“From a guy’s perspective? Yeah.” He pushes open the library doors, holding them for me. “He’s definitely seeing you differently now.”
I shouldn’t smile, but I do. This is what I wanted—Theo’s attention, finally. After months of existing inhis peripheral vision, suddenly I’m someone he notices. Someone who makes him react.
So why does the victory feel hollow?
The cold night air slides between us, smelling faintly of rain. The quad glows under the lamplight. I hitch my backpack higher on my shoulder.
“Hand it over,” he says, eyeing me.
“What?”
“Your backpack. Boyfriend duty.” That lazy grin. “We agreed.”
I roll my eyes. “I was teasing.”
“I can be very literal,” he says, and plucks it off my shoulder—so smooth I almost forget to protest. “Let a man feel useful.”
I shake my head, laughing.
“Middle-school romance at its finest,” he declares, slinging it over one arm.
Despite myself, I laugh again, and he looks at me like he just scored.
Every few steps, someone calls his name. He waves, easy and practiced, and every time, the glances flick toward me—curious, assessing, hungry for gossip—my chest tightens. This is what being seen feels like when you’re standing next to Kieran O’Connor: every eye, every whisper, every speculation landing on you like a spotlight you never asked for.
Then his hand brushes mine—once, twice, deliberate.
I glance up, but he’s already curling his fingers around mine, confident and unhurried, and the warmth of his palm sends a shock racing up my arm that settles low in my belly.
“You okay?” he asks lightly.
“I’m fine,” I lie, staring straightahead.
“Good,” he says. “Because you’re kind of killing it. If I didn’t know better, I’d say Theo’s in trouble.”
“You think so?”
“I know so.” His fingers tighten around mine. “You make a pretty convincing girlfriend, Rules.”
We walk the rest of the way like that—hands linked, attention following us across the quad. I tell myself it’s all part of the act. That the warmth spreading through my chest is relief that Theo might finally see me as more than the quiet girl who tutors math. That this doesn’t mean anything beyond the terms of our agreement.
At the steps of my dorm, yellow light spills across the stone. He stops, still holding my hand, thumb brushing slow circles over my knuckles that send heat climbing up my arm.
“You know,” he says, mouth curving, eyes glinting, “this is the part where I kiss you goodnight.”
I stare at him. “Short memory, O’Connor. We agreed—no kissing.”
“I remember.” His grin softens. “I won’t unless you tell me it’s alright. I’m just saying goodnight like a civilized fake boyfriend.” A beat. “But say my name first.”
“What?”
“Say it,” he murmurs, voice low and rough—maybe by the cold. “Feels good when you do.”
My heart stutters. I’m so confused. What is he doing? What does he mean? This is fake. This is acting. This is about Theo noticing me.
“Kieran.”
The sound of his name lands between us. His thumb pauses, his jaw tightening just enough to notice before he schools it away.
