"Am I allowed back?" I ask Fleur as Nita leaves.

"You never said who you were."

Her big blue eyes delve into my conscience and, for a split second, I consider telling the truth. The problem is my conscience hasn't played any part in my life recently.

"I'm Nate," I say and hold out my hand.

Fleur looks at my hand but doesn't take hold. "Your brother's an a.r.s.ehole."

"Sometimes. But that doesn't mean I am, right?"

Her straight blonde hair falls into her face as she bends over to fasten her bag. "Depends. You both have a reputation."

"I promise I'll behave," I say and attempt to sound sincere.

Fleur continues to pack her things and doesn't reply. Ah, well, it was worth a shot.

"If you think the group can help you, and if you leave the Campbell att.i.tude outside the door, then okay."

Score. "Easy done."

Could she look anymore doubtful? "We'll be here same time next week, 6 p.m., if you want to come back."

"Thanks," I say as she walks to the door.

Fleur pauses. "You're welcome, but I suggest you do some study between now and then."

"Let me buy you a coffee, say thanks properly?"

"I'm busy, but thanks for the offer."

"Another time?"

"Let's leave it at this, Nate," she says and before I can respond, she leaves.

The realisation hits as the door clicks closed and my brain re-engages. I told her I was Nate.

Nate's gonna lose his s.h.i.t.

4.

WILL.

Me and the boys returned from tour to the same student house, strangely it felt like home. We've been here, with Jax, for a couple of years now. Semi-decent for a student place, thanks again to Jax's parents' money. The central heating is a huge bonus anyway. Tegan stays occasionally and I watch in amus.e.m.e.nt as Jax rushes around the house, tidying up before she arrives. No idea why, they rarely leave his bedroom when she is here. His parents don't expect him to return to uni so the lucky b.a.s.t.a.r.d does what he wants. Currently, he's hanging out in recording studios and talking himself into session work.

Ruby Riot rehea.r.s.es without Ruby, and Jax isn't patient about her coming back. Nate attempted to explain we only have to wait until late October, to give her a break after having a baby; but to Jax, I think the baby is more of an issue than her no show. Yeah, I wouldn't want a kid at our age, but it's her choice.

I'm in the kitchen, unskilfully making my one meal I'm capable of: frozen pizzas. The front door bangs closed and Nate appears.

"You owe me, man," he says rubbing his tired eyes. "The chick who runs the Shakespeare seminar is a hundred years old and drones on. Dunno why she can't just show the movies like they did at school."

"I'll buy you a pint later. Say thanks."

Nate frowns. "Are you cooking?"

"Yep."

"What did you do?" He steps into the kitchen; and when I chew on my lip piercing, his eyes narrow. "Will?"

"I went to that history study group." I turn and pull open the oven door, face blasted by hot air and the smell of burning cheese.

"Any good?"

"Yeah. Smart kids. A couple of them seem cool."

"So what's the problem?"

I drag the tray out and dump the pizza on the cardboard trays. Nate pa.s.ses me a knife and I hack them into slices. "Remember the party the other week? The one I kinda made a d.i.c.k of myself at with that chick."

"Which one? There've been a few incidents."

I scowl. "The history cla.s.s chick. Fleur. She organises the group."

"Ah. Her. You won't be going back again." Nate shoves a slice of pizza in his mouth.

I lean against the counter and tap my teeth. "Yeah, but you're right. I have to find extra help. I need to go back to the group."

"Whoa. So she accepted an apology? Fleur was ready to rip your head off that night. She told me if you ever go near her again, she'll take out a restraining order. I think she was half-serious too!"

"I didn't tell her who I was."

"I'm sure Fleur knew d.a.m.n well who you were after your d.i.c.khead moves the other night. People know who we are; we're not exactly hard to spot."

I stay silent and watch for the penny to drop.

"Hang on... Will, did you tell her you were me?"

"Might've done."

Nate drops his pizza on the plate. "f.u.c.k, Will! We don't do this anymore. Only for swapping cla.s.ses. We agreed."

"There's no way she'll let me in the group if she knows who I am. She hates me, but she's not bothered about you." Nate doesn't respond, but the look on his face says everything I need to know. "C'mon, Nate. It's not like I'm going to do anything apart from suck up to her for help an hour a week. She's practically a teacher; it's no different to us going to cla.s.s as each other."

"We said no more lying to chicks! The fall out isn't worth it. This is the kind of s.h.i.t the press gets hold of; we were warned after the incident in Brussels. Man..."

"Nate. Help me out. I can't fail more a.s.signments. A few weeks until I'm on top of my grades, then we'll only see her in cla.s.s. She's never noticed the difference before."

"You think? If she's smart, Fleur might figure this out."

"n.o.body ever does."

"Better keep your shirt on then," grumbles Nate, indicating my chest with a slice of pizza.

Our differences are self-inflicted, different tattoos. Mine's a dragon, Nate's is a row of skulls. "I'm not going to take it off; why would I?"

"Dunno." He smirks to himself. "She could've heard about my moves, might tear your clothes off one day."

"Fleur's not interested in me. You. Us. Whatever."

"Hey, it's you who p.i.s.sed her off!" He devours his slice of pizza and I give him my best pleading look. "Fine! Keep her away from me if you do this."

I straighten. "Is that a yes?"

"Yes, you can steal my ident.i.ty for the study sessions, but only because I don't want you to fail."

"Naw!" I grab Nate's head and kiss his forehead. "You rock!"

"If this ends up in a f.u.c.king disaster, I'll kill you." Nate grabs the remaining pizza from the counter. "And you go to every one of my cla.s.ses Fleur's in. I won't know what you've talked to her about in group."

"All of them?" I complain. "That's nearly all my cla.s.ses twice a week if I go to yours too!"

"Up to you, man, do you want to be me?"

"s.h.i.t."

Nate laughs and ruffles my hair. "Enjoy the 8 a.m. starts. I hope this is worth it."

With a chuckle, he wanders off.

What the h.e.l.l am I doing?

5.

FLEUR.

I sit in Shaun's room, clutching my notes. Two mugs of coffee steam on the desk between us, the aroma mingling with the dusty books. When I discovered he'd be dissertation supervisor, I swayed between girlish excitement at spending time with the hottest tutor on campus and relief I wasn't a.s.signed the middle-aged, acid-tongued Joan Chapman. At least Shaun is closer to my age. He's studying for his doctorate, three years older than me, and occasionally tutors cla.s.ses.

Shaun's aware of his status amongst girls in the history department. The good-looking guy, whose brown-flecked emerald eyes I'm attempting not to stare into, has dated undergrads in the past. Strictly speaking, this is allowed, but frowned upon. I've heard whispers about one-night hook ups and a broken heart or two, but this doesn't concern me. He's a.s.signed to help me with my paper and not out of my clothes.

Staring at the open top b.u.t.tons on his shirt would hint I'm checking him out; instead, I focus on the scratched desk.

Who am I kidding? This guy is a second example of my ideal man: intelligent, cultured, witty. The fact he's often found in the gym and has a body to demonstrate the amount of time he spends there doesn't exactly count against him either.

"Thanks for dropping by," he says, the lilt of the Irish brogue clear. Just his accent liquifies my insides. Not helpful.

Okay, I want Ethan but a girl can still dream of the un.o.btainable. Some fantasise about actors or rock stars. Shaun's my rock star.

"That's okay. I needed to speak to you anyway."

"Oh?" He pushes the mug towards me, and I wait until he takes his hand away in case we brush fingers.

"I'm working with a group from my European cla.s.s because we're struggling with the subject. There're some books I want to borrow, but the library won't let me as a lowly undergrad." He watches me over the top of his cup as he drinks and my heart speeds at his focus. "I um wondered if um..."

Shaun's gaze drops to my lips briefly, but enough for me to register, and my breath shortens. Is he flirting? I hear he's good at that too, and I already sound like an idiot. "You um want to um borrow mine?"

I cringe at his teasing tone. "Oh. Well, I meant sign one out of the library for me, but if you have your own copy..."

"Which ones are they? I might have them." I pull out my notepad and twist it around so Shaun can read the list. "Ah. Yes."

Shaun walks to the shelves spanning the wall and stretches to take a book from the top shelf. His shirt rides up revealing a muscled lower back and I snap my head round to the window. Trees. Green, leafy trees. Not the tanned skin on a man who's off limits.

"I'm surprised you'd be interested in feminist reconstructions," he says as the two large books land on the desk in front of me with a thud.

"I'm interested in comparing them to mainstream," I reply. "The 1990s' scholars have theories I don't think are validated by their research."

"Oh?" he sits back down. "I may be inclined to disagree."

My cheeks heat, but I keep my eyes on his. If I look away, the embarra.s.sment will take hold. "I guess that's what makes studying the subject interesting."

He sighs. "Don't tell me you're one of those 'herstory' students."

I'm put out with the way he uses the word, re-constructing history from a female perspective isn't exactly a new concept. I disagree with some of it, but he shouldn't mock. "No. And so what if I was?"

His mouth tips into a smile, and I'm distracted by the thought of his sensual mouth on mine. Maybe having him as a mentor was a bad idea. "True. You don't look like that kind of girl."

"What kind of girl?"

He shakes his head and sits. "I'll stop talking now before I say something I shouldn't. Now, how's your own research going? Any further with your timeline?"

Shaun points at my laptop and I shake myself out of the moment back to my research on the fall of Communism in parts of Europe in the 1990s. Once I focus my brain on the task in hand and away from the distraction of the man helping me, the tension leaves my shoulders.

The other tension between us in the room doesn't, and I have a bad feeling about how the direction our relationship is heading. Maybe he hasn't sworn off undergrads completely.