“Transferred in,” he said easily. “Fits better with football training.”
I finally glanced up and rolled my eyes. “Stalking me now, Drew? So hard you need to take a 200 level course with freshman?”
He leaned in a little, voice dropping. “I don’t need to stalk, baby. Women flock to me.”
Before I could fire back, I caught another wave of that scent and frowned.
“Why do you smell like baby powder?”
Drew shrugged, completely unbothered. “I was out of deodorant at the gym. Borrowed the trainer’s. Stole it, actually. I don’t think she wants it back.” He gave me a crooked half-smile. “You women smell amazing. Baby-scented powder deodorant? I think I might keep it.”
I stared at him.
Was he serious?
He was. And somehow that made it worse — because he wasn’t even trying to be charming. He was just honest. A little too honest. A little too blue-collar and straightforward. No polished lines. No careful calculation.
And the worst part? The banter was easy.
I didn’t have to watch every word the way I did with Tristan. I didn’t have to walk on eggshells or calculate how things might land. With Drew, it just flowed.
Then he turned his head and I noticed the dimples. Actual dimples. And the way his hair curled a little at the nape of his neck where the hoodie had pushed it up.
No.
No, no, no, no, no.
He was like a sexy caveman. That was the problem. All rough edges and unfiltered honesty and stupidly perfect teeth and dimples he had no business having.
This was all wrong.
I pinched the inside of my wrist under the desk, hard.
A second later the door opened again and a group of girls walked in.
They screeched.
Actually screamed—high-pitched, dramatic, like they’d just spotted a celebrity in the wild. One of them grabbed her friend’s arm so hard the girl stumbled. Another actually gasped and clutched her chest. They zeroed in on Drew like he was the lastman on earth and immediately started migrating toward our row, giggling and whispering like they were in on some private joke.
I made a noise somewhere between a snarl and a laugh.
“I don’t understand what they see in you,” I muttered.
Drew’s mouth curved into that slow, dangerous smile. He winked.
“You will someday, baby.”
Then he completely ignored me for the rest of class.
Which would’ve been fine.
Except the girls didn’t ignore him.
They swarmed. Two of them ended up in the row in front of us, twisting around every few minutes to “ask” Drew questions they clearly weren’t listening to. Their fake French tips kept “accidentally” brushing his arm. One of them actually reached out and squeezed his bicep like she was testing fruit at the grocery store, then let out another high-pitched giggle.
I gripped my pen tighter.
And snapped it clean in half.
