Page 1 of Wild Skies (Rugged Loners #3)

One

Maren

O ne month ago

The lecture hall is packed full of people, with rows and rows of glowing laptop screens. The gym bro on my left is on a sports news site; the bookish girl on my right is bidding on a collectible stuffed toy on eBay. All around, people murmur and sip coffee, lazily checking their emails.

As soon as the door opens and our astronomy professor strides inside, raising a hand to the audience, the laptop screens all switch to blank documents. Fingers hover over keyboards, ready to type.

It’s 8am on a Thursday, but Astronomy 101 always draws a crowd—even if ninety percent of the students have giant take-out coffee cups wedged beside their laptops. They’re yawning, but they’re here.

“Morning, everyone.”

Tall, dark-haired and handsome, the professor gives a crooked smile as he steps behind the podium.

He’s dressed in dark gray pants and a white button-down shirt, with the sleeves rolled up his forearms and the collar undone.

He’s fit, with broad shoulders and a muscled chest obvious beneath the shirt fabric.

Like Clark Kent retired from journalism and got contacts.

“Before we get started.”

The professor’s voice is low and smooth.

Decadent. The kind of voice you might hear narrating a luxury chocolate commercial.

And when he speaks, everyone in the lecture hall sits up a tiny bit straighter, me included.

My heart pitter-patters underneath my thin blue sweater, and I squeeze my pen tight.

Correction: Astronomy 101 doesn’t draw this big a crowd at 8am every Thursday. That’s all Professor Gregory Carter. The man is magnetic.

“As of today,” the professor says, scanning the first few rows of students, “sign ups are open for the spring break astronomy field trip. We’ll be heading up into the mountains for the Thelseid meteor shower.

It’s forecast to be a real display this year.

We’ll be taking high powered telescopes, recording equipment, the whole nine yards, and with any luck, we’ll come back with valuable data and some great memories. ”

Excited whispers breeze across the lecture hall, everyone elbowing each other and grinning. My teeth dig into my bottom lip—hard.

I want to be on that trip.

I need to be on that trip.

Not to see a Thelseid meteor shower, though that would be cool. No: to spend time with Professor Carter, and see what he’s like away from campus. To soothe the low ache that started in the pit of my stomach the very first time I laid eyes on him.

To quiet the instinct that whispers in the back of my head that Professor Carter is mine.

Listen, I’m not deluded. I realize that a world famous professor would never want me back. To him, I’m nothing. No one. A lowly, anonymous student… albeit one he stares at sometimes.

But for the last few months, this restless feeling has only gone away when Professor Carter is near, and I want to see how I’d feel close-up. Whether the instincts would quieten down, or if they’d scream louder instead.

Hm. Maybe I’m a masochist.

“A few words of warning, though.”

The professor’s gaze is calm as he scans along each row of students, making his way steadily up the lecture hall. It’s almost like he’s looking for someone. Nerves and excitement squirm in my belly at the thought.

“This isn’t a luxury trip. We’ll be camping in the wilderness. There are snakes and bears and wolves in the area.”

The girl on my right lets out a tiny squeak of fear, sinking down on the bench. Some of the grins around us start to fade.

“We’ll have to carry all our equipment for a mile over rocky terrain to get to the mountain peak,” he goes on.

“We’ll do that round trip almost every night.

It will be hard work, and everyone on the trip must contribute.

” The professor gives another crooked smile, still scanning the rows.

“Telescopes are heavy. I can’t carry it all alone. ”

On those shoulders? I bet he could.

“For those who are still interested, there’s one more warning. This is real camping, on a rudimentary site. There are basic facilities and hot showers, but there will be no phone signal or WiFi for the full two weeks.”

The gym bro next to me sighs and sits back. All across the rows in front, students are whispering again and shaking their heads—but not all of them. There are still plenty like me, sitting bolt upright and hanging on Professor Carter’s every word.

My fingers flex around my pen. Oh, god.

What if I don’t get on this trip? What if I spend the whole of spring break here, lonely and miserable on campus? Missing a man who probably doesn’t even know my name?

Just then, the professor’s gaze scans along our row, passing over student after student… then stops on me, like it always does.

My breath goes still in my lungs. Out of the corner of my eye, the eBay bidder shoots me a weird look, but I don’t care. I only care about one thing right now. One man.

Professor Carter is looking straight at me, his gaze intense and probing. And when he speaks, it’s like he’s talking just to me—brushing my hair aside to murmur in my ear. Beneath my clothes, my skin flushes hot, and it takes everything in me not to squirm.

It’s always like this when Professor Carter looks at me, seeking me out in the middle of his lectures.

Why does he do it? Does he feel this–this energy crackling between us too? Or am I imagining it, blowing things out of proportion in my head?

“Despite all that,” the professor says, holding my gaze, “I hope you will all still consider applying for the field trip. A meteor shower is a wonderful thing to experience firsthand. Life-changing, even.”

No fear. As soon as this lecture ends, I’m gonna snatch up my backpack and vault over these desks. In my head, I’m already parkouring the whole way down the lecture hall, flipping and somersaulting like a badass in order to be the first to put my name on the list.

Hey, a girl can dream. Especially when a handsome older man looks at her like that —like she’s a vanilla frosted cupcake in a bakery window, and he hasn’t tasted sugar in a long, long time.

I give a shy smile.

The professor clears his throat and looks away, addressing another row. “Alright, let’s get started with today’s class.”

Is that a faint blush on his handsome cheekbones? It’s hard to tell from all the way up here.

But one thing is for sure: if I don’t get a place on this field trip, I’ll explode.

* * *

Fifty minutes later, the lecture hall buzzes with loud conversation as we file out of our rows in a steady shuffle.

Despite my parkour daydreams, I’m stuck inching my way out behind gym bro, clutching my backpack straps with clammy hands.

My laptop and notebooks for the rest of the day’s classes weigh heavily on my shoulders, making my bra strap dig into my collarbone.

The trip won’t be first come, first served, right?

That wouldn’t be fair on the students at the back, and Professor Carter is famously firm but fair.

Even so, tension knots my belly tighter and tighter as we all trudge slowly down the steps, and by the time I reach the front of the lecture hall and join the long line to put my name down for the trip, my shoulders are bunched up around my ears.

It’s noisy and hot, and I desperately need to dig out my water bottle, but my body is too tense to move beyond shuffling forward with the line.

Because… what if the professor doesn’t pick me?

Or what if he does , but then he barely looks at me for the whole trip? What if this insane fixation of mine has been one-sided this whole time? What then?

Gah.

Maybe I should walk away. Maybe I should march myself over to the student wellness center and ask for therapy instead. That would be smarter.

“Here you go.”

That familiar low voice makes my pulse spike and my chin jerk up. I’m at the front of the line already? But I’m still freaking out!

“Do you need this?” Professor Carter wiggles the pen he’s holding out, and like a dumbass, I finally take it. No word of thanks. No acting normal. I’m too starstruck, being this close to my crush.

And lord, he looks good close up.

Professor Gregory Carter is in his late thirties, with dark hair, navy blue eyes, and the kind of jaw line you could use in place of a ruler.

Standing with only one desk between us, I can see a few details that were lost farther away—stuff like the very fine lines at the corners of his eyes, and the slight bump in the bridge of his nose, and the dark chest hairs just barely peeking out of his open collar.

Another thing I realize for the first time, staring at this man like a weirdo: Professor Carter has a butt chin. You know, one of those manly chin dimples that looks like a butt? How did I not see it all those times I stared moon-eyed at his staff page on the college website?

For a wild moment, all I want to do is reach out and press my thumb into that divot. My hand balls into a fist around the borrowed pen.

“You just need to put your name and college email for now,” the professor says, sliding his hands into his pockets. “I’ll send out a group message by Friday letting the lucky few know.”

My lips press together as I write my name and email. Even though I take all my class notes by hand, suddenly my handwriting is all wobbly and childlike. The back of my neck itches as I feel the professor’s gaze on me once again.

“Maren,” he says quietly, tilting his head to read my name. The faint smile he gives me is here and gone in a flash, so quick that maybe I dreamed it. “Now there’s a beautiful name.”

“Th-thank you,” I whisper, handing back the pen. My stomach knots in anticipation when the professor reaches for it, but sadly, our fingers don’t brush. I’ve gotten this close, but I still haven’t felt the heat of his skin.

Duh.

And I never will. God, this insane daydreaming can’t be good for me. Who am I kidding? I should scratch my name off that list and drop out of this class. I should find someone else to crush on, a guy my own age, and stop pining after the world famous astronomy professor. I should—

A throat clears behind me. Cheeks flaming, I hurry out of the way.

When I reach the door to the lecture hall, I can’t help it. I look back.

And find the professor’s steady gaze on me.