Harper’s POV
Monica drops into the seat across from me at our usual corner table in the library. We met freshman year in a statistics class neither of us wanted to take and never looked back.
The second she saw my slump face and decided she’s adopting me, Mon is my only real friend I've made since then—pre-law, sharp tongue, and zero tolerance for bullshit.
"Men are the worst species on this planet," she announces, slamming her coffee down. "Confirmed. Scientific fucking fact."
"What happened?"
"This cute guy in my constitutional law seminar… Spent the entire lecture staring at me. Intense eye contact every time I looked up." She leans back, crossing her arms. "I thought okay, maybe he'll come talk to me after class. Then? Vanished."
I snort. "Maybe he's just shy. You’re quite a challenge."
"Shy people don't stare for ninety minutes straight. Whatever. His loss." She takes an aggressive sip of her coffee. "Enough about my disaster. What's new on your love front?"
My stomach tightens. "Well, not exactly love front, but… My ex transferred to my team."
Monica chokes on her coffee and leans to me across the table. "You mean The Ex? The all consuming first love ex? The hallway-humiliation ex? The out of sight out of mind ex? That one?"
"The very one, yeah," I breathe out.
"Holy shit… How are you handling it?"
"Professionally. He's just another player and there’s nothing between us." I shrug. "But Marcus isn't helping. Showed up at practice yesterday, saw me talking to Ethan and went full territorial mode. Kissed me right in front of the entire team!"
Monica's expression hardens. "That's not cute, Harper. That's controlling."
"I know, I already talked to him about it."
I meet her eyes, wanting her to understand I'm not blind.
"Told him he's been reacting too intensely, lately. A year ago, the constant attention felt sweet. Hell, even his jealousy for other guys was cute sometimes. But now it's fucking suffocating. We agreed he'll try to be calmer."
"And you believe him?"
"I believe he wants to try." I hold her gaze. "I'm not some naive idiot who can't see red flags, but… relationships take work, right? If he's willing to change, I should give him the chance."
"Fine." She holds up her hands. "I'm on your side, always. I just don't want you shrinking yourself for someone else's insecurity."
"I won't." I check my phone and stand. "Anyway, I have to go, Marcus is waiting for lunch."
"Text me later. Updates on the Ethan situation!"
"There is no Ethan situation," I hissed over my shoulder.
"Sure, babe." She smirks, her eyes doing that mischievous thing when she exited for some juicy drama. "Whatever helps you sleep."
I flip her off affectionately and head out.
The campus is busy with midday foot traffic when I cut through the science building and out toward the back courtyard—a shortcut to the café where Marcus always reserves our table.
"Harper! Hey, wait up!"
I turn and see Ethan jogging toward me. A folder in his hand, and that easy smile already spreading across his face. My chest does something stupid that I immediately shut down and ignore.
"I was looking for you," he says, falling into step beside me. "Where do I sign the transfer confirmation? The athletic office sent me in circles for an hour."
"Bottom of page three." I keep walking, not slowing down. "Blue ink only. Return it to Coach Davis's assistant by five."
"Got it." He flips open the folder, scanning the pages. "This bureaucracy is insane. At Arizona State, transfers took maybe two forms total."
"Welcome to the East Coast. We love paperwork."
He laughs, warm and genuine, and something in my chest loosens despite my best efforts. "You know what else we had at Arizona State? A point guard who couldn't hit a free throw to save his life. Coach used to make him run suicides every time he missed."
"How many suicides are we talking?"
"One game? Fourteen." He grins at my expression. "I'm serious! The guy was drenched by halftime. Coach finally benched him and put in a freshman who'd never played a college game in his life."
"And?"
"Kid went six for six from the line. Coach never let the starter live it down." He shakes his head, still smiling. "Basketball politics are brutal."
I'm laughing before I can stop myself, the sound escaping like a traitor before my defenses can catch it. I should shut this down, should remember who he is and what he did—but there's something disarming about the way he tells a story, the same easy charm that made me fall for him in the first place. Old habits, apparently, die harder than I thought.
"That's terrible…"
"That's sports." His eyes crinkle at the corners, and for a second, just a second, I forget that I'm supposed to hate him. "You should've seen the starter's face when—"
"Harper."
Marcus's voice cuts through the air like a blade and I freeze completely.
He's standing outside the café entrance, arms crossed, jaw already in that familiar tight state. His eyes move from me to Ethan, to the small distance between us, and a smile fading from my face.
"Hey." I keep my voice light, closing the gap between us. "I was just heading over. Ethan had a question about his transfer paperwork."
"Looked like more than paperwork to me." Marcus doesn't move to greet me, doesn't soften either. "You were laughing with him really sweet and nicely. From across the courtyard, I watched you."
"Marcus…"
"I thought we talked about this." His voice rises, sharp enough that students nearby glance over. "I thought you said you'd keep things professional."
"Hey, easy there, man." Ethan steps forward, his voice calm but firm. "She's just doing her job. I had questions about transfer documents, she answered them. That's it."
Marcus's eyes snap to him. "Nobody asked you, Reyes."
"You're making a scene over nothing." Ethan doesn't back down, positioning himself slightly between us. "Harper's been nothing but professional. If anyone's being inappropriate right now, it's not her."
The air crackles with tension as Marcus's hands dangerously curl into fists at his sides. For a second, I think he might actually swing, but then he exhales sharply, the fight draining out of him.
He looks away, jaw still tight, aggression fading into something closer to embarrassment.
"Fine." He mutters it more to himself than anyone else, before his eyes find mine. "Can we talk? Alone?"
Ethan glances at me, a silent question, and I nod slightly.
"I'll get those documents to Coach Davis," he says, holding up the folder. "See you at practice. Thanks again."
He walks away, and I'm left standing with Marcus in the middle of the courtyard. He runs a hand through his hair, not meeting my eyes.
"Look, I'm sorry, okay? I saw you two laughing and I just…" He stops himself. "I overreacted."
"You did." I keep my voice steady. "I'm the team manager. Whether you like it or not, I have responsibilities that include talking to players. All of them. If I push Ethan away because my boyfriend can't handle it, I'm the one who looks unprofessional. I'm the one who gets blamed if his transfer falls through."
"I know. You're right." He finally looks at me, something vulnerable cracking through. "I'm sorry, baby. You know how worried I get. But I'll work on it, I promise."
I want to believe him. I want this to be the last time we have this conversation.
"Okay," I say quietly.
He reaches for my hand, laces his fingers through mine. "Let me make it up to you. There's a party tomorrow night—Chris is hosting. We should go, have fun, and take your mind off all this team stuff."
A party. Crowds and noise and the chance to pretend everything is normal.
"Fine," I say. "But you're buying me dinner first."
He smiles—finally, genuinely, the familiar pretty dimple appears at his cheek—and pulls me toward the café entrance. But I think about Ethan stepping forward.
Defending me without hesitation. The calm certainty in his voice.
The things it does to me, terrifies me more than Marcus's jealousy ever could.