I sucked down the last remaining dregs of my frappucino (the thought of an icy, delicious latte ruined for at least the next 24 hours) and parked lopsidedly in one of the last spaces left in the parking lot. I wedged the empty cup down the side of my seat and peered out through the foggy windshield at the depressing weather waiting for me outside.

I weighed up the pros and cons of crawling into my backseat for a nap rather than attending the class I was now late and under-dressed for. Eventually I made up my mind. Assuming they would let me in the building—surely I had my student ID somewhere in my purse—I would go and at least pretend to learn something. If I was going to nap I wanted to do it in my bed where there was less chance of hitting my head on a door and/or being woken up by people pointing and laughing at me through the passenger-side window.

Class was unbearable. If someone told me we had learned about water boarding by example I would have had no qualms believing them.

Of course, because I was so late (thanks, Coffee Klepto!) the only seat left when I arrived was near the front. This insured that every single person in class could witness exactly how late I was. The lack of a brush through my hair was obvious. I was wearing worn jeans shoved into my boots along with a giant hoody with the name of our illustrious institution of learning emblazoned across the front. It was the morning after uniform and everybody knew it, including the Prof.

I slumped silently in my seat and tried not to throw up on myself. It was painful and the only thing I learned was that a roomful of college girls' perfume was enough to activate my gag reflex.

Despite this it was worth actually showing up as the class had a grade percentage attached to attendance. Fall below 80% and you could say hello to a big, fat F in that section. I only had two more skippable classes before I crossed that red line and I might have an emergency one day, or a worse hangover. You never know.

Finally—finally—the clock hand crept passed the hour mark and everyone began packing up their things. I wrapped my arms around myself and shuffled out the door towards the parking lot before most other students were done packing and chatting.

"Hey, Swan!"

I ignored the call from behind me as I plodded to my car, hoping that they would assume I hadn't heard them. I hated when people called me by my last name—like I was some jock on the varsity team who was going to high five them about the chick they just banged.

"Swaaaan, wait up!"

The voice was now almost a scream. Everyone else in the lot had turned to the source of the noise, alerting me to the fact that I wasn't going to be able to feign aural ignorance this time.

I sighed, grinding my slow pace to a halt.

I turned to see Mike Newton—the world's most annoyingly average nice guy—standing behind me waving.

I used to take AP classes in high school so when Mike got held back a year and did the senior thing all over again I was one of the only people he'd been in a class with before. There were still debates back at my old school about whether or not the school failed him on purpose so that he could play football for them another year. Some people said it was his idea. Frankly, I don't think even Mike Newton was stupid enough to volunteer for extra high school.

Anyway, regardless, he decided we were BFFs/he was going to try valiantly to get into my pants. I've been trying to shake him off ever since. He's like herpes, though, keeps coming back. But, really-nice, take-home-to-your-parents, all-American, why-don't-you-wanna-hit-that-Bella herpes.

"Hi Mike."

"Arizona, you look like you had a good night—am I right?"

I moved from Arizona when I was sixteen, hence the clever nickname. Somehow I have never felt the need to call anyone by the state they're from.

"Yeah, sure, I guess. It was alright."

"Alright? Girl, Tom told me you were dancing on the counters."

Maybe too much punch was involved. Note to self for next time: less punch.

"I got home with all my clothes on so I don't think it qualifies as a big night in frat terms."

"Haha, you're hilarious, Swan. Listen you should come by this weekend—I'll actually be here this time and I'm defo bringing my boys from the team. It'll be cool times."

"Uh, okay. I mean I guess I'll see what's going on. Can't remember if I have plans."

"You look like you can't remember last night!" He grinned good-naturedly and I tried to quell the urge to glower.

"Right, that too. Okay, I gotta go drive myself home before I throw up and/or pass out. See you, Mike."

"You crack me up, Arizona. Call me!"

He knew from previous experience—vast previous experience—that I wouldn't call him but bless Mike he kept on trying.

I was lucky. Although like all freshmen at our college I had to share a room, I at least shared a room with a girl who was practically engaged to her older, apartment-owning boyfriend.

She spent most of her time there engaged if not to him then at least with his dick. That meant I pretty much got a single. As far as I was aware the only reason she kept anything at our room was in the event of family visiting. In these cases her virginity made a miraculous reappearance and the apartment-owning older guy transformed into her good friend Stephi, who was two years ahead of her in the same course and liked to have study sleepovers to impart her sizable wisdom. I'm sure something sizable was being imparted to her but I doubt it was wisdom.

Either her parents were suffering from some real cognitive problems or they really, really wanted to believe her V-card was still in play.

Ultimately, it meant that I was 99% sure I would have the room to myself when I got inside. My plan for the rest of the day was carved in stone… sleep.

I grabbed my bag from the passenger seat, fished out the crumpled Starbucks container from down the side of my seat and slouched out of my car.

I crossed the parking lot toward my dorm and for one bizarre second I thought I was having a flashback. Then I remembered that for all intents and purposes I was still a goody-two-shoes, and I was hung-over not tripping. My head whipped around in a double-take.

"You!" I admit my gasping, accusatory tone was a bit dramatic.

Pretty Boy stopped in his tracks and turned. I stared, open-mouthed for one awkwardly long moment before I panicked and pitched the crumpled, pretty much empty, plastic Starbucks cup at his face. It hit him square in the forehead and the last melty remnants of cold coffee splattered all over his—admittedly, very attractive—face.

"What the f—"

His growled expletive was cut off by the sudden, painful burst of laughter that escaped my chest. It was hilarious and I was in hysterics. The look on his face was priceless. I just threw something at this relative stranger's face... what the hell was wrong with me?

He dragged his palms across his cheeks. He blinked away the diluted coffee clinging to his ridiculously long lashes and then—despite himself—Pretty Boy started laughing too. It was a deep, warm sound that made me want to close my eyes and have him read me a bedtime story before I slept away the rest of the say.

He closed the distance between us. My throw had been kinda impressive.

"That really hurt."

"Cheaters never prosper."

"When did I cheat?"

"You cheated the rules of queuing at Starbucks. And you stole!"

"I paid for that coffee."

"Not the point. You're mean and rude, and you deserved a coffee in your face. I was late for class!"

I looked up into his magazine-esque features. It seemed as though remorse might have flickered across his face but it was too quick to really tell. He didn't say anything back.

"What's your name?" I asked, my voice slightly less caustic.

His tone was wary, "Why?"

"I can't add you to my shit list without it." I shrugged.

"Edward."

"For real?" I'm almost 100% certain my face scrunched up in disbelief. What was this? The 1800s in England?

"Yes, for real. Do I get to know yours?"

I smiled sweetly. "What so you can target me more easily? I think not."

"Hi, Bella!"

The smug look on my face dissolved. I ignored the voice calling me from across the lot.

"Bella! Earth to Bella Swan!"

The corners of Edward's lips were twitching with amusement. It was clear the greeting was intended for me.

I turned sharply, waved abruptly and glared at the geeky guy from class who was trying to get my attention.

I turned back to Edward Pretty Boy with my face set in a fierce glare. "I hate you," I stated, very matter of fact.

I started to walk away, ignoring his smug call from behind me.

"That wasn't my fault, Bella Swan!"

Bastard.

Morning brought blessed relief from the hangover of the day before. In fact I felt quite chirpy. Sure, Edward Coffee Stealer had learned my name but I had thrown a plastic cup in his face with seemingly no consequences.

The weather outside was still disgusting but I had plenty of time to attend to the now desperate situation of my personal hygiene. If I could smell myself then the likelihood of other people being offended by my presence was high. I had changed a lot since starting college but I refused to be that person.

Once I looked and smelled as shiny as possible I grabbed the absolute necessities for the day and added a granola bar. Despite being a grey, despondent haze the outside world was not actually plagued by rain. I figured I would be safe to walk.

IPod ear buds were placed in ears, granola bar was stashed in convenient pocket and I turned up the volume on some truly cheesy pop. It was then—as I headed to the front door of the dorm—that I ran smack, bang into someone.

That someone was—of course—Edward No-Last-Name.

"Seriously?" I screeched.

He grabbed my wrist as I tried to storm past. I yanked the ear buds out.

"Whoa, Swan."

"Don't call me Swan."

He nodded.

"What?" I demanded.

"I'm sorry." He thrust a cup towards me. It was the same drink he had stolen from me in the largest size available.

I took the coffee, eyeing him warily. He looked as though he was gauging whether or not I would throw it at him. When he had decided he was safe a brown paper bag followed the cup. He held it open and I peeked inside.

"There are like ten muffins in here."

"I didn't know what you liked."

I looked up at him—his face sincere—and back to the bag. "Blueberry's my favorite," I replied, a little chastised. The gesture was unnervingly sweet, especially coming from such an asshole.

He plucked a muffin from the bag and handed it to me.

"Why are you doing this?" I asked around a mouthful of tasty blueberries.

"'Cause I'm really sorry, I'm not usually such a dick."

"You sure? You seemed really good at it."

"Okay, sometimes. But I was nervous about being late and that woman called your name like ten times. I was sure no one was claiming that coffee. Then you showed up and I felt like such a tool… even if I did pay you back."

"Oh yeah, giving me fifty bucks for a latte wasn't condescending at all." I rolled my eyes.

"I didn't have anything smaller! Anyway, I'm a dick and I'm sorry for stealing your coffee. You did look like you really needed it," he finished with a slight smirk.

"You ass."

"Am I forgiven?"

"What's your last name?"

"Masen-Cullen."

"Edward Masen-Cullen… are you kidding?" I grinned.

"Says the girl called Swan."

"Fine. You're forgiven, Edward Masen-Cullen. Conditionally. If you show anymore klepto tendencies the next coffee I throw won't be iced."

"Duly noted. Wanna walk to class? Since we have the same one."

He looked so cute and smiley. I was full of delicious muffin and yummy iced latte, so I said yes.

"Sure. So, why were you nervous about being late?"

He shrugged. "'Cause I'm new and we pulled a bunch of strings just to get me into half of these classes this late."

"Who's we?"

"Me and my sisters."

I frowned. "Not your parents?"

"Not my parents."

I shrugged it off and asked, "So they go here too?"

"My parents?" he teased.

"No, your sisters."

He cracked a smile. "No."

"Why is that funny? Lots of sibs go to the same schools."

"My youngest sister is thirty-three."

"Wait, what? How old are you?"

"Nineteen."

I did some quick math in my head and was staggered by the number I ended up with. "There's fourteen years between you?"

"Yeah." He shrugged. "There's twenty-one between me and Esme. She's the oldest."

"Man, I guess you were a surprise baby."

His incredulous look was amused. "That's kind of rude to say to someone you just met."

"Hey, I said 'surprise', not 'accident'."

He smiled wryly.

"Okay, so you're the baby. Now I get why you're such a brat."

"Charming," he snorted.

"Hardly."

He bumped my shoulder with his as we walked. "I meant you."

I rolled my eyes at him. Then realization hit me. "Wait, we're walking to class together."

"And…"

"You're in my class. You saw me crash and burn yesterday!"

He shrugged and gave me a cute smile. "Don't worry; your dry heaving was adorable."

"I really hate you."

"Sure thing, Duckling." He held out the muffin bag for me to select another.

I grabbed one that looked full of red berries. "What did you just call me?"

"Well, if you're not ready to be Swan…"

"You're cheesy and an asshole. That isn't a great combo. You have a hyphenated last name; you should be trying to reclaim cool points like it's your last chance."

"Somehow I don't think I'll need them with you, Duckling," he grins.

"Did you seriously just call me uncool? And imply I'm ugly?"

He was trying not to laugh, trying really hard.

"Whatever, Klepto." I tried with every muscle in my face not to smile back, and failed.

AN: Thank you so much to everyone who has placed this story on their alerts. An extra special thanks to everyone who left a review. At the moment I don't have any pre-readers or a beta so if anyone wants to volunteer please send me a message. :)