I blinked, sure I’d misheard her. My brow pulled tight before I could stop it. “What did you just say?”
She looked up for half a second, and it felt like taking a hit to the chest. Those copper-colored eyes caught the light, and for a moment I forgot what air was.
“Mr. Adler.” The professor’s voice cut through the moment, sharp enough to snap it clean.
I straightened immediately, muttering an apology while a few people snickered. My face felt hot, but not from embarrassment. More like frustration.
I tried to focus on the lecture, since I’m sure I’d just bombed the pop quiz…but it didn’t last long. My hand started moving on its own, tapping the pencil she’d given me against the desk. The rhythm filled the silence between us.
“Come on,” I murmured teasingly, leaning toward her. “You don’t look like a Sarah.”
Nothing. Not even a glance.
“You’re really not gonna tell me? Not even your first initial?” I asked, aiming for the easy grin that usually got me what I wanted, softening my tone like I was teasing, not pushing.
Still nothing, though I saw the twitch of her hand on the desk like she was holding herself still.
I let my voice get a little growly, hoping maybe she would think it was hot. “Guess I’ll just call you my hero for now.”
That got a tiny reaction—her fingers tightening around her notebook. I couldn’t explain it, but the need to see more, to get another response out of her, pressed deeper.
After a few minutes, I said it before I could think better of it. “Didn’t know my hero was gonna be the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”
She froze. Completely. Her shoulders went rigid, her face pale even under the blush. I’d expected her to smile or laugh or at least look at me—but she didn’t move. Not even to breathe.
Something about it twisted in my chest. I wasn’t sure if it was guilt or something else entirely.
By the time class ended, I felt strung out, like I’d spent the entire hour trapped in a room with the air slowly thinning. Every second beside her had been too much—the faint scrape of her pencil, the shift of her hair when she moved, the way she never once looked at me even though I could feel her every heartbeat in the air between us.
I’d been watched before. People stared at me all the time, girls, fans, classmates who thought getting close might get themsomewhere…but this wasn’t that. This wasn’t attention. This was distance thathurt. It crawled under my skin and made me itch for something I couldn’t define.
The professor’s voice faded in and out, a low buzz that couldn’t hold me for more than a second. I should’ve been relieved when it ended, but I wasn’t. I was restless. Wired. My knee bounced under the desk, my fingers tapping against the wood as she gathered her things, her hands shaking as she put her things away.
I wanted to say something,anything, to make her look at me again. To make her eyes meet mine so I could figure out what the hell was happening. Why she felt like gravity and benediction all at once. Why it felt like I was missing something that had been right in front of me the whole time.
I’d never felt it before. That pull. Not even close. It was ridiculous, really, how desperate it made me. One class, one conversation, and I was already searching for excuses to make her stay a few seconds longer.
When she stood, the spell of stillness shattered. My chair scraped back before my brain caught up, legs tangling with the desk. I nearly went down, catching myself on the edge just in time. She didn’t even glance back, just kept walking toward the door, clutching her notebook like it was armor.
I scrambled after her anyway, heart thudding way too hard for something this stupid, falling into step beside her like my body had decided for me.
Up close, she was even smaller than I’d realized, swallowed up by a faded sweatshirt that looked soft enough to sink into. Her hair was loose and wild, catching the light like it had a mind of its own. No makeup that I could see, just clear skin, flushed from the cold…and me, her lips pink and bare.
Any other girl would probably have looked plain. Average. Every girl who threw themselves at me usually came with the fullproduction—lashes, gloss, contour. But even those girls with all their practiced perfection couldn’t hold a candle to her. She was effortlessly beautiful in a way that made my chest tighten, like she didn’t have to try, like existing was enough to wreck me.
The thought came out of nowhere and hit hard…an image of just scooping her up, throwing her over my shoulder, and carrying her somewhere no one else could look at her. The possessive urge jolted me so hard I had to blink and take a literal step back, shaking my head like I could knock it loose.
“Hey,” I said finally, my voice quieter than I meant. “Thanks again. For the pencil.”
She froze again, her back going rigid. I saw her throat move as she swallowed, her fingers gripping her notebook like it was the only thing keeping her grounded.
“You already said that.”
“Doesn’t mean I don’t mean it.” I tried for easy charm, but something rougher slipped out beneath it. “It was the only thing keeping me from turning in a blank page. That deserves at least a name in return.”
Her lips parted, just barely. For a second, I thought she might actually answer, and my pulse kicked hard enough that I forgot to breathe.
“Matty!”
