Author's Note: If people like this, maybe I'll continue writing it. We'll see :D

Chapter One:

I sighed and tapped my pencil idly against my book, scanning the current page for another problem worth working though. I had been studying for only an hour or so now, just enough time to skim the surface of the material that was going to be covered on the test next week, but not enough time to really get a dent in the subject. The library was moderately full, but surprisingly silent, offering no distraction to my easily diverted mind.

I became vaguely aware of the feeling that someone was watching me, just a sensation really, one in which I was rarely able to confirm, but was nonetheless bothersome to me. So I glanced up, a casual, almost subconscious gesture, accompanied with a shifting of weight in my seat to a more comfortable spot.

So it came as quite a shock when deep brown eyes looked intently back at me. No, "looking" wasn't the correct word, "staring" was more like it. And unlike what normal people would do, he didn't glance away (you know, to play off the embarrassment with disinterest). No, no, he just kept on staring, eyes boring into mine without any particular emotion that I could describe. Okay. Weird. So I did what anyone else would do in my situation.

I looked away.

Back down to the work that lay in front of me. I counted off the materials in my head: notebook, check, textbook, check, assortment of pencils and erasers, check check ch—oh fine, so I was distracting myself. But can you blame me? School material is much easier to pay attention to than a complete stranger's stare.

I jotted down another problem at random, working my way through the now familiar steps—and why do I feel as if he's still looking over here? This was getting bothersome.

So, careful this time to act even more casual, I sat down my pencil, feigning a yawn and stretching my arms over my head, to all appearances (oh yes, I was a sneaky one) the typical college student taking a minute break from her studies. This time my gaze started at the left, slowly scanning the surrounding tables and their occupants, presumably bored with the whole ordeal of a coming exam.

My eyes eventually made their way over to where—

God damn it, he was still staring.

I quickly wrenched my eyes away from his (not without great effort, mind you), trying to stop my mind from registering that not only was he still doing the "creepy stare" thing, but he had also added a smirk to the mix. One last piece of information had also made its way into my memory, try as I might to will it into oblivion:

He was attractive.

Woah, down girl. Remember? Creepy, he's very, very creepy. No amount of sexy can deter from the staring.

Oh yeah, right… creepy… creepy and hot.


And now my face is turning red.

I tried very hard to stop the blush, really I did, but trust me, once the red starts to creep up your neck, it's a little more than difficult to make it stop.

Of course, another glance up confirmed that Creepy-Hot Guy had observed the sudden change in hue of my skin, thus the upgrade from a smirk to an outright grin.

Damn he had a nice smile.


I stared down at the table in front of me, giving myself a few minutes of careful focus to allow the blush to fade to a bearable level. With the passing of the embarrassment came the uprising of a more potent emotion. Anger.

Why was I angry? Well, truthfully, I don't really know, but somehow I had instantaneously become annoyed with the guy sitting across the room. In this case there was only one thing I could do in retaliation.

I threw my head up and stared right back at him.

Oh yes, scary, I know.

Apparently my gaze struck fear into the heart of my enemy (ha!), for he merely raised a brow, propping his chin on the palm of a (large, strong—Ah! Brain, shut up shut UP!) hand, and thus, the contest began.

I don't know how long we stared across the room at each other, but it was a surprisingly long time. I tried to inject my gaze with as much venom as I could muster, while his tasted of amusement, which only managed to infuriate me further.

Finally, at the risk of sounding like a complete wimp, I gave up. Fine, if he wanted to stare at me all afternoon, he could knock himself out, I had studying to do. I dropped my eyes again and resumed my studying routine: pick a problem, solve it, check the answer, rinse and repeat. And no matter how strong the urge was to glance up and see if he was still there, I resisted.

I lasted until the end of the chapter too, when I shut my book with a sigh, satisfied with the amount of work I had accomplished. I had even forgotten about him. Almost.

I can roughly estimate that I jumped about ten feet into the air when a light cough very close by spurred me into glancing up, only to find that Creepy-Hot Guy? Yeah he was sitting across the table from me, as in, I had failed to notice that he had moved across the room to sit less than two feet away. And I, observant girl that I am, completely missed it.

Thus, it comes as no surprise that I accompanied my flight into the air with an eloquent "Holy Shit!" which earned me a great deal of annoyed glances and stares to add to my ever-growing collection.

Stalker-Guy (he had now advanced from Creepy-Hot Guy) merely shook with silent laughter at my reaction, which managed to anger me in an impressively short time. Trying to pen in the anger that urged me to lash across the table and strangle a complete stranger, I let out a quick, annoyed breath, stood, quickly gathered my things, stuffed them unceremoniously into my bag, and stormed out of the library.

I thought (well I hoped anyways) that I would be able to make it out of the building without him bothering me. Technically speaking, I did. He caught up to me just outside the door.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," he said, his hand snaking around my upper arm and spinning me around to face him. I allowed a scowl to cross my features, roughly wrenching my arm from him and backing away.

"What do you want?" I asked gruffly, hoisting my bag onto a fresh part of my shoulder.

His response surprised me, to say the least.

"Well, do you want the short or the long answer?" Ah yes, the smirk was back.

"I want you to answer the question," I replied acidly, his efforts at charm would be wasted on me.

"Okay then, you."

Well that stumped me. "Uh, what?"

"I want you."

A long pause, "… Right. Um, good luck with that, I guess."

I turned, got about three steps, and was spun back around again. This was starting to get a little old.

"Okay, seriously?" I blurted before he could get another word out. "I don't know you. Please go away."

His hand grasped my arm a little tighter. "No."


I tried to wrench my arm away again, but it didn't seem like he was letting go anytime soon. I made a last attempt at rational speech.
"Get away from me."

"I said no."

Okay fine then, if you want to be that way.

I had taken a course (or rather, my mother had forced me to) in self defense before I had left for college, and I quickly put what I could remember (which wasn't very much) to the test. I dropped my bag to the ground, thrusting the heel of my hand up at his nose—

Whoa, wait, grabbing my wrist was not a part of the class. Neither was the part where he bent down, thrust his shoulder into my gut (okay, ow), and hoisted me over his shoulder.

Yes, like a sack of potatoes. This is doing wonders for my self esteem.

So I went immediately from Plan C to Plan Z. Screaming my not be the most attractive thing, but it is pretty effective in terms of getting people's attention. Lots of swearing accompanied with a lot of squirming and striking at Stalker-Guy's back should get someone's attention.

And it did; two people came out of the library at a hurried pace, both wearing identical expressions of confusion mixed with worry.

Kidnapper-Guy (yet again, he had leveled-up) glanced distractedly over his shoulder at the two people, lifted his free arm, and lazily waved a hand at the two.

Where they froze. Yes, as in, they just stopped moving. Like him waving his arm was a universal "stop" button.

My jaw dropped. I can safely say I was stunned into silence for about five seconds. Then I remembered what I was supposed to be doing and started yelling again.

Kidnapper-Guy glanced up at me irritably, as if he was annoyed by the fact that I would dare yell while he was kidnapping me. Bending slightly, he effortlessly grabbed my bag and started to walk away, tossing me a little to get a better grasp on my ass (you know, the most convenient place for him to be holding me).

I had stopped yelling for help—it was obvious that no one was going to be any 'help' when he was able to freeze frame people in place—and had instead gone for a more direct approach, yelling curses at him and proceeding to beat his neck, head, and back into a bloody pulp. Or at least try.

After one too many strikes to the back of the neck, Kidnapper-Guy glared over his shoulder at me, opened his mouth to say something— and got a nice elbow in the jaw.

Me—one, Kidnapper-Guy—zero!

He cursed, stopping and reaching for something that I couldn't see.

Holy crap, I'm pretty sure that was something sharp in my leg.

"FUCK!" I yelled, reaching back to grab the spot where he had stabbed me with something, only to have my hand smacked away. Clearly Kidnapper-Guy had had enough of my antics.

"God, and I thought that maybe I'd be able to get out of here without sedating you," his voice echoed unnaturally in my head, giving me a very strange sensation of flying. Well, at least if I was going to die I wasn't going to be in pain. And at least the guy was attractive. It would really stink if I was going to die by the hands of some hideous guy. And I did fight the whole way… that was good…

I'm pretty sure his ass was the last thing I thought about before I lost consciousness.