*Click.*

The sharp, heavy sound of the door lock snapping into place echoed through the quiet space, cutting off the distant, muffled bass of the party downstairs. My head snapped up instantly at the sound.

My chest tightened in a sudden, suffocating grip—not just because Mikel had pushed the door open and shut it behind us, but because of exactly where he had taken me. When I whispered for him to take me somewhere to change, I expected a guest bathroom, a communal locker room, or maybe a disorganized laundry area. Instead, we were standing in a massive, lavishly decorated bedroom suite.

And right in the center of the room sat a massive king-sized bed, complete with silk sheets and an elaborate arrangement of dark red rose petals meticulously shaped into a giant heart.

"Mikel, what is this?" I breathed, my voice trembling as my eyes darted around the room.

He didn’t answer right away. He slowly walked over to the bed and carefully placed me down on the edge of the mattress. The velvet-like petals crinkled beneath my weight, and my mind immediately went completely bonkers.

Why is there a heart on the bed?

Is this his room?

Did he set this up beforehand?

Panic, mixed with a sudden, dizzying rush of adrenaline, surged through my veins. Was he trying to have sex with me? I mean, I couldn't deny the obvious: he was breathtakingly handsome, all sharp jawlines, messy blonde hair, and broad shoulders that practically radiated heat. A part of my treacherous brain even whispered that the friction and warmth of his body could definitely help soothe the deep, shivering cold rattling my bones. But I wasn’t ready for that. We had rules. We had a strictly professional arrangement.

I swallowed hard, my throat completely dry as I watched him step closer, towering over me.

Mikel leaned down, his green eyes burning into mine with an intensity that made it hard to breathe. Then, his large, warm hand slipped behind me, gliding slowly and deliberately up my bare back where the sheer kimono had parted.

My breathing became incredibly labored. The heat of his palm sent a violent shiver straight up my spine, completely unrelated to the cold water. My gaze instinctively shifted downward, locking onto his lips. They were parted slightly, just inches away from mine. For a fraction of a second, the temptation to just lean in and let the current pull me under was overwhelming.

No. No, I couldn’t do this! I couldn't let myself become another conquest, another temporary fix in his playboy lifestyle, no matter how much my heart was hammering against my ribs.

Suddenly, a jolt of panic gave me a burst of strength. I planted both of my palms firmly against his solid chest and pushed him off with everything I had, scrambling backward and getting frantically onto my feet.

"What is wrong with you?!" I yelled, my voice cracking with emotion as I pointed a shaking finger at him. "Stay away from me!"

Mikel stumbled backward a few steps from the unexpected force of my shove, but managed to get a firm grip on his balance before he actually fell, straightening his spine to his full, imposing height.

His brows furrowed in deep, utter confusion as he looked at me, his hands hanging loosely at his sides. "Why did you push me off?" he asked, his voice low and genuinely baffled.

"I-I don't know what you're thinking," I stuttered, my hands gripping the edges of the oversized towel to cover as much of my hot pink swimsuit as humanly possible. "But I am not one of those girls you can have so easily! I won't let you use me or take advantage of me just because I'm wet and freezing. I won't let you!"

The confusion in his brow crept even lower, his eyes scanning my defensive posture and my flushed, panicked face. For a long, agonizing second, the room was completely silent.

Then, his chest began to heave and without another word, he burst out laughing.

It wasn't a mocking laugh, but a rich, deep, genuine chuckle that vibrated right through the quiet suite. He shook his head, running a hand through his damp hair. "You really have such interesting thoughts, Ghost Writer," he said, the corner of his mouth twitching upward.

"What is so funny?" I snapped, crossing my arms defensively.

"Brianna, I only brought you in here because this is the team captain’s private suite, and it's the only room with a lock where people wouldn't barge in on you," he explained, his laughter finally dying down into a low rumble. "And as for my hand on your back... I was only trying to help you dust away the loose rose flowers that got stuck to your skin when I carried you in. You had petals glued to your back when I placed you on the bed."

My jaw dropped. The heat in my face instantly amplified, turning from a blush of anger into a scorching wave of absolute mortification. I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me whole. He hadn't been trying to make a move; he was literally just cleaning debris off me.

Before I could even attempt to stammer out an apology, the laughter completely vanished from Mikel's face. A slow, dangerous, and incredibly wicked smirk appeared on his lips.

His green eyes darkened as they slowly scanned my body, tracing the lines of the damp towel, the peek of vibrant pink fabric, and my long, bare legs.

The air in the room suddenly turned thick, heavy with a completely different kind of tension. He walked deliberately back toward the bed, stopping right where I had been sitting.

Slowly, sinfully, he placed one knee on the mattress, leaning his weight forward so he was closer to my level.

"But..." he muttered, his voice dropping into a deep, incredibly sexy register that sent a thrill straight to my core. "If you want something else, Brianna... I'm always down. I wouldn't want to keep my fake girlfriend from getting satisfied. If you're craving some warmth, all you have to do is ask."

The sheer boldness of his words made me swallow hard. For a wild, reckless second, my overactive writer's imagination took the bait visualizing his large hands gripping my waist, pulling me against his burning skin, his lips completely devouring mine without any rules or boundaries to hold us back.

The mental image was so vivid, so spicy, that it made my heart do a dangerous flip.

I violently shook my head, snapping myself back to reality before he could read the desire clear across my face.

"In your dreams!" I yelled, though my voice lacked any real bite. "You wish, Mikel!"

Without waiting for his response, I whirled around, pushed him away from my path, and ran toward the nearest door in the suite. I grabbed the handle and shoved it open, praying to whatever deity was listening that it wasn't a closet. Thankfully, a beautifully lit, modern bathroom greeted me.

As I rushed inside, I could hear Mikel’s deep, triumphant laughter echoing behind me before the door clicked shut.

I ran straight to the marble sink, gripped the edges, and stared at myself in the mirror. My cheeks were flushed a violent, dark red, and my eyes looked wide and wild.

What on earth was wrong with me?

Why did he have this much power to rattle me?

My heart was beating so incredibly fast against my ribs that I could feel the pulse in my throat, and no matter how many deep breaths I took, I couldn't control it.

Turning on the cold tap, I cupped the refreshing water in my hands and splashed it directly onto my face, trying to wash away the memory of his smirk and the intoxicating weight of his presence.

I rested my forehead against the cool mirror, shivering out a long, ragged breath. He was dangerous. Writing about fictional male leads was one thing, but dealing with a real-life, living breathing alpha hockey captain who knew exactly how to push my buttons was a completely different story.

“Knock. Knock,” The sharp rap on the wooden door made me jump.

"Get lost, Mikel!" I yelled at the door, my voice muffled by the towel I was using to dry my face.

"I would," Mikel's smooth, amused voice drifted through the wood panels. "But I'm currently holding a pair of fresh, dry clothes for you. Of course, if you don't want them, I don't mind. But I'm pretty sure you're not ready to wear those soaking wet clothes again. And unless you're planning on showing me your nakedness when you walk out... which, by the way, I wouldn't be complaining about at all..."

"Shut up!" I shouted, cutting him off before he could get any more descriptive.

How shameless could one person possibly be? He was entirely impossible. Yet, despite my internal scolding, my cheeks were already betraying me again, burning hotter than before.

Realizing I couldn't stay locked in the bathroom forever in a damp swimsuit, I walked over to the door. I unlocked it, snapped it open just a few inches, and thrust my hand through the gap. Mikel was standing right there, holding a neatly folded, thick grey hoodie and a pair of matching sweatpants.

Before he could say another word or flash that maddening smirk, I forcefully dragged the clothes right out of his hands and snapped the heavy door shut directly in his face, locking it with a loud, definitive thud.

"You're welcome, sweetheart!" his muffled voice called out from the bedroom, dripping with satisfaction.

After soaking in the warmth of a quick, steaming bath to rid my skin of the pool's lingering chill, I had finally pulled Mikel’s oversized grey hoodie and sweatpants over my skin. The thick fabric engulfed me completely, swallowing my small frame, but the instant warmth it provided was a welcome relief to my aching muscles.

Taking a deep, stabilizing breath, I unlocked the door and stepped back out into the bedroom suite.

To my immediate surprise, Mikel wasn’t in the room anymore. Even more surprising was the state of the room itself; the entire space had been meticulously rearranged in the short time I was gone. The romantic, elaborate heart-shaped rose petal arrangement that had triggered my massive panic attack just minutes ago was completely gone. The silk sheets had been smoothed over, the loose flowers cleared away, and the room had been restored to a clean, deceptively normal state.

I walked over to the massive king-sized bed and sat down on the edge of the mattress, letting out a long, weary sigh. I mindlessly kicked my bare legs back and forth, listening to the muffled, heavy vibrations of the bass still pounding through the floorboards from the backyard below. The party was clearly still raging.

‘He probably went back down to join them,’ I thought, a sudden, unexpected pang of emptiness squeezing my chest. It made sense. He was the star hockey captain, the king of the campus, and the man of the hour after a spectacular 4-1 victory. He shouldn't have to wait around for me. After all, in the grand scheme of his high-status social life, I was completely irrelevant. I was just a temporary GPA fix, a ghostwriter hiding behind rules and a fake relationship.

I sighed again, running a hand through my damp hair. I didn’t want to go back outside. The mere thought of stepping back onto that patio made my stomach knot with anxiety. More than anything, I desperately didn’t want to face Kenneth. I couldn't bear the thought of dissecting why he had been standing there completely drenched, or worse, dealing with the cold, cutting disgust he so easily threw my way.

Desperate to escape my own suffocating thoughts, I dropped my back flat onto the plush bed, staring up at the ceiling.

*Click.*

The sharp sound of the door mechanism breaking the silence made me freeze. My gaze moved instantly toward the entrance.

When the door swung open and Mikel walked back into the room, an involuntary, completely unbidden smile bloomed across my face. The sudden wave of relief that washed over me was terrifying, but I couldn't stop it.

As Mikel walked toward the study table in the corner of the suite, I finally noticed the heavy black backpack he was clutching in his right hand. He hoisted it up, placing the backpack firmly on the table with a dull thud, before turning his head to look over his shoulder at me. His eyes locked onto mine, his expression unreadable but intense.

"Come over here, Brianna," he said, his deep voice cutting through the distant drone of the music.

I pushed myself up, sliding off the bed, and walked across the hardwood floor toward him. The oversized sweatpants bunched around my ankles, making me feel incredibly small under his towering gaze.

When I reached the table, Mikel reached out and smoothly pulled a heavy wooden chair back for me. I offered a quiet murmur of thanks and sat down.

Instead of moving away, Mikel dragged the opposite chair out and sat down directly across from me. He unzipped the heavy backpack, and with a slow, deliberate movement, he pulled out a thick British History textbook and a fresh notebook, placing them squarely on the table between us.

I stared at the pristine pages, a incredulous laugh bubbling in my throat. I almost rolled my eyes right then and there. Mikel was truly an enigma, a beautiful, confusing contradiction of a person. Who on earth brings academic textbooks to a wild, alcohol-fueled team victory house party just to study in a locked upstairs bedroom? Anyone who saw the ferocious, ruthless captain on the ice would never believe he was secretly a serious freak when it came to his eligibility.

Mikel adjusted his posture, leaning forward slightly as he appraised my expression. "Are you hungry?" he suddenly asked.

I instinctively shook my head, my lips forming a silent ‘no’ before I could even think about it. But almost instantly, as if on cue to betray me, my stomach let out a loud, aggressive, and incredibly hollow churn that echoed clearly in the quiet space of the room.

The corners of Mikel's mouth twitched, and that familiar, devastatingly wicked smirk carved its way onto his lips.

I felt a scorching wave of heat rush straight to my cheeks, flushing with absolute embarrassment. I pressed a hand against my traitorous stomach, glaring at the textbook to avoid his amused green eyes.

Without teasing me out loud, Mikel simply bent down, reaching back into the depths of the large backpack. When his hand reemerged, he pulled out an insulated leather bag. He unzipped it and carefully extracted two large containers of aromatic, high-end takeout. He placed one container directly in front of me, sliding a pair of chopsticks across the wood, before setting the second one down for himself.

"Thank you," I muttered under my breath, my voice quiet as the mouth-watering scent of savory chicken and fried rice hit my nose.

I picked up the utensils and began eating, trying to focus entirely on the food. But if only it were that simple. The space between us felt impossibly small, and I could feel his heavy, unwavering stare constantly burning into me. Mikel wasn't even hiding it; he ate with a slow, casual grace, his eyes locked onto my face, tracking every single movement I made. The sheer weight of his undivided attention made me incredibly uncomfortable, my heart fluttering erratically against my ribs.

Distracted by the intense heat of his gaze and trying to swallow too quickly to break the tension, the food caught in the back of my throat.

I violently choked, a harsh cough racking my chest as I struggled to catch my breath.

Mikel’s amused aura vanished in a fraction of a second. He instantly rushed to his feet, abandoning his food as his athletic reflexes kicked in. He bounded across the small space to the bedside table, grabbing the glass jug of water. He poured a full glass with practiced speed and rushed right back to my side.

"Drink. Slowly, Brianna," he commanded softly, hovering over me as he gently guided the rim of the glass to my lips.

I drank greedily, the cool liquid soothing the burning in my throat. Once I could finally breathe normally again, Mikel placed the remaining glass down on the edge of the table. His large, warm hand came to rest against my back, his palm rubbing slow, soothing circles over the fabric of his own hoodie, patting me gently to ensure I was truly alright.

I looked up, my eyes instantly colliding with his. The raw, unfiltered worry etched into his handsome features was so striking, so heartbreakingly genuine, that it made my heart clench in a dangerous rhythm.

I quickly looked away, tearing my gaze from his lips before my wild, romantic thoughts could feast on the dangerous illusion that he actually cared about me beyond our high-stakes deal.

"I'm fine," I said, my voice a breathy whisper as I gently pulled my body away from his touch, reestablishing the boundary between us.

Mikel gave a slow, understanding nod, though his hand lingered in the air for a second before he dropped it. He walked back to his side of the table and slid into his seat. We said absolutely nothing after that, a heavy but surprisingly peaceful silence settling over the room. For the rest of the meal, the suffocating pressure eased; I couldn't feel his intense stare on me anymore, as if he was intentionally giving me the space I needed to breathe.

Soon, we were both done eating. Mikel efficiently stacked the empty takeout containers, packing the plates off the table and sealing them back into the leather bag. To do my part, I reached over, tore a few clean sheets of paper from the back of the notebook, and used them to carefully wipe down the table surface, clearing away any stray crumbs.

With the table cleared, I pulled the thick British History textbook closer to my side, flipping open the pages to the designated chapter on wartime politics. I tapped the paper with my pen, adopting my most professional tutoring voice, and began teaching him the core concepts, breaking down the complex timelines into digestible pieces.

To my absolute amazement, Mikel was an incredible student. Despite what his failing grades suggested, he understood everything perfectly.

Whenever I paused to explain a difficult concept, his sharp mind picked it up instantly. To test him, I scribbled down three separate mock quizzes in the notebook, watching closely as his large hand moved steadily across the paper. He aced every single test I gave him, delivering flawless, highly intelligent answers without a moment of hesitation.

I stared at the perfect marks on the paper, my mind spinning. I finally cleared my throat, leaning back in my chair as I leveled a questioning look at him.

"If you're so inherently good at this, Mikel... why did you pretend to fail in the first place?" I asked, my voice laced with genuine suspicion. "You clearly don't need a tutor to pass this class."

Mikel leaned back, crossing his brawny arms over his chest. A slow, incredibly charming smile spread across his face, his green eyes flashing with a playful, dangerous light.

"I never pretend, Ghost Writer," he murmured, his voice dropping an octave as he tilted his head. "But if you think I'm doing too well... maybe it's just because I wanted an excuse to have you tutor me. Maybe I just wanted a reason to keep you close as my fake girlfriend."

My face erupted into a furious blush at his blatant confession. Without thinking, I grabbed the lightweight notebook from the table, reached across the space, and slapped his muscular hand with it.

"Stop flirting and focus!" I yelled, trying desperately to mask my racing heart with an angry scowl.

Mikel instantly threw his hands up, wincing in dramatic, entirely false pain as he rubbed his arm. "Ouch. You're vicious, Brianna," he teased, his deep chest rumbling.

Seeing his ridiculous, over-the-top reaction broke through my defenses. A genuine laugh escaped my lips, joining his rich chuckle. as the lingering tension from the pool completely melted away into the warm, locked room.

BRIANNA’S POV

“I’ve studied enough for the day,” Mikel said, abruptly slamming the heavy British History textbook shut with a definitive thud. He leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms over his head as his joints popped. “We should sleep already.”

I stared at him, my pen hovering mid-air. “You are just being lazy,” I countered, snapping my own notebook closed and leveling an annoyed glare at him. “You aced a few quick mock quizzes and suddenly you think you’re an Ivy League scholar? No way. Get back to work, or take me back to my hostel. I have things to do.”

Mikel didn't move. Instead, he just stared at me weirdly, a slow, lazy grin spreading across his face. He reached over, grabbed his phone off the table, and lit up the screen, flaunting the digital clock right in front of my face.

“I don’t drive at this time, Ghost Writer,” he murmured, his voice dropping into that low, gravelly register that always seemed to test my heart rate.

My eyes widened as the bright light of the screen hit my pupils.

*2:15 AM.*

“What the…” I breathed, my throat going dry. How had time moved that fast? We had been locked in this room for hours, completely consumed by timelines, dates, and takeout. Only now did I realize there was no more noises drifting from downstairs.

A sudden wave of cold panic washed over me, far worse than the pool water. Oh my god! I have a test tomorrow. For fuck's sake, I shouldn’t be out this late!

*Snap.*

Mikel snapped his fingers right in front of my face, breaking me out of my spiraling thoughts. “Snap out of your daze, princess,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “We should sleep already. Look, I know you can’t get enough of me, but you shouldn’t let your sleeping schedule suffer over my breathtaking looks.”

I rolled my eyes so hard it practically hurt, muttering a sharp, “You wish,” under my breath as I abruptly stood up from the chair.

But the moment my feet hit the floor, I stopped dead in my tracks.

My eyes drifted from Mikel’s smirking face to the massive king-sized bed dominating the center of the suite. The rose petals were gone, yes, but the hard reality remained.

I swallowed hard, the flush returning to my cheeks as I slowly turned my head back to him. “There’s… there’s only one bed,” I muttered, my voice barely audible.

Mikel tilted his head, his green eyes glinting with pure amusement as he rose from his chair, towering over me in the dim lighting.

“Yeah, I noticed that,” he said smoothly, stepping into my personal space. “We could just sleep on it. I aren’t that stingy not to share my bed—especially to a pretty one.”

My breath hitched.

I stood frozen, glaring up at him to push down the sudden, violent flutter in my chest. *A pretty one.* The words echoed in my head, loud and disruptive.

It was the first time a guy—let alone the school's most notorious, coveted hockey captain—had ever called me pretty to my face. My stepbrother Kenneth had spent years making me feel invisible or repulsive, yet here was Mikel, casually throwing out compliments that threatened to tear down my carefully constructed walls.

Seeing my defensive freeze, Mikel threw his hands in the air, letting out a dramatic sigh. “Fine, fine,” he said, backing off with an amused shake of his head. “I’ll sleep on the floor, and you sleep on the bed. Happy?”

“Mikel, no, you don't have to—” I started to protest, feeling a sudden pang of guilt. He was the athlete; he needed his rest for the next game.

But he didn't let me finish. He pointed a finger at the clock. “Time is ticking, Brianna. Just take the bed.”

Realizing I didn't have the energy to argue, I could only nod. I reluctantly walked over to the mattress, climbed onto the plush bed, and pulled the thick, crisp sheets all the way up to my chin. I kept my eyes locked on him as he grabbed a spare blanket and laid directly on the hard floor next to the bed.

The room fell into a heavy, suffocating silence and sleep was an impossible luxury.

For the next hour, all I could hear was the rustle of fabric and the heavy thuds of Mikel twisting and turning on the floor. The floor had to be freezing, and no matter how comfortable the king-sized mattress was, my mind wouldn't shut off. I kept visualizing him freezing to death down there, his massive athletic frame cramped onto the floor.

Finally, after a solid hour of him not being able to sleep, and me tossing and turning in an anxious sweat, I couldn't take it anymore.

I violently yanked the bedsheets off my body and sat up in the dark. I peered over the edge of the mattress, looking down at his shadowy silhouette.

“Mikel,” I whispered sharply.

He looked up instantly, his green eyes catching the faint moonlight filtering through the curtains, and sat up too.

I swallowed hard, staring into those green eyes that suddenly looked entirely too beautiful in the dark, stripping away my ability to think rationally. Before my brain could stop my mouth, I muttered, “Come sleep on the bed.”

Mikel raised a slow, mocking brow. That signature, wicked smirk returned to his lips even in the shadows. “Wow,” he purred, his voice a low, teasing vibration. “I think you’ve forgotten something, Ghost Writer. I’m not Kenneth. I’m Mikel. You really want me to come sleep next to you on the bed? You sure you can handle that?”

A surge of irritation replaced my sympathy. I reached down, grabbed one of the decorative pillows, and kicked him squarely in the stomach in pure annoyance. “Shut up!” I yelled, quickly rolling over to the far edge of the bed, turning my back to him and pulling the sheets over my body. “You are a fool. You can toss and turn and die of cold then! Yuck!”

I braced myself, expecting a witty comeback. But a second later, I felt the mattress shift. The left side of the bed crept lower under a sudden, heavy weight, and the distinct warmth of his body flooded the space behind me. He had climbed on.

I swallowed hard, squeezing my eyes shut as I tried desperately to keep my racing heart rate in check. He was too close. Even without looking, I could feel the heat radiating from him.

“I really do admire your confidence,” Mikel’s voice drifted over my shoulder, shockingly close, dripping with a mixture of amusement and something darker, more intense. “Letting a notorious playboy sleep right next to you in his private bed… aren’t you scared I might take advantage of you, Brianna?”

I gripped the sheets. I should have been terrified. By all accounts of school rumors, I was in the lion's den. But the ironic, terrifying truth was that… I didn't feel unsafe at all. Somehow, surrounded by his scent and his presence, a profound wave of security washed over me. I felt safer with him than I had in my own home for the past three years.

But there was no way in hell I was going to let him know that.

Determined to reclaim my dominance, I suddenly sat up, whirled around, and moved before my anxiety could stop me. In one swift motion, I crawled over to him, planting my hands firmly on opposite sides of his broad shoulders, effectively trapping him against the mattress. I leaned down, hovering mere inches above his face, staring straight into his startled green eyes.

I forced a sweet, dangerously sharp smile onto my lips. “You know, Mikel,” I whispered, my voice dripping with confidence I didn't actually possess. “You should be more scared of me taking advantage of you. You’ve read my notebook. You already saw how incredibly dirty-minded I am in my books. Who says you aren't my next inspiration?”

Mikel’s breath hitched, his entire body going rigid beneath me. For the first time since I met him, the playboy captain looked completely stunned, his mouth parting slightly as he stared up at me in absolute shock.

Satisfied with his speechless expression, I let out a triumphant chuckle. I reached down, snapped the plush pillow right from beneath his head, and slammed it vertically down the middle of the mattress. I grabbed the center decorative pillow too, lining it up to form a literal wall of fluff between us.

“If you know what’s good for you, little playboy,” I warned, tapping the pillow barrier aggressively, “do not cross this line.”

Gleeful satisfaction curled in my chest at the sight of his wide-eyed, stunned face. Without giving him a chance to recover his arrogance, I pulled back, threw myself onto my side of the barrier, and pulled the sheets over my head, falling into the first peaceful sleep I’d had in weeks.

****

The Next Morning

The heavy, suffocating sensation of eyes staring intently down on me woke me up.

My mind was foggy, drifting in that weird space between consciousness and dreams, and I couldn't help but wonder if the night before had just been a wild manifestation of my stories. I attempted to roll over to stretch, but my body wouldn't move.

Instead of shifting against the plush, forgiving softness of the mattress, my shoulder and face were firmly rooted to a hard, solid, rock-like surface.

My brows furrowed. I slowly opened my eyes, the morning sunlight filtering through the large suite windows, blinding me for a split second.

As my vision cleared, my heart violently stopped.

My small hand was plastered flat against a warm, broad chest, the fabric of the grey hoodie bunched between my fingers. Slowly, in absolute slow-motion terror, I raised my gaze upward. My eyes traced a sharp, chiseled jawline, soft blonde strands of messy bedhead, and a resting, handsome face.

Mikel.

My stomach dropped straight into my shoes.

He was still fast asleep, breathing deeply and evenly. He looked damn hot in his sleep, his usual arrogant smirk replaced by a soft, peaceful expression. But that wasn't the problem. The problem was that my wall of pillows was entirely gone, scattered carelessly at the foot of the bed. I was laying completely flushed against his chest, and his massive, muscular arm was wrapped tightly around my waist, anchoring me directly into his heat.

“Oh my god,” I gasped under my breath.

Panic exploding through my veins, I violently jerking away from his grip. I scrambled backward, practically tumbling off the side of the bed, and got frantically onto my feet. My hands were shaking as I scanned the bedside table, grabbing my phone and tapping the screen.

*7:15 AM.*

“Shit, shit, shit,” I muttered, pulling at my hair. I had a massive British History test at 8:30 AM. Worse? My university outfit, my bag, and my books were miles away back at my hostel.

“Wow… first time seeing a girl panic after waking up next to me,” a low, raspy, mocking voice suddenly drifted into my ear.

I whipped my head around. Mikel was awake, a lazy, amused grin spreading across his face. He was laying on his side, his upper body propped up casually by his muscular arm, his messy blonde hair falling over his eyes as he watched me spiral.

He tilted his chin, his voice dripping with morning sarcasm. “May I know what troubles thy girlfriend so early in the morning?”

I forced myself not to roll my eyes, clenching my fists in the oversized sleeves. “Can you drive me back to the hostel? Right now?”

Mikel yawned, stretching his massive frame like a bored cat. “Why the rush, princess? The sun barely came out.”

That did it. The stress of the pool, the sleepless night, and the impending academic doom made me completely snap.

“If you’ve got nothing to do in school, don’t assume everyone else doesn’t!” I yelled, my voice echoing off the walls as I pointed a shaking finger at him. “Do you even remember we’ve got a test today?! The exact test I spent hours forcing into your thick skull?! If I miss it because I'm trapped here, I swear to god, Mikel—”

“Wow, slow down, tiger,” Mikel mumbled, his eyes widening slightly as he raised his hands in a mock surrender. “It was just a morning joke. Relax.”

He slid out of bed smoothly, entirely unbothered by my screaming. He walked past me, his tall frame radiating heat. “There’s no time to drive back to the hostel, fight traffic, and get you changed before 8:30. You can just freshen up here and put on one of my hockey shirts. I think I’ve got a skirt in the wardrobe that’ll fit you.”

I crossed my arms, my jaw dropping. “Who wants to wear your shirt to an official lecture hall?” I rolled my eyes hard.

Mikel didn't even look back as he reached for the wardrobe handle. He mumbles, “You don’t seem to have a choice, princess.”

I gritted my teeth, absolute rage battling with the horrifying realization that he was right. I didn't have a choice.

He swung the wardrobe doors open. I peered over his shoulder, expecting a sea of clothes, but the closet was suspiciously empty. Only two oversized varsity hockey jerseys, a pair of heavy hockey trousers, and a tiny, black sporty short skirt were dangling from the metal rack. Mikel reached in, effortlessly pulling out the massive top and the sleek black skirt, before turning around and stretching them out toward me.

I stared at the black skirt. A sudden, uncomfortable twist flared in my chest before I could stop it.

“Whose skirt is it?” I found myself asking, the words slipping out of my mouth completely unauthorized.

Mikel’s eyes flashed with instant amusement, a slow, knowing smile creeping onto his face. He stepped closer, dangling the fabric between us.

“It’s brand new, Ghost Writer. I don’t keep flings' dresses in my private suite, if that’s what you’re worried about. It was a promo gift from the athletic department's female tennis line.”

He leaned down, his brow furrowing teasingly as his green eyes searched my face. “Are you jealous, Brianna?”

“You wish!” I snapped, my face burning as I snatched the clothes violently out of his hands.

Turning on my heel, I rushed straight back into the bathroom and slammed the door shut, locking him out before he could hear my heart pounding all over again.