t go through that again. There’s no way in hell, I’d survive. I’m already taking twenty credits and working as many hours as I can at the library. I can’t afford to pull someone along to maintain the grade I deserve. Don’t even get me started on how it felt to be used emotionally either.
Been there, done that. Don’t need the t-shirt.
When I walk in, I’m relieved to find my table empty. I sit and unpack my things to settle in for class. I’m reviewing this week’s reading assignment to make sure it’s fresh in my mind when the hair on the back of my neck pricks. As if my body knows he’s here before I consciously do, I’m alerted to the scrape of a stool next to me.
I smile a greeting in his direction.
Maybe today will be different?
He nods once, then digs into his backpack, and for the most part, ignores me.
The smell of his cologne permeates the air, and my stomach does a small involuntary flip. I take a moment to take him in, realizing I might not have given him a fair chance the last time we met.
Okay, I’ll admit it, the man’s hotter than anyone I’ve ever laid eyes on in a science lab. His dark hair makes his blue eyes pop and smolder. His large frame fills out the black shirt he’s wearing, as if it’s been tailor made for his well-defined chest underneath. His square jaw with just the right amount of scruff and perfect lips are set in a straight line. When my gaze finally returns to his eyes, I find him staring expectantly. Holy hell! Get it together, Abby. He’s just a guy. But why did he choose to sit by me?
To regain control over my body’s reaction to the mysterious man sitting next to me, I quickly return my attention to my book. Though let’s be honest, I’ve hardly read more than a page since he made his presence known.
My ability to focus is thwarted by his sexy masculine scent and the unpacking of his materials for class. From the corner of my eye, I can’t help but watch his every move. As he pulls out a notebook, his muscular arms flex, and his elbow slightly brushes my arm, sending shivers down my spine.
Just like last time, people continue to stop and chat with him before class begins. My mind drifts to our last encounter, and I grimace.
I’m quickly reminded of how he thought he was too important to be bothered to mention his name… and how my instant crush ended. The man may be hot as hell, but he’s one of the cockiest people I’ve ever met, and that’s a major turnoff. Hell, I don’t have time to date, even if he wasn’t so arrogant, so it’s a moot point.
As our professor gets lab started, I’m relieved to find the guy next to me may be a jock, but at least he isn’t a dumb jock. He’s able to hold his own when it comes to our chemistry lab. We work solidly together until the professor announces we can take a short break and leave when we’re through.
“Do you mind if we work through the break? I have someplace I have to be after class,” Mr. No Name asks.
I’d ask his name but after working with him for the past hour, it’s just beyond weird to ask now. Maybe he’ll get called something other than Dude, or Man and I can figure it out, when the time comes.
Knowing I have work later, I eagerly agree but keep our extraneous conversation to a minimum. “Sounds great.”
We work diligently until a steady stream of people flock over to converse again about the latest game. Mr. Socialite is all smiles as he greets them. I try not to let it bother me, but after the fourth interruption, I finally lose it and feel the need to remind him of the commitment he’s made.
In an attempt to regain control of my emotions and not sound like a complete bitch, I take a deep breath, but it comes out as a huff instead. This immediately gets the attention of Mr. Blue Eyes, who’s now staring in my direction. I almost lose my nerve when I see the smile form on his perfectly shaped lips. Who the hell is this guy?
“Okay, partner,” I spit out. “Are we doing this, or what?” I look pointedly at the lab in front of us. “You said we needed to get done early because you had places to be. You’re too busy being Mr. Socialite to get anything done.”
Instead of his smile fading, it grows into a smirk. “I knew you’d keep me on track.” I glance around, and everyone has dispersed. “I just might keep you around.”
“Keep me around?” There’s no way I heard him correctly. “What do you mean by that?”
“I made the right choice by sitting here. You won’t let distractions stop us, and you can pull your weight on the labs.” He shrugs his shoulders, as if that should explain everything.
How should I respond to that?
Thankfully, my irritated vibe must project throughout the room because we’re no longer bothered by any unwelcome guests. A sense of satisfaction spreads over me as we finally delve back into our project.
When our work is finished, we make use of the remaining time going over required assignments. Blue Eyes (yes, that’s what I’m calling him since I still don’t know his name) and I decide we’ll need to meet outside of class to get a few things done.
When I suggest meeting at the library or local coffee shop, he hesitates and looks around.
“What?” I ask, not understanding his reaction.
“Well…” His chagrin look surprises me. He glances around the room once again. What is it that makes him think everyone is watching? “Can you think of anywhere less… public?”
How big of him to not want to be seen with the likes of me. What a cocky-ass! “If you’d rather do this on your own, go ahead. We’ll just split up the work.” After spending time working with him today, I’m confident he’d do the quality of work I expect from myself.
“Um…” His expression is unreadable for a split second before he continues, “I want to complete it together.”
“So, you want to collaborate but not be seen with me in public? Exactly how am I supposed to take that?” My defenses are up. If this douche canoe wants my help but doesn’t want to be seen with me, he’s got another thing coming.
Drew: Book One of the Perfectly Independent Series Page 1
