It wasn't until I stepped off the bus that a blob of nervousness dropped in my stomach. Fears hit me like a wrecking ball. I was a new girl, in a foreign college, from America, and probably looked like a pushover as a blonde. Like a buttercup that could easily be trampled down.

At school, I had it pretty easy. I was popular and well-liked. But that was a home crowd; how was I gonna navigate my way around foreign soil? I didn't even have a friendly face to—

"Hi!" A girl bounded up to me. Oh no. Her again. Dominique, or whatever her name was. She reminded me of Minnie Mouse, she had such a squeaky voice.

"Hi, Alyssa! Fancy running into you here!" Minnie Mouse said as I gave her a strained smile. Behind her was a group of tall girls eyeing me with scrutiny. They had noses pretty high in the air and looked (I suspected) rather disdainfully at me. Was that the British snobbery I'd read about in books? The redhead behind Minnie who must have been the leader looked uncannily like Caroline Bingley.

"Is she new?" the redhead asked Minnie with a nod at me. I gave a singular wave and spoke affably.

"Hi, I'm Alyssa—"

"Oh, American." She smiled fiendishly. There was no other word for it. She was probably biased against Americans. Darn my accent, it always gave me away. Maybe I should learn that stupid British accent and fake being English... I aced drama back in school, so how hard could it be?

"Laurel Hamilton. First-year, Liberal Arts. And these are Clover Quintrell and Matilda Dankworth." She gestured to the girls behind her and spoke as though I was expected to know them. I could tell from their clothes they came from money—probably old money and had blue blood flowing in their veins. They even had those classic sourpuss faces as though they smelled poop everywhere they went. Was I supposed to bow to these snobs? I raised my eyebrows but 'Lady Laurel' had already turned away to Minnie Mouse and missed it.

"Did he arrive yet?" she asked her. Minnie Mouse shook her head vigorously.

"Not yet, but it's still early—"

"Stop talking. I want to know the moment he arrives," Laurel cut her off bossily. I watched this little exchange with understanding. Minnie obviously knew these girls even though she was new too, yet she was their doormat. Hmph. Suddenly I like her a lot less. I wondered who Laurel was waiting for... Her boyfriend? She could just text him if so...

"What are you doing standing here dithering? Go drop my bag off!" Laurel shoved her bag at Minnie. Minnie caught it, stumbling back. She gave me an apologetic look before sprinting off. Huh. So Miss Laurel Hamilton ruled the roost. If she thinks I was gonna bow down to her highness, she'd better think again.

"Laurel, here he comes!" The girl called Clover nudged her urgently. The three of them turned their gazes to the campus gate. I was curious; who were they waiting for?

The answer came in a roar of a motorbike which appeared after a moment. A guy rode it, a guy with a black leather jacket and the most ripped blue jeans I'd ever seen. That's a lot of shin to show. He wore black high-tops and a glossy black helmet that matched his shiny black bike.

"Speak of the handsome devil," Laurel smacked her lips appreciatively as she ogled him. His bike came to a stop a few meters across us and he took off his helmet. He had champagne-colored hair and sand-colored skin. He looked—kinda familiar...

"Oh Daylen!" Laurel crooned and tethered forward in a hurry on her wedges, her posse following her. The guy named Daylen looked up, an impassive stare on his face. His stony eyes flickered across Laurel and her friends before turning away in disinterest. I kept staring at him, unsure why I was doing so. He was—intriguing, I guess. Okay, he was hot.

Laurel started talking animatedly to him but I could see he wasn't paying her an ounce of attention. He suddenly caught sight of me and his eyes flickered, widening a little. I blinked. Did he recognize me or something? His eyes actually glowed as they fell on me. But no longer interested, I turned away to get to class—and to avoid Laurel's gang now that her attention was no longer on me.

I bumped into some guys outside the college building because I had been so mentally preoccupied and hadn't seen where I was going.

"Sorry—" I began.

"Oh, that's quite alright, love." I looked up quickly, recognizing that voice. It was the dark-haired guy who tried flirting with me back at the pub a few days ago! And he was smiling too attentively at me. I paled. Oh no, not him! What the heck was wrong with this place, where I bumped into people I did not want to meet?

"Don't frighten her, Hugo," his blond friend grinned. "She looks new."

Another brown-haired guy winked at me. "You look sort of familiar," he said thoughtfully. The guy called Hugo squinted at me.

"Say, that does sound right! Have we met before, love? Perhaps in my dreams?" He leaned too close to me and I backed away. Dagnabbit, college was worse than high school! People just swooped in on you like a hawk on a rabbit!

I backed away into someone—again.

"Keep your pants on, Hugo. It's still daylight." A soft but clear, slightly lisping British voice spoke behind me. I spun around, recognizing that voice as belonging to the guy whose voice was now so etched in my brain from frequent replays I recognized it in a heartbeat. A little gasp escaped my throat. I looked up and met the silver eyes of the leather-jacketed guy Laurel was fawning over earlier. And to my shame, I could not help but stare. He was so magnetically attractive that I was beguiled for a moment. Or eternity.

His eyes stared deep into mine and I became transfixed. These are the kind of eyes girls dream about; not the color (though that silver was mesmeric) but the look they had in them. Like a quiet, ravenous hunger was restrained in them. And that hunger was directed at me.

"Shove off, Hugo," he reviled Hugo over my head (he was a few inches taller than me). I turned and saw Hugo scowling.

"Don't run your foul mouth at me, Griffith," Hugo said sullenly, but he and his friends tramped off, perhaps with a hint of fear in their gait. I wondered why—this Daylen must be pretty intimidating. He certainly looked like the kind good girls don't get mixed up with.

"Do you have to get into trouble everywhere you go?" He jolted me out of my thoughts, addressing me. Oh, my, gosh. That mild scorn, that reprimand—and his last name was Griffith... He really was the guy from the pub! That means, was he also—the guy from the supermarket—the guy in the cellar—the guy who came up my window—my Peter Pan?!

"Well? Haven't you got a tongue in your head?" he asked impatiently. Even though he seemed ill-mannered unlike the Peter Pan I knew, his voice did numbers on me. My skin shivered pleasantly and my heart hopped madly inside my chest. What was this weird effect he had on me?

"Er, first of all, rude." I finally found my voice and frowned at him. "And second, it was an accident."

"You can't go anywhere without a bodyguard," he whispered patronizingly as though to himself. I heard it and scoffed.

"Ugh! Excuse me?" I gave him my most skeptical look. He might have saved me from Hugo, but dude, attitude adjustment? Just then, Laurel and the Hardy gang came up and reclaimed his attention, Laurel's voice cut through the air.

"Daylen! I haven't told you about the tea talks tonight!" Distracted, he turned to them with a look of irritation. Seeing my chance, I turned and escaped into the building. Daylen turned back quickly and called after me.

"Wait!" Oh heck no, I'm not waiting around. I had to get to class. And for now, I changed my mind about Daylen Griffith—he might have been the guy who saved me at the pub that day but he was not Bealey's nephew. Or the guy who flew through my window. Or the guy who gave me a surreal, staggering kiss in the dark that night in the cellar. He couldn't be. Not with that pins-and-needles attitude. No, my Peter Pan was still missing; it was up to me to find him.

Daylen. What an unusual name. I don't think I've ever heard of someone with that name. I found myself meditating on that name as I walked to class, like a child thinking about a new toy. For some reason, it distracted me. I barely even paid attention to the orientation speech in the auditorium for new students before being dispersed for class. All that kept ringing in my head was that name, Daylen. And his lilting voice that spoke to me.

Do you have to get into trouble everywhere you go?

Pft. so sarcastic, in that soft, charming, lisping British voice... Snap out of it, Lys! He's not Peter Pan! The boy I kissed in the dark was... like a dream. And this guy obviously had attitude issues. Let little Miss Bossy Laurel keep him! She clearly has a thing for him.

I skipped along to my first class in the lecture theater. I figured since I was stuck here for at least a year, I might as well reap as much as I could before leaving. I was taking the major I wanted, after all. I couldn't wait to sink my teeth into the pages of nineteenth-century history and medieval literature.

Happily dreaming about classes, I walked into my first one—poetry with Professor Parkinson. Yay, sweet sonnets of romance and tragic tales of woe, here I come—

"It appears we have a late student." He announced as I entered. Shit. I was late.

Professor Parkinson, a tall dark haired stern bespectacled guy with a sprinkling of middle age graying near his temples and in his stubble glowered at me. Okay, he does not tolerate tardiness.

I bowed my head in shame as I entered, apologizing to him.

"I will let it pass as you are a new student, but I do not want to see it happen again," he upbraided me and I nodded mutely. Yes sir, mister military man.

"You may take a seat," he directed me. I raised my head only to scan the theater for seats. Huh, it was a full house. Guess there were a lotta literary students.

The only two empty seats left were next to that flirt Hugo (I'd be hanged if I sat next to that grabby guy) and—gulp—Daylen. And that was right at the back in the last row. Looks like I had no choice. Even if he was glaring at me. Probably because I left him hanging earlier. But he didn't look like he wanted to talk anymore.

I traipsed up the stairs, feeling red-faced as many eyes fell on me. Since when did I hate being the center of attention? Was it because I felt this scrutiny was a lot more critical than appraisive?

I reached the top row and glanced at Daylen almost like I was asking his permission to invade the space next to him. He gave me a silent stare, as though daring me to go away.

Do you have to sit here? His silent message spoke loud through his eyes. I hesitated a bit; what if he antagonized me for this later?

"Miss—Alyssa Rosales, is it? Are you going to take your seat sometime today or do you want us to hold up the whole class for you?" Professor Parkinson's dry rhetorical question caused a ripple of snickers through the room. Red as a beetroot, I hurriedly hopped into my seat, tripped over my shoelaces, and fell—right on Daylen's chest. Shit!

My hand had automatically reached out for support and it fell right into his hand lying on his lap. He instinctively caught it and held it tight before pushing me away. He looked positively rankled.

"Can't you be more careful?" He hissed at me. With flaming cheeks, I tottered back and dropped into my seat, hanging my head. I pulled my hand away from his hand which was tingling from brushing against his skin.

"Sorry," I whispered as class had already begun. For the rest of the class, I put up an invisible wall between us and did not dare to cross it.

I missed a great discussion on Rudyard Kipling's 'If' because I was distracted by Daylen and a few other thoughts. One, my embarrassment ever since I stepped into this class, two, falling on Daylen, and three, being forced to sit next to the guy. He was tight-lipped and grouchy the whole class and even spoke to the professor way too casually, like he had little or no respect for him. Oddly, he got away with it.

But those weren't the only things on my mind; when I fell on him earlier, our proximity sort of activated my body, like being on one of those park rides where you suddenly drop from a height and blood rushes to your head. But imagine it with a little more—seduction.

I had caught sight of a little geometrical line-shaped tattoo on his neck when I fell—it was probably only a part of it and the rest continued down inside his t-shirt onto his bicep and chest... okay, my mind did not need to go there.

I snuck a little glance at him—he was attentive to the class, that's for sure. A keen intense look filled his eyes, a grim line set on his lips and a stock still posture held his body as he leaned back, arms folded... I was mesmerized again. Aside from the heart-stopping good looks and drop-dead body, he had an aura of quiet fearlessness which although intimidating, still managed to make him alluring. If only he weren't so cold and sarcastic—he'd have been my Peter Pan who I was looking for.

"I suggest you pay attention to the class." He spoke up in a low voice, startling me. I blinked and turned away. Did he know I'd been staring at him? Shit! His eyes hadn't even looked my way! What was this guy, a ninja?

I had been rolling my pencil back and forth on the desk as I stared at him but when he spoke, it rolled away from me and stopped next to his hand. I reached out to retrieve it but his hand closed over it first and mine ended up brushing against his skin again. Whoa, his hands were iced. And yet they caused my skin to burn.

"So distracted..." he breathed, clutching the pencil. I frowned at him, mouthing 'give it back'. A faint smile exerted his lips as he expertly twirled the pencil between his fingers. He was drawing pleasure from this, I realized in frustration. Teasing me, with those slow twirling movements...

"Miss Alyssa!" The professor's been calling my name for a while. I turned to him quickly.

"Do you have any thoughts on why Kipling calls 'triumph' and 'disaster' imposters?" he asked. I swallowed, trying to remember the poem.

"He...er..." I stammered.

"Naturally, it's because the first puffs one up, and the latter tears one down," Daylen uttered softly in a bored voice beside me. I swallowed my pride and repeated it. It would have been my answer too, if I'd have had the time to think about it.

"Hmm." Professor Parkinson looked appeased. He must've been satisfied with my answer because he continued with the lecture.

"You're not going to miss out on everything if you daydream," Daylen uttered quietly. I turned to him with conflicted feelings. I was grateful that he gave me the answer when I was put on the spot but irritated that he had to be so smug about it. I decided to hold my tongue. No need to get in trouble simply because I wanted to give Daylen a piece of my mind.

The class got over and everyone gathered out, myself included. I turned to talk to Daylen but he had walked away to his next class quickly. Drat those gangly legs, I'll never catch up. I sighed as I made my way to my Theology class. I suddenly stopped realizing Daylen didn't give my pencil back. I'd have to go hunt him down later... Why would he even take it? Darn him. He was such a provoking puzzle! No matter how much I thought about him, I couldn't decipher the enigma that was Daylen. Because with him, every encounter felt like a first time; and not even a thousand first impressions could help me understand him.

🎉NAME DROP! Whoo! Finally our walking heartthrob bad boy's name is revealed! And whatcha think of him sporting leather and looking all sexy? 😎🤤 

But, is he the Peter Pan Lys was looking for? Or does she need to keep looking? With that personality, Daylen might be a completely different person... 🤔

Either way, if you're into this bad boy, start drooling over Daylen because he's gonna hold your heart for a very long time.

Hope you enjoyed this longer chapter! Drop your thoughts.