Backpack slung over my shoulder, I trudge out to the student parking lot. My feet feel like they're coated in cement, and my temples throb with an impending headache. Grayson's motorcycle is parked directly behind my car, blocking my only route of escape. He's leaning against his bike, arms crossed, looking more relaxed than I've ever felt.

"I was beginning to think you were spending the night here," he says, straightening.

"I had a few things to take care of," I ...