Chapter 1
“Hey. Plus-size.”
A heavy sneaker kicked the back of my chair, jarring my hand and sending a jagged blue ink line tearing across my neat English notes.
I didn’t turn around. I kept my eyes glued to the whiteboard, my jaw locked so tight it ached. I knew exactly who it was without looking. Asher Vanguard. Captain of the varsity hockey team, the school’s golden boy, and my absolute nightmare.
“I know you’re not deaf, Elena,” he whispered, leaning forward. The scent of cold winter air and expensive cologne suddenly crowded my space. “Look at me when I’m talking to you.”
A few guys from the hockey team snickered a row over. This was their daily entertainment. Because I didn’t fit their perfect, petite mold, I was Asher’s favorite target.
“Alright, quiet down,” Mrs. Gable called out, clapping her hands. “Before we start, I’m handing out the mid-semester project pairs. This is forty percent of your grade, so no slacking.”
A collective groan went through the room.
Behind me, Asher leaned back, his varsity jacket creaking. “Hey,” he muttered to his buddy. “Bet you a hundred bucks I get paired with a cheerleader. At least she’ll do the typing.”
I squeezed my pen, wishing I could disappear. Just give me someone quiet, I prayed. Anyone else.
“Mia with Carter. Chloe with David,” Mrs. Gable read off her clipboard. She paused, her eyes scanning the back row. “Asher Vanguard... and Elena Vance.”
The classroom went dead silent.
My pen literally snapped in my grip.
“Wait, what?” Asher stood up so fast his chair screeched against the linoleum. “Mrs. Gable, you’re kidding, right? You’re pairing me with her?”
“Sit down, Mr. Vanguard,” Mrs. Gable said smoothly. “Your grade is a D-minus. Elena has the highest average in class. If you want to stay on the ice for the championships next month, you need this grade. End of discussion.”
The bell rang a second later, and the room exploded into motion. I shoved my books into my bag with shaking hands, desperate to escape before Asher could say a word.
I swung my backpack over my shoulder and bolted for the aisle—only to slam straight into a solid chest.
Asher stood there, blocking the path completely. Up close, his broad shoulders blocked out the rest of the classroom. His dark eyes were fixed on mine, burning with pure frustration.
“Listen to me,” he said, his voice dropping to a low, intense whisper meant only for me. “You might have the brains, but don’t get comfortable. We aren’t friends. You do the work, you stay out of my way, and you don’t make me look bad.”
My heart was hammering against my ribs, but his arrogance snapped something inside me. I looked him dead in the eye. “And if I don’t feel like doing your work for you?”
Asher stepped closer, taking away the last bit of space between us. A slow, dangerous smirk touched his lips as he reached out, his hand gripping the strap of my backpack, pulling me just an inch closer.
“Then I’ll make sure the rest of your senior year is hell,” he murmured. “See you after school, partner.”
The library after hours smelled like old paper, floor wax, and my impending doom.
I sat at a secluded corner table, staring at the empty wooden chair across from me. The clock on the wall ticked loudly, mocking me.
3:45 PM.
He was forty-five minutes late.
“Stupid,” I muttered to myself, aggressively highlighting a passage in our English textbook. “Why did I actually think he’d show up?”
Asher Vanguard didn’t do libraries. He did ice rinks, high school parties, and whatever else a privileged hockey god did with his free time. I slammed the textbook shut, the loud thud echoing through the empty stacks. I was done waiting. I wasn’t going to let him drag my GPA down into the gutter with his D-minus average just because he was too arrogant to care about his own future.
I packed my laptop into my bag, pulled my oversized hoodie down over my waist, and stood up to leave.
I didn’t even make it three steps before the heavy library doors swung open.
Asher walked in. He didn’t look like a guy who was late; he looked like he owned the building. His varsity jacket was swung loosely over one shoulder, his dark hair was slightly damp from the showers, and he carried a duffel bag that practically smelled like the rink.
His eyes scanned the room and locked onto me. A small, irritatingly confident smirk crossed his face as he walked over, cutting off my exit path.
“Going somewhere, Vance?” he asked, throwing his heavy duffel bag onto the table. It made a loud clatter that earned us a sharp glare from the librarian three rows over.
“Home,” I said, keeping my voice tight and flat. “Our session started at three. I don’t waste my time on people who can’t keep a schedule.”
Asher didn’t look bothered. He pulled out the chair opposite mine, turned it around backward, and sat down, resting his chin on his arms as he looked up at me. “Practice ran late. Coach wanted to run drills. You know how it is.”
“No, Asher, I don’t know how it is,” I said, refusing to sit back down. “I don’t play games. I study. If you want to pass this class so you can keep playing your little sport, you show up on time. Otherwise, I’m telling Mrs. Gable I want a new partner.”
The easy, bored look vanished from his face in an instant. The air between us turned freezing cold as he stood up slowly, erasing the distance between us until I had to tilt my head back just to keep eye contact.
“You’re not telling Mrs. Gable anything,” he said, his voice dropping to that low, quiet register that made my chest tighten. “You think you can just swap me out like a bad pair of skates? No one benches me, Elena. Especially not you.”
“Then show up!” I snapped, my voice rising a little too loud. “I have a life too, Asher! I have a job after this, and I can’t just sit around waiting for the king to grace me with his presence!”
He blinked, a flicker of genuine surprise crossing his dark eyes before his expression hardened again. He reached out, his hand wrapping firmly around the strap of my backpack—the exact same move from the classroom—and gave it a gentle tug, pulling me a step closer.
“Fine,” he muttered, his eyes dropping to my lips for a split second before snapping back to my gaze. “Tomorrow. Three o’clock sharp. My house.”
My heart did a dangerous, erratic flip. “Your house? No way. We work here.”
“The guys are coming over to my place after practice tomorrow to watch film. I’m not skipping it,” Asher said, his grip on my bag tightening just enough to let me feel the heat radiating off him. “You want me on time? You come to my turf. Don’t worry, plus-size, I don’t bite. Unless you want me to.”
He let go of my strap with a smirk, grabbed his duffel bag, and walked out as fast as he’d arrived, leaving me standing in the quiet library with a pounding heart and a terrible feeling that I was walking straight into a trap.
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