Layla Robinson is not crazy. She is suffering from unrequited love. But it's time to move on. No more stalking, no more obsessive calling. What she needs is a distraction.
The blue-eyed guy she keeps seeing around campus could be a great one--only he is the new poetry professor--the married poetry professor.
Thomas Abrams is a stereotypical artist--rude, arrogant, and broody--but his glares and taunts don't scare Layla. She might be bad at poetry, but she is good at reading between the lines. Beneath his prickly façade, Thomas is lonely, and Layla wants to know why. Obsessively.
Sometimes you do get what you want. Sometimes you end up in the storage room of a bar with your professor and you kiss him. Sometimes he kisses you back like the world is ending and he will never get to kiss you again. He kisses you until you forget the years of unrequited love; you forget all the rules, and you dare to reach for something that is not yours.
𝐌𝐲 𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐀𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰
Darling Arrow,
I shouldn’t be writing this. It’s not as if I’m ever going to send you this letter, and there are a million reasons why.
First of all, I was sent to this reform school as a punishment for a petty, totally inconsequential crime. Not to ogle the principal’s hot son around the campus.
Second of all, you’re a giant jerk. You’re arrogant and moody and so cold. Sometimes I think I shouldn’t even like you.
But strangely your coldness sets me on fire.
The way your athletic body moves on the soccer field, and the way your powerful thighs sprawl across that motorcycle of yours, make me go inappropriately breathless.
But that’s not the worst part.
The worst part is that you, Arrow Carlisle, are not only the principal’s hot son. You also happen to be the love of my sister’s life.
And I really shouldn’t be thinking about my sister’s boyfriend, or rather fiancé (I overheard a conversation about the ring that I shouldn’t have).
Now if I can only stop writing you these meaningless letters that I’ll never send and you’ll never read…
Never yours, Salem
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