"I'm truly sorry."

Now, you finally knew what Grayson had meant by that, before his lips crashed down over yours, late last night in the courtyard. Everyone was talking about it, the wildfire of rumors having spread throughout Harvard. All in a matter of hours.

This was nothing more than gossip one would read in the tabloids for the Hawthorne. But for you, someone who grew up poorer? This isn't flying under the radar, or blending in; this is hell.

What's worse? That damn idiot didn't seem to care. Not once did he look at you, during any of your classes together. Those icy, pale eyes were as indifferent as the moon to it all. Deep down, he...

Grayson didn't know how to feel. His lips. Yours. He shook his head, his eyes falling to you again. "I'm so very sorry." He mumbled to himself, his grip tightening on his pen.

He wanted to kiss you, but not like this. Not on a dare.