"Elena, you seem to stay up late last night." Maya nudged my ribs with her elbow.

I blinked at the blank notebook page in front of me. The two-hundred-seat lecture hall roared with students finding their places for the lecture.

"I'm just tired," I muttered, rubbing the dark circles under my eyes.

Maya leaned closer, her voice dropping. "Usually, you're prepping Heidegger by now. You look completely out of it."

I scanned the rows around us. Most people were glued to their phones or yelling across the aisles.

I leaned in, my cheek brushing Maya's shoulder. "Maya," I whispered, my face heating up instantly. "Last night in the men's showers, I walked in on Lucas Hayes taking a shower."

"Holy shit!" Maya grabbed my forearm. Her eyes went as wide as saucers. "The campus wet-dream god? Are you serious?"

"Shh! Keep it down." I shrank into my seat.

"How is his body?" Maya ignored my warning, shaking my arm. "Is he as huge as the rumors say?"

I meant to whisper. I really did. But the memory of the steam, the harsh fluorescent lights, and those ridiculous proportions hijacked my brain.

"Not only is it true," I said, my voice climbing a notch. I let go of my pen and used my hands to trace an invisible shape in the air. "His lines are like Michelangelo carved them himself."

Maya leaned forward, practically vibrating. "Go on."

"His back muscles." I sketched a wide V in the space between us. "The V-line pointing down. And the sheer hardness of those abs, Maya, it was simply—"

A heavy hand dropped onto my right shoulder.

Warm hand. Long fingers. Defined knuckles.

"—Simply unforgettable, right?"

The voice rumbled right above my ear. Deep. Amused. Smooth like bourbon.

Every drop of blood drained from my face. My heart slammed against my ribs.

I turned my head. My neck cracked from the stiffness.

Lucas Hayes stood right behind my chair. He wore a black sleeveless hoodie that exposed thick, corded forearms. A lazy, playful smirk stretched across his flawless face.

"You were saying?" he prompted.

I swallowed dry air. "Nothing."

Behind him, three giants in matching athletic gear crammed into the aisle. The starting lineup. They clamped their hands over their mouths, their faces turning bright red as they held back snorts. One of them blew a silent whistle at me, wiggling his eyebrows.

"Sounded like a detailed review to my body," Lucas said, leaning his weight onto my chair. His face hovered inches from mine.

"I was discussing art history," I lied.

"Michelangelo, right?" He tapped his fingers against my collarbone, right over my taupe hoodie. "You think I look like a statue, Miss Vance?"

Maya stared at him, completely starstruck, abandoning me to the wolves.

"I think you have an inflated ego," I shot back, forcing my voice to stay steady.

"And you have a loud voice." He shifted, sliding into the empty seat directly behind mine. The three basketball players piled into the row next to him, the chairs groaning under their weight.

"You aren't enrolled in Modern Western Thought," I said, twisting in my seat to face him.

Lucas stretched his long legs out, his knees bumping the back of my chair. "I am now."

"The roster is full."

"I'm auditing." He crossed his arms. "I need to expand my horizons. Learn about... what was it you were studying? Abs?"

One of the teammates lost the battle and snorted loudly. "Yeah, Luke's very invested in the classics."

I glared at the guy, then back at Lucas. "You are doing this to torture me."

"I'm just sitting here, cleaning girl." He flashed a grin. "You're the one who can't stop talking about my V-line."

Maya kicked my ankle under the desk. *Introduce me,* she mouthed.

I ignored her. "If you sit here, you have to actually pay attention to the lecture."

"I'll pay attention to whatever I want." His gray-blue eyes locked onto mine, the amusement fading into something sharper.

The professor walked in, tapping the microphone. "Settle down, everyone."

I spun back around, facing the front. My skin buzzed where his hand had touched my shoulder. I pulled my notebook closer, gripping my pen until my knuckles turned white.

*Thump.*

His knee knocked against my chair again.

"Stop that," I hissed over my shoulder.

"My legs are long," he whispered back. "Can't help it."

"Sit sideways."

"Too uncomfortable."

I ground my teeth. "You are impossible."

"You haven't seen impossible yet."

The professor started talking about existentialism. I tried to take notes, but the heat radiating from the giant sitting behind me made it impossible to focus.

"What's he talking about?" Lucas asked, his voice a low rumble against my neck.

"Philosophy," I muttered, not looking back.

"Sounds boring. Tell me more about my back."

"Shut up, Hayes."

"You didn't know my name last night."

"Everyone knows your name. You make sure of it."

"But you didn't call me by it." He leaned closer. I felt the warmth of his breath on my ear. "Say it now."

"No."

"Say my name, Elena."

My pen slipped, drawing a jagged line across the page.

"I'm just doing my research. You did yours." He tapped my chair again. "So, Miss Vance. What else did you notice?"

I turned around, glaring at him. "If I say you have a nice ego, will you leave me alone?"

"No." He smiled. "I want the full review."

"You're a narcissist."

"I'm an athlete. We thrive on feedback."

Maya scribbled a note and slid it onto my desk: *HE IS FLIRTING WITH YOU.*

I crumpled the paper and shoved it into my pocket.

"Pass it to me," Lucas whispered. "I want to read it."

"It's private."

"I'm good at keeping secrets. Like how you stared at me for a solid minute before apologizing."

"I forgot it."

"You appreciated the view."

"I was terrified."

"You were taking notes for your friend here." He nodded toward Maya, who gave him a small, terrified wave.

"I'm Maya," she squeaked.

"Nice to meet you, Maya," Lucas said, his eyes never leaving my face. "Your friend has a great memory."

I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me. "Professor Davies is looking this way. Be quiet."

"Make me."

There it was again. The same challenge from the locker room.

I leaned back, closing the distance between us. "If you don't shut up, I will stand up right now and tell the entire lecture hall exactly how small you actually are."

The three teammates behind him went dead silent.

Lucas's smirk vanished. His jaw tightened. The playful energy shifted into a heavy, dangerous tension.

"You wouldn't," he challenged, his voice dropping an octave.

"Try me."

We stared at each other. The noise of the lecture hall faded into white noise. His gray-blue eyes searched mine, looking for a bluff. I held his gaze, refusing to blink.

Finally, he let out a low chuckle. "You play dirty, Miss Vance."

The name landed wrong. Too precise. Too deliberate.

My pulse stuttered. Last night he had called me cleaning girl. This morning he had already switched to Miss Vance. I had never told him my last name. Not once.

I twisted further in my seat, eyes narrowing. "How do you know my—"

The words died in my throat.

His gaze wasn’t on my face anymore.

It had dropped.

Lower.

Right to the plastic name badge clipped to the front of my taupe hoodie, the one the gym issued to every night cleaner. Elena Vance. Printed in clean black letters across the cheap white plastic, sitting directly over the soft curve of my chest.

Heat exploded across my skin.

I snatched both hands up and pressed them flat over the badge, fingers splayed, trying to hide the entire thing—and, by accident, most of my chest with it.

Lucas’s smirk deepened instantly. The amusement in his gray-blue eyes sharpened into pure, lazy satisfaction.

"Cute," he murmured, voice low enough that only I could hear. "Didn’t know the name was that sensitive."

"I wasn’t— It’s not—" I stammered, still clutching the fabric like it might save me.

He leaned in another inch, the scent of cedar and mint curling around me again. "Relax, Elena. I was just reading. Though I have to say… the view’s better when you try to cover it."

My ears burned. I dropped my hands as if the badge had scalded me, then immediately regretted it when his eyes flicked down once more, slow and deliberate.

"Eyes up here," I hissed.

"They were," he said, completely unrepentant. "Then you moved them for me."

I spun back around so fast my chair squeaked. My heart was slamming against my ribs hard enough that I was sure he could hear it. Behind me, I felt rather than saw the way his smile widened.

The professor’s voice droned on about existentialism, but all I could focus on was the heat still lingering where his gaze had rested—and the quiet, satisfied hum he gave under his breath, like he had just won something he hadn’t even been playing for.

I faced front again. My heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs.

For ninety grueling minutes, I sat completely rigid. A heavy, burning stare drilled into the back of my neck, hot enough to brand my skin.

Professor Davies paced across the lecture hall stage, his voice droning on about nineteenth-century prose. I didn't hear a single word. My pen hovered over my blank notebook, my knuckles white from gripping the plastic barrel too hard.

Every time I tried to focus on the lecture slides, a large figure bumped in my mind.

I squeezed my eyes shut, forcing myself to stare straight ahead.

Lucas Hayes sat directly behind me, his massive frame taking up entirely too much space in the cramped row. I could hear the faint squeak of his chair as he leaned back, completely relaxed, watching me panic.

My skin prickled. The heat radiating from him felt like a physical weight pressing against my spine.

The final bell finally blared through the overhead speakers, cutting off the professor mid-sentence.

I didn't wait for the dismissal. I snatched my canvas tote off the floor and shoved my notebook inside, zipping it with frantic speed. I spun toward the aisle, ready to sprint out the double doors and disappear into the crowded campus square.

Lucas closed the distance in two massive strides.

He planted his large frame directly in my path, caging me between the edge of the wooden desk and the cinderblock wall. The sharp scent of cedar mixed with warm sunlight radiated off his skin. It was aggressive. Imposing. It filled my nose and scrambled my thoughts, dragging me right back to the steam-filled showers from the night before.

I gripped the strap of my bag like a shield. "Move."

He didn't speak. He didn't even flinch. He simply flicked his chin toward the aisle.

His three massive teammates took the hint immediately. They grabbed their duffel bags, clamped their hands over their mouths to hide their grins, and vanished out the door.

Maya stood frozen in the next row, clutching her textbook to her chest.

Lucas shifted his gaze to her. He raised a single, dark eyebrow.

Maya gave me a deeply apologetic wince. "Sorry, El," she squeaked, scurrying after the basketball players and abandoning me completely to the wolves.

The lecture hall emptied in record time. The heavy wooden doors clicked shut, leaving just the two of us in the echoing silence.

"Step aside, Hayes," I demanded, forcing my voice to stay level.

I kept my chin tucked, refusing to meet his eyes. Instead, my gaze landed squarely on his chest. The thin cotton of his gray athletic shirt stretched taut over thick, solid muscle. Every breath he took drew the fabric tighter across his broad torso. My heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs, loud enough that I feared he could hear it.

Lucas braced his hand on the back of my chair. He leaned down, trapping me further in his shadow. The heat of his mouth brushed the edge of my earlobe.

"Leave?" His voice rumbled low, vibrating through the quiet room and sending a shiver straight down my spine. "And let you keep broadcasting my body measurements to the whole campus?"

I squeezed the strap of my tote harder, my palms sweating. "I wasn't broadcasting anything."

"But you see how sexy I am now, Elena." He tilted his head, his lips hovering inches from my skin. "How are you going to compensate me for my ruined purity?"

I snapped my head up to glare at him. Big mistake. His face was entirely too close. I could see the faint gold flecks in his gray-blue eyes, the sharp angle of his jawline, the slight curve of his arrogant smirk.

"That was an accident!" I shot back, my cheeks burning. "You sneaked up on me. What exactly do you want?"

He reached into the back pocket of his jeans. Long fingers unfolded a crinkled stack of stapled pages.

He held it up right in front of my face.

My eyes widened. It was my midterm essay for Literature History. A bright red A-plus sat circled at the top of the first page, right next to my name. I had turned that in three days ago.

"Where did you get that?" I reached for the paper, my nails scraping against his knuckles.

Lucas lifted it higher, easily keeping it out of my reach. "Simple."

"Give it back."

"Come and get it." He held it just out of reach.

"You are acting like a child."

"I'm a guy who needs a tutor." He tapped the red ink on the page with his free hand. "The NCAA has a strict minimum GPA requirement for its athletes. And my Literature History grade is currently failing."

"That sounds like a personal problem. You should try studying."

"I am trying." The smirk played on his mouth again, infuriating and confident. "Which is why I want you as my private tutor. One-on-one."

"Impossible." I crossed my arms, putting a tiny, useless barrier between us.

"Nothing is impossible."

"This is." I glared at the paper in his hand. "I already told you, I don't have the time to fix your academic disasters."

"Make time."

"I work two part-time jobs just to afford groceries and rent." I stepped to the side, trying to find an angle to escape.

He shifted his weight, his broad shoulder blocking my path once again.

"I have to keep a perfect GPA to maintain my full-ride scholarship," I continued, my voice rising in frustration. "I can't waste hours explaining basic concepts to someone who doesn't even bring a pen to class."

"I'll pay you double what you make."

I blinked. Double? That would cover my textbooks and my rent for the semester. I could quit the other job entirely.

"Why me?" I asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

"Because you aren't afraid of me." He tilted his head. "And because you already know what I look like naked. Saves time on icebreakers."

My face caught fire again. "You are unbelievable."

"Do we have a deal, Vance?"

"I need to think about it."

"Don't think too long." He reached out, his fingers brushing the fabric of my taupe hoodie. "I'll see you tonight."

"But, I have more important things to do."

The playful amusement vanished from his expression in an instant.

The gray-blue of his eyes turned stormy. The shift was sudden and jarring. The relaxed, teasing athlete disappeared, replaced by something entirely different. The temperature in the room seemed to drop.

He closed the remaining half-inch between us. His towering height cast a long, dark shadow over my face.

"What important things?" His voice dropped, losing all its warmth. The smooth tone turned to gravel. "More important than me?"

The sheer force of his presence pressed down on my chest. I couldn't pull in a full breath. The cedar scent wrapped around me, dizzying and intense, trapping me in place. His gaze searched my face, demanding an answer I refused to give.

"Answer me," he demanded, his jaw tight.

"I don't owe you an itinerary of my life."

"You see me naked in the shower."

"I apologized for that."

"An apology doesn't fix anything." He leaned closer, his chest brushing against my crossed arms. "You are going to tutor me."

"Watch me refuse."

"I don't take no for an answer."

"Then you are going to learn a very hard lesson today."

Silence stretched between us, thick and heavy. We stared each other down, locked in a silent battle of wills. He expected me to cave. He expected me to look away, to agree, to act like every other girl on this campus who worshipped the ground he walked on.

I watched his chest rise as he finally pulled in a deep, frustrated breath.

That was my chance.

The moment his torso expanded, giving me a tiny window of space, I dropped my right shoulder. I ducked hard under his thick arm, my hair brushing against his side, and bolted.

"Elena!" he barked, his voice echoing off the cinderblock walls.

My sneakers squeaked wildly against the linoleum floor as I scrambled toward the exit. I hit the heavy double doors with both hands, shoving them open and bursting into the crowded hallway.

I sprinted down the corridor, weaving through groups of students, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm in my ears.

I didn't look back. I didn't stop until I burst through the main exit and hit the cold autumn air of the courtyard.

I collapsed against a brick pillar, gasping for air. My hands shook as I pressed them against my hot cheeks. I had actually run away. I had left the star of the basketball team standing alone in an empty lecture hall.

But as my breathing slowed, a terrifying realization slammed into me, turning my blood to ice.

I had escaped the room.

But I still had to clean the room at midnight.