Nude Awakening: A New Adult College Romance (Main Desire Book 1)

  Penny Clarke

  Nude Awakening

  A New Adult College Romance

  Copyright © 2020 by Penny Clarke

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  First edition

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  Contents

  1. Rylie

  2. Levi

  3. Rylie

  4. Rylie

  5. Levi

  6. Rylie

  7. Rylie

  8. Levi

  9. Rylie

  10. Levi

  11. Rylie

  12. Levi

  13. Rylie

  14. Rylie

  15. Rylie

  16. Levi

  17. Rylie

  18. Levi

  19. Rylie

  20. Levi

  21. Levi

  22. Rylie

  23. Rylie

  24. Rylie

  25. Levi

  26. Rylie

  27. Levi

  28. Rylie

  29. Levi

  30. Rylie

  31. Levi

  32. Rylie

  33. Levi

  34. Rylie

  35. Rylie

  36. Levi

  37. Rylie

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  1

  Rylie

  I’m too busy sprinting across campus to hear the music. But some point between the laughter of other students gawking at me and my own labored breathing, the cheery tune registers in my brain, and I think ‘Huh, someone has the same ringtone as—Oh shit, that’s my phone!’

  Digging in my pocket while still trying to maintain maximum speed—which isn’t really that much. A runner, I am not—I pull out my cell and check the caller ID.

  “Dawn?” I say with heavy huffs, checking that none of my coffee has splashed out of the cup in my other hand. “What’s up? Are you in class yet?”

  “Why do you sound like you smoked an entire pack of cigarettes?” asks my best friend, and now roommate, as of a week ago.

  “I’m.” Huff. “Late.” Huff. “To class.”

  “How’d that happen? I thought you were getting up early?”

  “I had a few other things to, uh, take care of,” I cringe, thinking back on how much time I’d wasted that morning.

  After leaving our apartment, I had a good hour head start before my first class of the day. So I stopped by the coffee shop where Dawn and I work to grab something to eat. When I walked through the door, my manager had needed someone to mind the register while he brought in a shipment of coffee beans. Since I had the time, and didn’t mind a few extra bucks on my paycheck, I grabbed an apron. I couldn’t help it that almost as soon as I did, a rush of students came in wanting coffee, stat. By the time I left the shop, I still had enough time to eat my breakfast while taking a leisurely stroll across campus.

  Until a struggling professor asked me to lend a hand hauling a stack of books from her car to a nearby lecture hall. The woman was obviously pregnant, and the books were obnoxiously heavy. My arms still ached. The relieved smile on the professor’s face had been worth it, though.

  And after that, a crying freshman distracted me. She’d gotten lost on campus. With a few pats on the back, I pulled up the Lakewood University campus map on my phone to direct her to her lecture hall. The girl gave me a tight hug, and I sent her on her way before realizing I didn’t have much time left to get to my own class.

  “I’m almost there, though,” I smile reassuringly, even if Dawn can’t see through the phone. “You saved me a seat, right?”

  Dawn swears. I have the sinking realization she isn’t already in class, waiting for it to start.

  “Where are you?” I ask, just to confirm my suspicions.

  “At home,” she says. On the other end, I hear the rustling of blankets. Still in bed, I think to myself. “Meegan and I stayed out way too late last night. So I was going to ask you to grab me a syllabus.”

  “Weren’t you really looking forward to this class?”

  Last spring, when I had called her to share the news that I’d be transferring to Lakewood University, Dawn had been ecstatic. Not only had she offered me a room in her off-campus apartment, but she’d walked me through how to enroll in classes for the upcoming fall semester. After picking out a few required courses for my major, I’d had an extra elective open.

  “Life Drawing,” Dawn had said. “You need to sign up for Life Drawing with me, right now.”

  When I tried to resist and suggest something else, she’d put her foot down. “You need to take this class. It’s one of the most popular courses on campus—it’s a miracle there’s even an open spot. Usually it fills up instantly. Besides, you’re kind of good at art, right? You took all those classes in high school. Wouldn’t it be so fun to take a class together? Sign up, Rylie, pleasepleaseplease!”

  And so now here I was, running late to the class she’d made me sign up for, while she plays hooky.

  “It’s just the first day, Ry,” Dawn says now. “It’s not like I’m going to miss much.”

  I almost run into a couple holding hands and have to quickly dodge, almost tripping over my own feet in the process. The coffee sloshes dangerously in my cup.

  I open my mouth to disagree, then flounder for words. Even at the local community college I attended for my first two years of undergrad, the students hadn’t taken the first week seriously. It’s common knowledge that “syllabus” week is for reuniting with friends you haven’t seen all summer, partying, and drinking. Not necessarily in that order.

  I slow to a light jog as I get closer to the art building. Around me, a handful of students lazily make their way to morning classes. As the day goes on, more will venture out. Probably more will, like Dawn, spend the day in bed, resting hangovers.

  Into the phone, I murmur, “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

  “Look, can you take notes if there’s anything important? And the syllabus—Don’t forget one for me!”

  I try to tamper down the ball of disappointment rolling in my stomach.

  Sure, it might be silly of me, but I’ve been excited for my first day at this new school. In the week since I moved in with Dawn, I’d wandered around campus so often, just staring at the brick buildings with a goofy smile. I’m here. At Lakewood University. My dream college. The place Dawn and I had gushed about all throughout high school, dreaming of getting out of our little cowpoke town and attending the prestigious, top-rated university five hours away. We’d spent countless hours envisioning ourselves strutting through the quad, knowing the answers to every lecture question, and dancing with the hottest guys at parties.

  That was, until my funding fell through. Pop! went the bubble containing all my excited imaginings. Reality crashed down. Hard. With a heavy heart, I’d given Dawn a tearful hug and watched her drive off to attend freshman year without me. It’d taken two years of general ed classes at our local community college, numerous odd jobs, dealing with financial aid hassles, and saving a shit-ton of money before getting my transfer accepted.

  Had a part of me thought back to those days when Dawn and I daydreamed about ruling campus like queens? Yes, definitely. I’m not deluding myself that we’d recreate all our college fantasies, but I had at least been looking forward to sharing this one class with my best friend after two years apart.

  “Rylie?” Dawn asks when I don’t say anything.

  I shake my head, snapping myself out of it. “Sure thing! I’ve got it, don’t worry. Gotta go, class is about—”

  She hangs up before I finish. The art building’s in my line of sight, and I finally come to a dead stop. Resting my hands on my knees and taking giant gasps of air—thank goodness I’d given my egg and cheese sandwich to that crying freshman, or I’d be tossing it up in the bushes about now—I glance at the time on my phone. Despite all obstacles this morning, I’m fifteen minutes early.

  I slow to a meander, taking huge gulps of my coffee now that I’ve caught my breath and have time to enjoy it. Pulling up an app on my phone, I double-check the schedule that I wrote down last night. Life Drawing with Professor Garraway. Addams Hall, Studio 121. 9 am.

  Whew! I’m going to make it. With a big smile, I start towards the building. Obstacles or no, nothing else will get in my—

  —I smack into a wall. A very hard, very warm wall that sends me reeling. White sheets of paper fly up in the air, blocking my vision. With a cry, I fall on my butt on hard cement, dropping my coffee cup.

  “Shit!” I say. What freaking new obstacle had I—quite literally—run into this time?

  A deep chuckle sounds over my head. “Not usually the reaction I get.”

  I look up.

  Shit. Holy freaking shit.

  The guy standing over me has to be a figment of my imaginat
ion. What else explains such nicely toned thighs, or such broad shoulders? Everywhere my eyes land is sculpted perfection, from a wide chest to a firm jawline to strong hands placed just so on narrow hips, drawing my gaze to where his fitted tee rises up, showing a sliver of taut, tanned skin.

  I swallow, pulse racing. This is a dream. I’m dreaming, right now. One of those horrible nightmares where you’re running late to class, but then somehow it warps into a sultry reverie of a chiseled statue coming to life and ravishing you until you wake up panting and wrapped in your sheets…

  When my eyes meet his face, his grin widens just a bit more. “Now that’s more like it.”

  My stomach drops. Oh, no. No. Nonononono. I’m awake. This is real. This isn’t a dream. I’d just been openly admiring his body. And I’d been caught!

  “Shit,” I say again, beneath my breath. Bowling over hot guys had not been what I’d envisioned when meeting new people at Lakewood.

  With another low laugh that has something in my lower region pleasantly stirring, the Not-A-Dream guy kneels down. The sleeves of his white shirt roll up, revealing thick biceps as he reaches forward. I see the scattered mess of papers around us, and it knocks some sense back into my cloudy, boy-fever brain.

  “Here, let me help!” I pick up my coffee where I’d dropped it on the ground. Luckily, it landed away from the papers, and I’d drunk enough that not much had spilled from the cup. Still, there’s a spattering of milky brown liquid on the cement. I scramble together a few pieces of paper near it.

  “Nah, don’t worry about it,” he says.

  “But I ran into you.”

  “Looked like you were in a hurry.” He plucks the sheets I’m holding out of my hand, and I realize just how close his face is to mine. I pause. His face is so close to mine. Too close. Shaggy dark curls spring wildly on top of his head. My fingers itch to touch them. A dimple accompanies his charming smile. Bright blue eyes shine with amusement—whether at me or the situation, I can’t tell.

  He holds my cell phone. “This yours?”

  I nod, grabbing it. The tip of my thumb hits the home button, and the screen, which had somehow survived me dropping it, lights up. There’s only minutes to spare.

  “If you need to go, go. I don’t know if you noticed—” His tone is light, teasing. Because he’d definitely caught me noticing.“—but I’m a big, strong man. I can handle a few papers.”

  I sit back on my heels, biting my lip to keep the responding smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. I imagine what Dawn would say if she was here. She’s always been better with guys. Even as far back as middle school, she’d flirt up a storm with any cute boy. No doubt, if she were here, she’d flip her hair over her shoulder and toss out a playful comment about his big, strong manliness.

  I’d tried the hair toss thing before. All I got was a mouthful of hair. Also, I’d recently chopped my dark brown locks into an adorable pixie cut. I’d probably hit myself in the eye if I tried now.

  Beep beep! Beep beep! The alarm I’d set on my phone alerts me class is about to start.

  I glance at Addams Hall, then at my very own daydream-come-to-life. My mouth dries, and I bite my lip, not sure what to say. Those blue eyes focus on me so intently, expecting me to prolong the conversation.

  It’s too much.

  I hold up my coffee cup and say, “Sorry, I’m running a little latte.”

  Then I turn on my heel and flee, his laughter following me.

  * * *

  Luckily for me, class hasn’t begun when I rush through the door. A row of easels is set up in a half circle around a raised platform in the middle of the room. A lone wooden stool sits on the platform, and I give it a brief, questioning stare before finding an empty spot closest to the door.

  As I sit down, before I can even put down my bag, the girl on my left passes a heap of papers. Reminded of the encounter I just had outside the building, I stare at the pile longer than necessary. The person on my other side nudges my arm, presenting her hand. Belatedly, I notice I’m holding the class syllabus. With a quick apology, I grab two, one for me and one for Dawn, before passing it on.

  The entrance on the other side of the room flies open, and in walks a middle-aged woman wearing a flowy blouse and a rainbow scarf around her head. Before she can even introduce herself, I determine this must be Professor Garraway.

  “Welcome, welcome, everyone,” the professor says in a clear, booming voice. “The syllabus is going around, so make sure you grab one. First, I’ll go over that, answer any questions you have about supplies or projects, and then, I have a little warm-up exercise planned to wake you all up on this fine Monday morning.”

  I smile at her enthusiasm, settling in for a lively lesson. With the easel in front of me, a set of pencils waiting for me to pick one up, I can’t deny I’m looking forward to my only art class. I haven’t taken one since high school. It’ll be a nice break from all the classes I’m taking for my major.

  Half-listening, I read through the syllabus to see what supplies I need to pick up from the campus bookstore later. Maybe Dawn will want to go with me.

  “We’ll be paying close attention to bone structure and muscle density,” Professor Garraway’s voice weaves into my thoughts.

  Um, what? With a frown, I peek around the room at my classmates, all of whom pay rapt attention to Professor Garraway’s every word. No one else looks as confused as I feel. Maybe I misheard?

  But then she continues, “…while also observing proportions and form, as well as basic anatomy, of course.”

  I lean over to ask the girl on my left, “This is Life Drawing, right?”

  Her eyebrows scrunch in annoyance. “Uh, yeah.”

  I skim through the syllabus again, reading past the list of supplies like charcoal and erasers. Then, I have to start over again, to confirm I’m reading a course description and not an erotica novel.

  Life Drawing is an introductory art class course that provides a structured approach to the basic principles of drawing the human figure, which will serve as…

  …basic principles… drawing the human figure…

  …the human figure.

  What. The.

  The studio door opens with a click behind me. Professor Garraway waves someone over.

  “Everyone, let’s give a warm welcome to our model for the semester.”

  A tall figure strides to the middle of the room.

  My jaw drops.

  It’s him.

  Not-A-Dream Guy. My Not-A-Dream Guy.

  Wait, did Professor Garraway just say model?! A model—in a class about drawing the human figure.

  “For our first lesson, I want to see where everyone’s skills are at. So today, we’ll draw a rough sketch—”

  A puzzle pieces itself together in my mind. A slow horror crawls over me.

  Not-A-Dream Guy steps onto the raised platform, wearing that damn smile as the entire class—which I slowly become aware is mostly female—leans forward, holding a collective breath.

  With one last, teasing sweep around the room with those glittering blue eyes, he grabs the hem of his shirt in one hand and pulls it entirely off.

  I squeak. Actually squeak, while the girls on either side of me sigh in unison.

  I want to hide behind my easel. But suddenly, Not-A-Dream Guy’s turns his head right towards me. Blue eyes widen with recognition. Is it my imagination or did that wicked grin flare up even more? I grip the strap of my bag over my shoulder, knuckles white.

  His jeans hang low enough to see the black band of his boxers. Hooking his thumbs into the fabric, he keeps that smirk pinpointed on me.

  I give a slight shake of my head. No. He wouldn’t.

  With one surreptitious wink in my direction, he drops everything from the waist down…

  …and I run right out the door.

  2

  Levi

  Some people think exposing themselves in a room full of the opposite sex awkward, uncomfortable, or downright embarrassing.

  Not me.

  No, I’m of the mind that if you got it, flaunt it. And I’ll admit, I flaunt it. Often. Without batting an eyelash.

  I have a lot to flaunt, if you catch my drift.

  While I stand proudly with my hands on bare hips, Professor G tries to tame the uproar of giggles and cat calls from her students. I bask in their adoration, but my eyes stray to the door.