Nia's Resolve | 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘗𝘭𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘰𝘺 𝘚𝘺𝘯𝘥𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘦

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When men are hungry, they hunt. It's a craving as old as time, a tale of the heart that loops on constant replay. The song of love and lust, of want and desire, and once the intro begins to hum its hypnotic tune, all are powerless but to dance along.

Some hold onto the golden thread of happily-ever-after while others become inebriated, stumbling on in search of answers they don't yet have the questions for. Blind to his part in this eternal composition, Caspian set down his dull textbook and watched a sea of bobbing heads on their way to and from class.

The mass of people all hurried from one place to another, noses in their phones and fingers tapping away at tinted glass screens. Studious ones carried large bags suitable for books and binders, and lax students paraded on with little to nothing more than a pair of headphones.

His gaze drifted from one potential muse to the next, appreciating the few who sported cute glasses and paying particular attention to the fashionably minded, wearing one of the best articles of clothing known to man—tight fitting skirts that showed off every alluring curve.

The campus was stocked with an endless supply of attractive women, yet on this occasion none stood out. Blondes and brunettes, high heels and sandals, all shapes and sizes glossed by his vision. With ease he could charm any of them into bed, but strangely enough he didn't take the bait.

This time his incentive wasn't a quick fix or specific type. A particular craving, a fissure of sorts, had opened so deep in his being he supposed it could only be filled by something entirely new. Unfamiliar.

...Wait. There.

Head on a swivel, his gaze tailed tantalizing hourglass curves. Her.

Although hidden in a crowd, her aura spoke volumes. The way she walked with confidence drew him in, chin held high and straight. Determined. She didn't need an entourage to look like a queen.

Clutched to her supple chest was a stack of typical freshman textbooks, but the book on top caught his eye. Encased with intricate and what looked to be expensive binding, it appeared more like a journal than a composition notebook. Not something usually used for the monotonous scrawl of class notes. If its significance was anything like his own sketchbooks, then she must be an interesting catch.

Like the breeze that disappears as soon as it's noticed, the back of her cherry-red hair and swaying hips vanished through the double lecture room doors. A wave of intrigue crept over his skin and settled between his legs. This was either going to be very good, or very bad, but either way it was going to be exciting.

His lips curled into a half smile, pulse quickening before he even got a decent look at the woman's face. Sophomore year had brought a fresh batch of home-cooked girls ripe for the taking, and she was the crème of the crop.

Attending university was not his choice, rather a requirement imposed by the two people in his life who couldn't agree on anything else. After their recent divorce, his parents had forced a formal education down his throat with a silver spoon. As if ensuring his success would make up for their failure to bake up the perfect happy family.

In any case, Caspian decided early on he'd use the space how he wanted. And he'd do it his way.

If the redhead was new to campus, then surely she'd appreciate having someone show her the ropes. Effortlessly he could transform himself into a personal tour guide—and there were a few VIP spots he'd show her if she was nice.

Foot tapping on the scuffed vinyl floor, the gears in his head sprung to life. He saw two options: make a move now, or try to find her after forming a proper plan. Planning wasn't his forte, so the first option it was.

When it came to acting on a goal, especially when he knew what—or who—he wanted, patience became a forgotten virtue. That was, unless a suitable reward waited at the finish line. Last year he learned the rules of the game and found out the hard way some girls took extra effort to crack. Now more prepared to take the long route, he anticipated better results.

Snapping his textbook shut and swinging his backpack over his shoulder, he couldn't take his eyes away from the last place he saw her. No one else was filing into the room, meaning there wasn't a lecture going on at this time. Glancing down at his watch, he saw it wasn't even a standard time for classes to start. Was she lost? How long was she going to sit in there alone?

Before even taking a step in her direction, his thoughts raced ahead of him. What color would her eyes be, framed by that bright red hair? Would they burn into him when she looked his way?

What about her lips? Would she tease him, or lure him in with a bashful smile?

How would her eyelashes and cheekbones highlight her face? What expression would she wear when he caught a real glimpse of her, and she of him? Would she reveal what was in that special journal?

It was like seeing a ­­big, colorful lollipop in a candy shop window and dropping everything to go buy it. He appreciated the tiny taste he got, and for a moment was even more enticed by the sample than seeing the whole thing at once. Humming to himself, he hoped this wasn't the end of good surprises. The sweet taste of her soft skin was almost palpable on his lips.

He hoped she made him work for it—but not too much.

Sturdy strides carried him to the closed, double oak doors while a hammering heart chiseled away at his chest. Hitting on girls was second nature, but this time a certain thrill saturated his veins.

Whatever it was that made her special, it made no difference to him. This was a great way to start off the new school year, hopefully a sign that there would be many more breathtaking girls to come his way.

He smiled at the thought, prying the door open.

Yes, the first of many.