ETHAN’S POV
I couldn't help the smile that spread across my face as I watched Tori Martinez's shoulders tense up.
"Tennis Harrington?" Tori asked, her voice tight.
"Is there a problem?" Professor Chen looked at her over the rim of her glasses.
"No problem," I said, deliberately keeping my voice casual. "We're actually already sports facility roommates. Isn't that right, Martinez?"
Tori turned around, and those dark eyes narrowed when they landed on me. Up close, I could see flecks of gold in her brown irises. She smelled like coconut shampoo and determination.
"Perfect," Professor Chen said, gathering her papers. "You two can figure out a schedule. The project outline is posted online. I need a proposal by Friday."
She walked out, leaving us alone in the classroom. I watched Tori's jaw clench as she turned back to her desk and started shoving books into her backpack with more force than necessary.
"So," I leaned against the desk next to hers, "economics partners. This should be interesting."
"Fascinating," she muttered without looking up.
I'd seen Tori around school for years, of course. But I'd never really noticed her until three days ago, when our teams got forced to share the gym. Something about the way she'd launched herself across the court, saving a ball that seemed impossible to reach, had caught my attention.
Most girls at our school tried so hard around me – laughing too loud at my jokes, twirling their hair, dropping hints about homecoming. Tori Martinez looked like she'd rather drop a dumbbell on my foot.
I found that refreshing.
"Do you have a topic preference?" I asked, trying to sound professional. "I was thinking something about sports economics might be fitting. Given our shared interests."
Tori zipped her bag shut. "I don't care what the topic is as long as we get an A."
"I've never gotten less than an A in econ," I said, then immediately regretted how boastful it sounded.
She finally looked at me, eyebrows raised. "Good for you."
"I mean," I backtracked, "we'll do fine. We're both smart."
"Look," she sighed, slinging her bag over her shoulder. "Let's just divide the work and get this over with. You do your part, I'll do mine, we'll stick it together and present it."
This wasn't going how I'd hoped. I'd asked Jake about her yesterday after practice.
"Tori Martinez?" he'd said. "Yeah, she's scary smart. Super intense about volleyball. Doesn't really hang out with anyone except her teammates. Why?"
I'd shrugged. "Just curious."
"Dude," Jake had grinned, "don't tell me you're into Volleyball Girls?"
"I'm not into anyone," I'd replied, maybe too quickly. "Just wondering who I'm sharing the gym space with."
Now, watching her try to escape our conversation as fast as possible, I felt a spark of challenge ignite. Ethan Harrington didn't back down from challenges.
"Actually," I said, stepping to block her path slightly, "I think we should work on this together. Professor Chen pairs people based on complementary skills. We might learn something from each other."
Tori checked her watch. "I have practice in twenty minutes."
"Perfect. So do I. Let's grab coffee first and hash out a plan." I gave her my most winning smile, the one that usually got me what I wanted.
She stared at me like I'd suggested we rob a bank. "Coffee."
"Yeah, you know, that brown liquid people drink when they need to stay awake? There's a café right on campus."
"I know what coffee is, Harrington," she snapped. "What I don't understand is why you think I want to drink it with you."
I tilted my head. "Because we're partners? Because it's a normal thing that partners do when they need to work together?"
"No."
"No?"
"No coffee. No hanging out. No pretending we're friends." She adjusted her bag strap. "Let's just divide the workload, and communicate when necessary."
Something about her immediate dismissal sparked a competitive fire in me. The same feeling I got on the court when an opponent underestimated me.
"Are you always this difficult, or am I special?"
Her eyes flashed. "Are you always this entitled, or am I special?"
I blinked, taken aback. Girls didn't usually talk to me like that. "Entitled?"
"Yes, entitled. You waltz in here, flash your perfect smile, and expect me to drop everything for impromptu coffee because the great Ethan Harrington suggested it."
"It's just coffee," I said, feeling oddly defensive.
"It's my time," she countered. "And I don't have any to waste."
She tried to step around me, but I moved with her, not quite blocking her but making it impossible to leave without acknowledging me.
"What's your deal with me, anyway?" I asked, genuinely curious now. "You've been giving me the cold shoulder since the gym situation. That wasn't my fault, you know."
"I don't have a 'deal' with you," she said, using air quotes. "I just don't see why I should pretend to like you to make this project more comfortable."
"Most people actually do like me," I pointed out.
She rolled her eyes. "Yes, I'm aware of your popularity status. Congratulations."
I found myself getting irritated now. "You don't know anything about me."
"I know enough," she said. "Golden boy tennis star with the perfect hair and perfect life who's never had to fight for anything. You probably coast through everything with natural talent and good looks."
Her words hit with unexpected precision. Like she'd somehow seen through the carefully constructed image I maintained, straight to my deepest insecurity.
"You have no idea what I fight for," I said, my voice lower now, the easy smile gone. "You think you've got me all figured out in your neat little box? At least I'm not so scared of being wrong about someone that I won't even have a simple conversation."
Her eyes widened slightly, and I knew I'd hit a nerve too.
"I'm not scared," she said, but there was a slight waver in her voice.
"Prove it. One coffee. Talk about the project. If you still think I'm the shallow jerk you've decided I am, fine. We'll do it your way."
She stared at me, and for a second, I thought she might actually agree.
Instead, she shook her head. "I have to get to practice."
She shouldered past me, feeling me alone in the empty classroom.