Read Break Your Heart for Free Online Page A

guys going to be on campus?” I asked him to get my mind off my mom. “We should have lunch or something.” Maybe if I scheduled get-togethers with them, it would let them feel like they’re a part of my campus life while giving me some measure of control over things.
    He tilted his head. “Actually, we’ll be there next week to meet with the project manager. We can at least get coffee or something.” He popped the last container in the fridge. “So, are you doing okay?”
    I gave him a hug. “I’m good. Everything’s going well so far. My senior thesis is ready for revisions. The end is in sight.”
    He pressed a kiss to my brow and wrapped his arms tighter around me. “I’m proud of you, you know. Never thought I’d have such a smart, beautiful daughter. I feel so lucky.”
    My eyes stung, and I nuzzled my face into his soft long-sleeved shirt. “Thanks, Dad.” I felt lucky too.
     
    When I got back to the apartment, Casey was already in her room. I could see light spilling out from under her bedroom door. Probably working on homework. The girl was as diligent as I was.
    I heard her voice, then a low male chuckle. My grin widened. So Daniel was over here too. Good for you, Casey, I thought as I went to the fridge and grabbed a soda. I had to admit, the thought of her moving out made me sad, even as I was happy for her. I hoped she wasn’t too freaked out about the change. Sometimes it took her a while to adjust.
    I took my soda to my room and closed the door. Put on some ambient music and opened up my thesis paper again. It was pure impulse that had me firing up my laptop and logging into email.
    Earlier today I’d written Dr. Muramoto’s email address at the bottom of my paper, just to have it handy. I typed it into the address line, then wrote “senior thesis” in the subject line. Then stopped. The blank cursor in the message box blinked.
    What should I write?
     
    Dr. Muramoto, I started to type. Thank you for the extensive feedback on my paper. I’m ready to work on revisions. I’ll get those back to you as soon as possible. I paused. And I promise to not be caught like a deer in the headlights next time you call on me in class. I don’t know where my brain was. Sorry about that.
     
    I typed my name and hit send before I could talk myself out of it. Then I hopped online to check out my social media and see what people were up to. I’d barely been on much since the semester had started.
    An email popped into my in-box about five minutes later.
     
    Megan,
    You’re welcome. And no worries—I had plenty of oh-crap moments in undergrad myself. You rallied nicely. ;-)
    Nick
     
    My lungs squeezed as I read the message. He’d signed his first name. Did that mean I should use it? What was protocol here? And why the hell was I stressing so much about what to call him? Ugh. I decided to skip the greeting and go right to the message.
     
    I see you’re online late too. No rest for the wicked—at least not in academia, huh? Are there other students you’re advising on their thesis this semester?
    This time I didn’t bother to flick back over to my social media. I kept my in-box open. The single line of his reply sent a low glide of heat through my belly.
     
    No one but you, Megan.
     
    My skin tightened at the fantasy of his dark eyes growing darker and more hooded as they locked on mine, all that intensity he brought into the classroom solely focused on me. His lips brushing my earlobe when he leaned in close and whispered those words in my ear.
    I bit my lip and willed myself to shake off this train of thought. Be rational, I told myself. Nothing in that reply was sexual or sensual. I was just reading into it.
    But . . . what if I wasn’t? That was a totally loaded response by him; surely he knew it could be interpreted in more than one way.
    Suddenly I wanted to keep this conversation going, to learn more about him. The only way to find out if I was reading into his words was to write him