The moment I finally realized this, I had gasped quietly and pulled my fingers away from my sculpture, as if I’d been touching his naked flesh.

I had been about to reshape the inner thigh of Sculpture Hunter’s right leg, right up near his…yes. His package, which hung from my sculpture in a 1/3rd scale representation of his actual…package.

You had to include the clay package because if you didn’t, it constantly threw your proportions off. Most of the other students had a little clay blob to represent the man bits, as did I. Romeo, of course, had made his totally lifelike down to every mushroomy detail.

But even with my blobby, nondescript lump hanging between Sculpture Hunter’s legs, there was that final, distinctive moment when I’d felt like I was about to bump the side of my hand into Hunter’s actual package as I slid my fingers between the thighs of Sculpture Hunter.

I suddenly stopped myself, feeling like I was about to cheat on Christos somehow. I couldn’t explain it.

Was I attracted to Hunter? I shuddered.

No.

There was no way.

I took a deep breath and looked around the room at the other students. All were busy working away, their faces intense with concentration.

Was I the only one having trouble with this part?

I steeled myself. I could do this. It was just a class assignment, right? Just lumps and blobs of clay. Nothing more.

Right?

I took a deep breath and tried again. I ran my fingers up the inside of Sculpture Hunter’s legs. It wasn’t so bad. I pressed my fingers more firmly against Sculpture Hunter’s thighs, right near his blobby package.

That was when I noticed Hunter smirking right at me. Like he’d felt my touch.

OMG! Had he?

I yanked my hands away.

My face boiled with embarrassment as I grabbed a sculpting tool and busily worked over Sculpture Hunter’s left foot. I felt my cheeks flashing like fire engine lights.

That big toe on Sculpture Hunter was WAY too big! Better trim it down before it ruined everything! Big toes! Only thinking about big toes!

I tried not to notice that Hunter’s smile had widened.

Oh, boy. He’d caught me good. I’m sure he would take this as an invitation to hit on me with new purpose.

The moment class was over that day, I bolted out of the classroom. I needed to get away from everyone.

I didn’t even wait for Romeo.

I needed some fresh air.

Badly.

I feared something monumental in my life was shifting. I didn’t understand it at all. But I knew one thing:

I didn’t like the feeling that was making my hands shake one bit.

Change was coming.

SAMANTHA

When I reached the Student Center, I texted Madison to see if she was around campus still.

At the library she texted back, fourth floor.

C u there in five.

I walked to the library and took the elevator to the fourth floor. The Main Library had windows all the way around and had a great view of all of San Diego. Studying in it was like having your own corner office in a high-rise building. The skies were clear and I could see for miles.

I circled the fourth floor until I found Madison in one of the study rooms. At this point in the quarter, there was little competition for study space. I walked in and closed the door behind me. Madison was surrounded by her books and her laptop on the large table.

“What up, Mads!”

“Hey, Sam!” she smiled. “How’s SDU’s star artist doing today?” She held up her hand for a high-five.

I gave it a friendly smack. “Artist, maybe,” I sighed as I sat down. “I don’t know about the star part.”

“Don’t deny it, Sam, you know you’re totally rockin’ the lady balls since changing your major to Art.”

I grimaced. “Okay, I know some women say ‘lady balls’ all the time nowadays, but seriously, can you explain it? I mean, do guys go around saying ‘Dude, you’re totally rocking the man clitoris!’ or ‘Dude, I’ve got brass man-labia hanging between my legs!’? No! Because no guy would ever say that. It doesn’t make any sense.”

Madison smiled thoughtfully. “You’re right, Sam. You’re absolutely right. No more lady balls for either one of us.” We exchanged another high-five. “Maybe you should change your major to Gender Studies,” she joked.

“You might be onto something.”

Madison giggled. “But I have been with one guy who had a man-clitoris, or a very small willy-nilly. Emphasis on the nilly part.”

“You so did not say that!” I guffawed.

Another high-five.

“It’s not Jake, is it?” I asked, suddenly mortified.

“No!” Madison protested. “Jake totally has man balls and a man dick. No woman parts whatsoever.”

“Oh, phew. I was ready to feel bad for you.”

“Nope, Jake’s good to go. And go, and go, and go.”

I leaned into her, giggling.

“Keep it down in here, this is a library and some people are trying to study,” Hunter said, his head sticking through the door.

 I frowned, “What are you doing here?” How the hell did he find me? Um, stalker?

“I needed to look something up,” he smiled.

“You’re not even a student here,” I said.

“Am I missing something?” Madison asked.

“Oh, uh, this is Hunter Blakeley,” I said sourly, “he’s the model in my sculpting class.”

He took that as his cue to walk completely into the study room and close the door behind him.

“Ooh,” Madison twinkled her nose, “does that mean Sam gets to look at you naked?”

“Mads!” I bumped her knee under the table with mine.

She took the hint and said no more.

Hunter didn’t waste any time picking up the slack. “It’s all part of the job description.”

“What is your job, anyway?” I asked. “Do you actually do anything besides model for Bittinger’s class and stalk me?”

“Of course I do,” he said casually.

“Do what?” I sneered. “Stalk tons of other uninterested young women?”

“No,” he smiled, undeterred, “outside of class, I model for all kinds of things. Some pretty high profile work.”

“Like what?” Madison asked innocently.

He chuckled. “You’re probably not going to believe this…”

He was probably right.

“You know how when you buy underwear for guys,” he grinned proudly, “there’s always a photo of some dude with amazing abs and a huge, uh, package printed on the, uh, package?”

“Yeah?” I said. Not that I bought men’s underwear, but I’d seen the “packages” he was talking about.

“I’m that guy,” Hunter smiled.

I frowned. It seemed too ridiculous to be true. But I knew firsthand that he was certainly large enough to fill a pair of briefs.

“You’re the package guy?” Madison gawked.

“Totally.” He nodded and smiled. “I still have residuals coming in from underwear I did four years ago.”

The study room had windows that faced into the library, so other students could see us inside. Hunter glanced around cautiously, as if he was about to reveal secret intelligence vital to the preservation of the United States of America, and didn’t want any stray SDU students hearing what he had to say and selling the information to the Taliban. When Hunter was sure the coast was clear, he leaned toward Madison and me and muttered conspiratorially, “The dirty secret none of the underwear manufacturers want you to know is, I’m ‘that guy’ for all of them.” He stood up to his full height, which was over six feet, and nodded, very proud of himself.

I rolled my eyes. I was in the midst of a celebrity. Groan. I considered begging him for an autograph. But…no.

“I also do ads for fitness equipment,” Hunter winked.

“Sorry, haven’t seen any of those,” I said. Hunter was starting to strike me as the sort of guy who spent more time in front of a mirror than any woman ever would.

“Me neither,” Madison said, picking up on my vibe.

“Well, I also do runway work,” he said, “but that’s seasonal.”

When I pictured Hunter doing runway work, I imagined him at the airport with the DJ headphones and the glowing red sticks, waving in jumbo jets, wearing only tighty-whiteys and work boots. I snickered, but tried to cover it up.

Hunter flashed his amber eyes at us. “What? Did I miss something?” he smiled hopefully.

Mine and Madison’s deflating interest was shriveling up his ego. I realized we needed to let him off the hook before he shriveled up any further and lost his dick modeling contracts.

Crinkling my nose, I said, “We kind of need to study, Hunter.”

“I can come back later,” he offered hopefully. “Maybe walk you to your car?”

As nice as the guy seemed, he tried way too hard, and he didn’t listen. I think I’d told him I wasn’t interested, oh, I don’t know, every time I saw him? Okay, one more time.

“Hunter, you’re a sweet guy. But I’m not going out with you, no matter how many times you offer to walk me to my car. Please respect the fact that I have a boyfriend.”

“I do. But you have the wrong one.”

I dropped my head into my forearms on the table. I had walked right into that one. “Please, Hunter, I’m begging you—”

“That’s more like it,” he chuckled. “I like it when you beg.”

“—to go away.” I laughed that desperate laugh when you don’t want to be rude, but you can’t think of anything else to say to make a person go away.

He nodded confidently. “No worries. I’ll see you in Bittinger’s class.” He winked at me when he walked out.

Why did he always have to wink?