I slouched back in my chair, drumming my fingers against the table, eyes flicking toward the clock.
She was late. Not by much, but enough to annoy me.
The library was mostly empty—just a few students buried in their textbooks, the occasional rustle of pages breaking the silence. It smelled like old paper and floor polish, the air thick with the weight of academic desperation.
I should’ve been focused on the project, but my mind was elsewhere.
On basketball. On Coach’s warning. On Dad.
Failure wasn’t an option. Not for me. Not if I wanted to keep my scholarship, my position, my only shot at making something of myself. If my grades slipped, I was done. And if that happened?
I exhaled slowly, rolling my wrist, checking my watch.
The same one Fatty Betty had nearly ruined. It was still working, thank God. If it had been broken? Dad wouldn’t have settled for just a few harsh words.
I knew that better than anyone.
Then, of course, there was the bet.
I needed to make her fall for me fast. Play the long game. Reel her in. Get her so in love with me that she’d do whatever I wanted.
Easy. At least, it should’ve been.
The chair across from me scraped against the floor. I glanced up. Betty.
She hesitated before sitting down, setting her bag beside her. She didn’t say anything, just pulled out her notebook, her posture tense.
I smirked. Still mad, huh?
“Relax, Fatty Betty,” I drawled. “I don’t bite.”
She scowled, not even looking at me. “Can we just get to work?”
But then something strange happened. My eyes started wandering, catching on details I had no business noticing. The way her brow furrowed in concentration. The soft curve of her neck as she bent over her notes. The fullness of her figure that wasn't entirely...
Her phone buzzed, snapping me back to reality.
Perfect distraction. Focus, idiot.
She paused, checking the screen.
I snatched it from her hands before she could react, catching a glimpse of a guy's name on the screen.
She gasped. “Hey—!”
A smirk curled on my lips.
"Aww, who’s this, Fatty Betty? Your nerdy boyfriend?" The words came out dripping with mock sweetness. "What, you need him to hold your hand through this project too?"
Her face fell. Bingo.
Satisfied, I tossed the phone back against her chest, “Didn’t take you for the type to have a love life, Fatty Betty.”
She said nothing, just snatched up her phone and stuffed it into her pocket
We fell back into our routine – her actually working, me pretending. But I felt her eyes on me occasionally, lingering on my watch. The reminder of that first meeting sparked something hot and angry in my chest.
“What are you looking at?” I asked, lacing my voice with annoyance.
“Nothing,” she muttered.
She looked away quickly, but not before I caught something in her expression that made my stomach twist. Not fear, not exactly. Something else.
The memory of our first meeting played through my mind like a broken record. I shouldn’t have been thinking about it. But for some reason, I was.
How she had tripped over nothing and crashed into me like a damn wrecking ball.
How pathetic she had seemed, stumbling over her words, scrambling to fix something that was already broken.
She had looked at me with genuine guilt, like she actually cared that she had ruined my clothes, my watch.
She should’ve been feeling sorry for herself, not for me.
The memory annoyed me. I shoved it aside.
She should have been apologizing – not just for the watch, but for existing in a way that made me notice her. Made me...
A sudden movement caught my eye. I turned just in time to see Betty reaching for a book on the top shelf, standing on a rickety-ass stool that looked like it was about to snap in half under her weight.
On a stool that looked about as stable as my grip on sanity. For a moment, I just watched, amused by the absurdity of it.
Amused, I leaned back, waiting for her to give up. But she didn’t. She stretched further.
For a moment, I thought she’d catch herself. Then the stool wobbled.
My body moved before my brain could process why. One second I was watching her fall, the next she was in my arms, solid and warm and real.
For a second, neither of us moved. And that’s when I noticed it.
The scent of peaches filled my lungs – her shampoo, maybe, or some kind of lotion. Her skin was soft under my hands, softer than I'd imagined. Not that I'd imagined.
Her eyes were wide, startled, a deep brown that reminded me of warm coffee on cold mornings. Her lips parted slightly, pink and full and...
Fuck.
"Get up before you crush me," I growled, shoving the thoughts away with the same brutality Dad had used to teach me about weakness.
When she scrambled up without a word of thanks, I smirked.
“Wow. No ‘thank you’? After I just saved your fat ass?”
She straightened her clothes, avoiding my gaze. “You didn’t have to.”
I rolled my eyes, pushing myself to my feet. “Next time, try not to be so damn helpless.”
She stiffened but didn’t say anything. Then I turned and walked away, forcing myself to forget whatever the hell had just happened.