"Mind if we join you?" Julian asked, his warm smile directed at Slade.

Slade's jaw instantly clenched. He let out a heavy sigh and slid over, making room on his side of the booth.

Julian sat down directly across from Vesper.

Vesper's lungs seized. Her heart started beating so fast it physically hurt her chest. She panicked, slamming her sketchbook shut and shoving it awkwardly under her arm so Julian wouldn't see it.

Julian noticed the sudden movement. His smile softened. "Sorry, did we interrupt a study session?"

"N-no," Vesper stuttered, her voice barely a whisper. "Just... talking."

She stared down at the table, her face burning. She could feel Julian's eyes on her, and it made her skin prickle with nervous sweat.

Slade sat perfectly still. His dark eyes flicked from Vesper's flushed cheeks to Julian's polite smile.

One of the teammates sitting next to Julian took a massive bite of a burger and grinned, leaning across the table. "Forrester, didn't peg you for a fan of the fine arts. What's the project? You finally expanding those horizons?"

Slade's head snapped toward the teammate. "Mind your own business, Miller," he muttered, his voice tight and carrying a warning edge that instantly killed the teammate's smile.

The table went dead silent. Miller swallowed hard and looked away.

Julian cleared his throat, trying to ease the tension. He looked at Vesper. "I know you, don't I? Freshman year. Outside the library in the rain. I gave you my umbrella."

Vesper's head snapped up. Her eyes went wide with pure, unfiltered joy. "You remember?"

In her excitement, her elbow jerked outward. It slammed into her full glass of ice water.

The glass tipped over. Freezing water flooded across the table, soaking into the napkins and dripping onto Vesper's lap.

"Oh my god!" Vesper gasped, jumping up from the booth. She grabbed a handful of dry napkins and started frantically wiping the table, her hands shaking violently.

"Hey, it's okay. Let me help," Julian said. He reached across the table with his own napkins.

His fingers accidentally brushed against the back of Vesper's hand.

Vesper gasped like she had been burned. She yanked her hand back, clutching it to her chest. Her face turned a violent shade of crimson, the blush spreading all the way down her neck.

Slade watched the entire exchange.

A sudden, violent surge of heat erupted in his chest. It wasn't annoyance. It was pure, blinding jealousy. He hated the way she looked at Julian. He hated the way she trembled when Julian touched her.

Without thinking, Slade reached across the table and violently yanked the sketchbook out from under Vesper's arm.

"Hey!" Vesper cried out.

Slade held the book up high, out of her reach. He plastered a cruel, mocking smirk on his face. "Since we're just 'talking,' Vesper, why don't you show Julian what you've been drawing? I'm sure he'd love to see it."

Vesper's face drained of all color. She looked at Slade, her eyes wide and filled with absolute terror and pleading. If Julian saw the confession gift she was making for Slade, he would ask questions. Her secret deal, her humiliation, everything would be exposed.

Slade looked into her terrified eyes. The anger in his chest suddenly vanished, replaced by a sharp, painful twist of guilt.

He lowered his arm. He tossed the sketchbook back onto the table in front of her.

"You know what?" Slade said, his voice tight. He stood up abruptly, grabbing his jacket. "I lost my appetite."

He didn't wait for a response. He turned and stormed out of the dining hall, his heavy boots hitting the floor with aggressive force.

Julian watched him go, shaking his head. "Don't mind him, Vesper. He's always been moody."

Vesper clutched her sketchbook to her chest. She couldn't look at Julian anymore. The guilt of what had just happened made her stomach churn.

She mumbled an apology, grabbed her bag, and practically ran out the opposite door.

The freezing night air hit Vesper's face like a physical blow. She wrapped her arms around herself, desperate to get back to the safety of her dorm room.

"Vesper."

The low, raspy voice came from the shadows.

Vesper froze. She turned her head. Slade was leaning against the brick wall of the dining hall, half-hidden in the dark. The glowing cherry of a cigarette illuminated his sharp jawline as he exhaled a thick cloud of white smoke.

Vesper wanted to run, but her legs refused to move. She slowly walked toward him, stopping a few feet away.

Slade dropped the cigarette onto the concrete and crushed it beneath the heel of his boot. He looked up, his eyes locking onto hers.

"You like Julian," Slade said. It wasn't a question. It was a brutal statement of fact. "You look at him like a dying idiot looking at a cure."

The words hit Vesper like a physical punch to the gut. Her breath hitched. "I-I don't know what you're talking about."

"Stop lying," Slade snapped, taking a step toward her. "The stuttering. The spilled water. The way you practically had a seizure when his finger touched yours. It's pathetic."

Vesper's defensive walls completely shattered. Her shoulders slumped, and she squeezed her eyes shut. The humiliation was absolute.

"Please," Vesper whispered, her voice cracking. She opened her eyes, looking at him with raw desperation. "Please don't tell him. Don't tell anyone."

Slade frowned, the harshness leaving his face. "Why? If you like him so much, why act like a terrified mouse?"

Vesper let out a bitter, self-deprecating laugh. She gestured to her paint-stained flannel and her dusty boots. "Look at me, Slade. Look at him. He's the Student Body President. He wears cashmere. I smell like sawdust and cheap acrylics. We aren't in the same universe. If he knew, I'd just be a joke to him and his friends."

Slade stared at her. Hearing her tear herself down sent a hot spike of anger straight into his brain.

He closed the distance between them in one stride. He didn't touch her, but he took a step closer, blocking her path entirely. He loomed over her, his presence suffocating and absolute, his voice dropping to a low, intense murmur that demanded her full attention.

Vesper gasped, her eyes flying wide open as she looked up at him, her heart hammering wildly against her ribs at the sudden proximity.

"You are not a joke," Slade said, his voice a fierce, low growl. His dark eyes locked onto hers, refusing to let her look away. "You're ten times smarter than anyone at that table. You don't bow your head to anyone, you understand me?"

Vesper stopped breathing. The sheer intensity radiating from him was palpable, a heavy weight pressing down on her shoulders even without physical contact. The raw sincerity in his dark eyes was overwhelming, stripping away the biting autumn chill.

Slade suddenly realized what he was doing. He realized how close he was, how he had unconsciously leaned in so far that he could smell the faint scent of sawdust and vanilla clinging to her hair.

He jerked back as if he had been electrocuted. He took a massive step back, shoving his hands deep into his jacket pockets to hide the sudden, inexplicable urge to actually reach out and touch her.

He cleared his throat, instantly throwing up his walls of arrogance.

"I have a proposition," Slade said, his voice flat and controlled.

Vesper hugged herself, still feeling the ghost of his touch. "What kind of proposition?"

"I keep your secret," Slade said. "And I'll even help you. I live with the guy. I know his schedule. I can set you up."

Vesper's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "In exchange for what?"

"You finish the woodcarving," Slade said. "And you help me get the girl I'm making it for."

Vesper scoffed, the absurdity of the situation hitting her. "You need my help? You literally have girls screaming your name in the gym."

"This one is different," Slade muttered, looking away. "She hates my guts. She thinks I'm an arrogant prick. I need someone on the inside to tell me what she actually likes."

Vesper weighed her options. The thought of her secret being exposed made her physically sick. But the thought of having Slade-Julian's roommate-as a wingman? It was the opportunity of a lifetime.

She took a deep breath, the cold air burning her lungs.

She nodded once. "Fine. We have a deal."

The walk back to the dorms was quiet. Dead leaves crunched beneath their boots.

Vesper shoved her freezing hands deep into her coat pockets. The adrenaline was wearing off, leaving her with a million questions.

"So," Vesper said, breaking the silence. "Who is she? Who is this girl that actually has the brains to hate you?"

Slade kicked a loose rock across the pavement. His jaw clenched. He looked uncomfortable, which was a rare sight.

"She's a cheerleader," Slade muttered. "Blonde. Loud. A total wildcat with a mouth full of thorns."

Vesper's brain stalled. She mentally scanned the cheerleading squad. There was only one blonde who fit that description perfectly. A cold dread began to pool in her stomach.

Slade stopped walking. He turned to face her and sighed. "It's Rowan Darcy."

Vesper stopped dead in her tracks. Her jaw literally dropped. She stared at Slade, waiting for the punchline. When he didn't laugh, she felt a wave of absolute absurdity wash over her.

"Rowan?" Vesper choked out. "Rowan Darcy is my roommate. Her bed is three feet away from mine."

A heavy silence stretched between them as Vesper's brain short-circuited. Of all the people on this massive campus, it had to be her. The universe really did have a twisted, sadistic sense of humor. The sheer statistical improbability of it made her want to laugh hysterically.

Slade smirked, the arrogant glint returning to his eyes. "I know. That's exactly why I need you. You're my inside man."

Vesper's head spun. She thought back to an hour ago-Rowan sitting on her bed, smiling idiotically at her phone, then panicking and hiding it when Vesper walked in. Was she texting Slade?

"Slade, you're delusional," Vesper said, shaking her head. "Rowan talks about you all the time, and it's never good. She called you a 'narcissistic meathead' just yesterday."

Slade actually laughed at that. "Hate is just passion pointing in the wrong direction, art girl. If she's talking about me, she's thinking about me."

Vesper groaned, rubbing her temples. She was dealing with a psychopath.

Slade pulled out his phone. "I'm sending you Julian's private number. Not the one he gives out to the student council. His actual number."

Vesper's phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out and stared at the contact card on the screen. Julian Hayes. Her heart did a traitorous little flutter.

"In exchange," Slade said, pointing a finger at her, "I want daily reports. What she eats, what movies she watches, what she complains about. Everything."

Vesper looked at Julian's number. It felt like she was signing a pact with the devil. But she hit 'Save Contact' anyway.

They reached the front steps of the girls' dormitory.

Slade stopped at the bottom of the stairs, crossing his arms over his broad chest. "Text him tonight. Just say hi. Don't overthink it."

Vesper swallowed hard and nodded. She turned and walked up the steps, pulling open the heavy glass door. The blast of central heating hit her freezing face.

She rode the elevator up to her floor in a daze. She felt like she was carrying a bomb in her pocket.

She unlocked her door and pushed it open.

Rowan was sitting at her desk, typing furiously on her laptop. The moment the door clicked, Rowan slammed the laptop shut with a loud bang.

Rowan spun around in her chair, her face flushed. "Hey! You're back late."

Vesper stared at her roommate. The guilt crashed into her. She was supposed to spy on her friend for a guy she hated, all so she could get close to a guy she thought was out of her league.

"Yeah," Vesper lied smoothly, walking to her bed and dropping her bag. "Just got caught up in the studio."

She lay down on her mattress, staring at the ceiling. Her phone felt like a brick in her pocket.