Chapter 5: Falling
443 Words
Falling in love with a bad boy isn’t in the Daughter of Professors Survival Guide. My mom’s chapter on “Healthy Relationship Boundaries” did not cover midnight golf cart theft.
But it happened anyway. Slow. Messy. Like every good campus shenanigan.
It was in the little things:
West memorizing that I take my coffee with oat milk and two raw sugars, no foam.
West telling every Theta House pledge that “RA Chen” was off-limits or they’d be running laps until graduation.
West showing up to my econ 101 lecture — he wasn’t even enrolled — just to mouth you’ve got this before my first quiz.
The big things came later. Like the night we “borrowed” a campus security golf cart to get donuts at 2 AM because I’d been crying over my chem grade.
Or when we TP’d the rival school’s mascot statue before Homecoming and got caught by campus police. I used my RA status to talk us out of real trouble.
He used his stupid grin to get us out of community service.
“You’re a bad influence,” I told him as we scrubbed shaving cream off our hands in the Theta House bathroom.
“You’re a good one,” he said back. “First time anyone’s ever said that to me.”
The first time he almost kissed me was after I got the flu. He showed up with soup his frat’s cook made, Gatorade, and every DVD the house owned because “streaming is for quitters.” He slept on my floor while I was feverish, and when I woke up, he was just... there. Watching me like I was the only sober thought at a kegger.
“You don’t have to do this,” I mumbled.
“Yeah, Chen. I do.”
The first time he did kiss me was Spring Fling. String lights. Bad DJ. And Love Story playing for the third time that year, because the universe has no chill.
He pulled me behind the photo booth, hands hovering like he was scared I’d bolt.
“I’m done chasing,” he said, breath shaky. “Unless you want me to.”
I was 18. Virgin. Dean’s List. Daughter of two professors who thought “risk assessment” was foreplay.
I fisted his stupid Theta shirt and pulled him down. “Then don’t stop.”
Turns out the playboy didn’t need taming. He just needed someone worth rewriting his reputation for.
And me? The innocent RA who color-coded her highlighters?
I needed someone to teach me that falling was the fun part.
That rule-breaking?
Sometimes it’s the only way to learn.
- Writer
