Wrong for Her: A College Romance

By Faye Riley

The bad boy is coming for her...

It all started with a kiss I should have said no to.
But we were playing characters when it happened.
We were just acting out a scene!
I never thought it would lead to real feelings.
 
And why the hell did Adrian sign up for acting class anyway?
He doesn't seem like the theatre type.
 
Adrian is the sort of guy who spends his days pissing off professors, wasting way too much money on booze or tattoos, and breaking hearts.
 
So, why do I want to rip my clothes off when I'm around him, after that kiss?
He's all wrong for me, but when he tells me he can't get me out of his head since our lips touched, I can't fight the urge to give him a chance.
 
Rumor is, he wants to seduce--then dump--me.
 
Will Mr. Wrong convince me that he's Mr. Right, or will he toy with me--then cut me loose--just like the other girls?
 
Wrong for Her is a college romance, with no cliffhangers, no cheating, and a happy ending. This book is for mature readers and has mature scenes.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Faye Riley
• Release date: Aug 19, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393057567

Book preview

Chapter 1

Everyone notices Adrian Franklin when he enters the room. Not because he’s six-three, handsome as fuck, and has the thick black hair of an Instagram model with a million followers—although, I’m sure that’s why some people don’t go right back to what they were doing, and let their gazes linger on him. Everyone turns their head to stare because there’s an air of total confidence around Adrian as he waltzes into Acting 101, several minutes late.

"It’s Monday, my friend, Hazel Mendez, whispers in my ear. How hard is it to be somewhere by ten AM on a Monday?"

He was probably out partying last night, I whisper back, barely moving my lips as my eyes return to four brave souls (the students who left the risk-free, tiered seating that surrounds the center of the room). I don’t want to disrespect them. They deserve to think they have my full attention while acting out a scene our instructor calls Epiphany in the Coffee Line.

Who goes out and parties on a Sunday? Hazel scoffs, as if we don’t both know Adrian is exactly the sort of person who would do that. And why isn’t Professor Dalton saying anything?

No one ever says anything, I mutter.

Whenever Adrian walks in like he owns a place, it’s as if there’s a magical shield around the guy that protects him from being kicked out. Sure, professors will take a moment to glare at him—but then they move on and get their revenge the next time he turns in an assignment.

Adrian’s a bright guy, but he always gets C+ grades for A+ work—and he has to accept them, because he knows he’s lucky he hasn’t been dropped from a single class. He knows anyone else’s frequent no-shows and late arrivals would earn them a suspension.

I hate how Parcell College students who come from one of the Bay Area’s wealthier families—like the Franklins—are held to a different standard. If I ever acted that way, the dean would probably walk me out to the front gate himself, and push me through it.

Alright, cut—cut! Professor Dalton shouts, waving his arms. He tugs on his turtleneck, looking flustered as he circles the students who stopped speaking mid-scene. This isn’t working. Today, our goal is to build up to real passion in under three minutes. All I’m picking up on, from you four, is anger. You have to give the audience something to connect with.

People connect with anger, Jordan Lancer (one of the brave four) argues, although he’s glancing longingly at his seat, clearly ready for this exercise to end.

True, Mr. Lancer, but we’re seeking a positive emotional response from the audience today. Professor Dalton claps his hands together, and adds, Back to your seats.

Jordan and his scene partners set their papers down on the small table where Dalton keeps his scripts stacked beside little props, before Jordan hangs his head and dutifully returns to his seat.

Aw, Hazel whispers. I think Professor Dalton crushed Baby Lumberjack’s acting dreams.

Hazel calls Jordan Baby Lumberjack because he has a thick beard, broad shoulders, and wears ankle boots.

So? I shrug. Jordan’s parents are loaded, just like Adrian’s. Even if he can’t act his way out of a paper bag, he’ll be fine.

Jesus, Mena. You sound bitter.

Because I am bitter, I think, and at that moment the universe punishes me for not being grateful for what I have.

Miss Anderson. Dalton says my last name, and I freeze up. Why don’t you and Mr. Franklin join me down here?

I don’t move or speak, but Adrian jumps out of his chair and lifts his strong, scruffy chin arrogantly high as he struts to the center of the room.

So, what scene are we doing? he asks. ‘Revolution at the Dog Park?’

The sound of laughter and snickers fills the air, and Adrian smirks like he’s so clever and original; as if a thousand students didn’t make fun of Professor Dalton’s scene names long before he stepped foot in this school.

No, Mr. Franklin, the professor says sharply, crossing his arms over his chest. His tone catches everyone off guard, shutting down the laughter. You will improvise, with no instruction from me. Since you barely show your face in this class, I assume you’re prepared to show us what real passion looks like.

Okay, Adrian says, unfazed by this challenge. But I’d rather not do it by myself.

Mena! Dalton snaps, with a beckoning gesture.

Coming, I say, taking my sweet time as I finally rise from my chair and step down to the center of the room.

Since you actually show up to every class, and pay attention, Dalton tells me, I trust you will help your co-star if he’s not up to the task.

I nod, then turn to Adrian.

What now? I ask, with an edge to my voice.

Adrian’s smirk widens as he watches Professor Dalton take a seat. His blue eyes are bright with mischief.

Well, Mr. Franklin? Dalton says, looking at us expectantly.

Grab the back of my neck, and put a hand on my chest, Adrian whispers to me, softening his deep voice.

Why? I ask, lifting a skeptical eyebrow.

Just do it, he demands, before he tells the class: I call this scene ‘The Show Stopper.’

I’m still confused, but I already placed my hands exactly where Adrian told me to put them—and it’s too late to back out now. His eyes fall shut, and he brings his handsome face toward mine.

Oh my God! I think helplessly. He’s going to kiss me!

And then he does, his soft, warm lips moving slightly as they press against mine, prompting my mouth to open. My grip at the nape of Adrian’s neck tightens as my mouth complies, and he makes a noise in his throat that sounds downright pornographic. I flush, knowing the people closest to us—including Professor Dalton—must have heard it. I try to break away, but Adrian grabs a fist-full of my brunette waves and traps me in the kiss for a moment longer, brushing his hot tongue over my lower lip.

The room collectively gasps, and I’ve had enough. I yank my head back as hard as I can, loosening Adrian’s hold on my hair and tearing my mouth away from his.

He grins wickedly as I stagger away from him, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. I look around the room and all eyes are on us. No one’s messing with their cell phone or falling asleep in their chair. The whole class just watched Adrian lick my lip.

My face burns as hot as a furnace as I fight the urge to run from the room, while Adrian looks as cool and smug as ever.

So, this is how spontaneous combustion happens: through fatal embarrassment, I decide, as heat from my head spreads throughout my body. Mystery solved.

Adrian completely ignores the near-fatal state of embarrassment he put me in as he bows toward our professor.

"Now that, he says, is what real passion looks like."

Chapter 2

F ive stars! a girl in the back row shouts, and several people chuckle.

This breaks up some of the tension, but it’s still in the air as Professor Dalton stands, clearing his throat.

Decent work, everyone, he says, checking his wristwatch. Wednesday, we’ll finish our improv scenes, and in the coming weeks you’ll show me everything you’ve absorbed about one-man shows this year. Obviously, you won’t have time to do an entire show, but each of you will perform a one-man scene. Class dismissed!

Adrian, looking very pleased with himself, winks at me and says, Not bad.

Excuse me? I huff, as students move past us, streaming out of the classroom.

But you could be a little less passive next time.

NEXT TIME?

And you might want to pop a mint first, Adrian continues. Your mouth tasted like day-old pizza.

Well, I ate some this morning, I snap. ‘Cause I—you know—wasn’t planning on kissing anyone.

Adrian stares at me like I announced I’m going to jump in front of a bus tomorrow.

Your social life is my nightmares, Mena.

You’re an ass.

You guys, Hazel says with hushed excitement, as she comes over and hands me my bookbag. That was hilarious! I wish I could have seen Professor Dalton’s face!

I can hear you, Dalton says loudly, from the table, where he’s sifting through scripts.

Hazel blushes and grabs my arm. Let’s go, Mena. We don’t want to be late for poli-sci.

Oh no, Adrian says, as I let Hazel pull me along to the door. We wouldn’t want that!

Of course Adrian thinks worrying about such things is stupid, but our political science class is on the other side of campus, and being late is a possibility that looms over me every Monday and Thursday morning. It’s not that far away from Professor Dalton’s classroom, but the shaded walk can feel like an eternity when you only have a few minutes to get there.

Hazel continues pulling me along, until we’re headed down a twisty, concrete path.

So, I say, jerking my arm free, you didn’t think that was weird?

Huh? she says as she marches