1
Amaliya’s POV
The first week of fall semester is proof that whoever runs this university does not care about my well-being.
Who decided college students needed to be in class at eight in the damn morning? And why is the sun already acting like it’s three in the afternoon? I haven’t even had enough caffeine to develop a personality yet, and the weather is trying to cook me alive.
Eastbridge University is already in full chaos mode.
The sidewalks are crowded, the grass is covered in students pretending they’re excited to be back, and the squirrels are running around like they have tuition payments due. Somebody has a camera out every five feet. Girls are posing in front of buildings they’ve probably never entered, guys are throwing a football around like they’re being scouted for the NFL, and a speaker somewhere nearby is playing Drake loud enough to wake up the entire city.
It’s eight in the morning, y’all.
Please seek help.
I weave through the crowd with my iced-coffee-less hands shoved into my jacket pockets, operating on the last thirty percent of my energy. My body is present, but my spirit is still on summer break.
At least I look good.
That’s something.
My curls decided to cooperate today, my lip gloss is glossy, and the combination of my cropped top, oversized jacket, and black leggings is doing exactly what it needs to do. The leggings are hugging my hips and my ass like they signed a legally binding agreement.
I’m tired, but I’m cute.
Sometimes that’s all a girl can ask for.
I’m halfway across the quad when a familiar voice comes flying toward me.
“AMIYAH HART! GIRL, WHERE THE HELL YOU GOING?”
I close my eyes.
Here we go.
Zahari catches up with me, grabs my arm, and hooks hers through it before I can escape.
“Z, why are you hollering like somebody stole your daddy’s credit card?”
She whips her braids over her shoulder and gives me an offended look.
“First of all, don’t bring my daddy into this. Second of all, why you walking like you got somewhere important to be? I been calling you!”
“Maybe because I have somewhere important to be. Like class?”
“Girl, please. You walk fast as hell for somebody who takes forty-five minutes to pick an outfit.”
I turn to her slowly.
“Are you trying to start something before I’ve had breakfast?”
“I’m trying to understand why you left me behind. That’s different.”
“You were taking pictures of yourself against a tree!”
“Because the lighting was good!”
I stare at her.
She stares back.
Then we both start laughing because, unfortunately, this is a perfectly normal conversation for us.
Zahari has never met a situation she couldn’t make about herself, and I’ve been her best friend long enough to know that arguing with her before nine in the morning is a waste of perfectly good oxygen.
Footsteps approach from behind us.
“Good morning, ladies.”
Calvin appears at my shoulder carrying three iced coffees, looking far too put together for somebody who willingly associates with us.
Zahari immediately reaches for hers.
“See, now this is why I love you.”
Calvin lifts the drink out of her reach.
“Good morning to you, too.”
“Baby, don’t play with me. Hand over my coffee.”
He laughs and passes it to her before offering me mine.
“For the children.”
I look at him.
“I’m sorry. The children?”
“You heard me.”
“Calvin, I’m a grown woman.”
“Of course you are.”
“Don’t use that tone with me.”
“What tone?”
“That tone! The one you use when you’re trying to make me sound ridiculous.”
He gives me the kind of patient smile usually reserved for toddlers and difficult customers.
“Amaliya, you’re the youngest, and somehow you’re also the most likely to get us all into trouble. I’m just being honest.”
I gasp so dramatically that a girl walking past us turns around.
“Zahari! Your man is bullying me!”
Zahari takes a long sip of her coffee.
“I’m not getting involved. He’s right.”
I look between them in disbelief.
“Wow. So this is how betrayal feels.”
Calvin pats my shoulder.
“Drink your coffee, sweetheart.”
I take a sip.
It’s caramel.
It’s cold.
It’s delicious.
I hate how easily I can be bought.
“Fine,” I mumble. “You’re forgiven.”
“Was I in trouble?”
“Don’t push it.”
Calvin chuckles, and Zahari starts laughing again as the three of us continue across campus.
This is our usual routine. Zahari talks enough for all three of us, Calvin pretends he isn’t entertained by her dramatics, and I spend most of the walk trying to convince them both that I’m the only sensible person in our little group.
I’m lying, of course.
But a girl has to maintain her image.
Zahari is in the middle of complaining about her schedule when something changes.
It’s subtle at first.
A couple of students coming toward us shift to one side. A group standing near the walkway lowers their voices. Someone glances over a shoulder, then nudges a friend.
Nobody announces anything.
Nobody needs to.
There’s a certain kind of attention people attract without asking for it. The kind that makes a crowd adjust itself before the person even reaches them.
And I have a pretty good idea who it is.
I look up.
Leo Ramirez.
Well, damn.
There goes my peaceful morning.
He’s walking toward the student center with a backpack slung over one shoulder, dressed in black from head to toe. Dark hoodie. Black joggers. Clean sneakers. A few tattoos peek out near his wrists where his sleeves have ridden up.
His face is set in that familiar expression that makes it seem like somebody personally offended him by inventing the concept of conversation.
He isn’t doing anything special.
He’s literally just walking.
Yet people keep noticing him.
Leo has been on campus long enough for the rumors to multiply like roaches. Somebody says he got into a fight last year, and suddenly he’s the most dangerous man in the history of Eastbridge. Somebody else claims they’ve never seen him smile, and now half the girls on campus discuss him like he’s a mysterious creature spotted deep in the woods.
Honestly, college students need hobbies.
But I can’t deny that he has a presence.
He’s tall, broad-shouldered, and moves with an easy confidence that doesn’t look forced. He doesn’t scan the crowd or seek anybody’s attention. If anything, he seems determined to get wherever he’s going without having to deal with a single person on the way.
Zahari follows my gaze.
Then she leans toward me.
“Girl. Don’t.”
I snap my head toward her.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t start with that little staring mess.”
“I am not staring!”
“Amaliya, your eyes been on that man since he turned the corner.”
“I was looking at the walkway!”
She looks down at the perfectly ordinary stretch of pavement in front of us.
“Really? The walkway got tattoos now?”
Calvin lets out a quiet laugh.
I turn on him.
“Don’t encourage her.”
He raises his free hand.
“I haven’t said anything.”
“You’re smiling!”
“Am I not allowed to smile?”
“Not at my expense.”
His expression turns innocent.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Liar.
Zahari squeezes my arm and lowers her voice.
“Listen to me. You have a type, and that type is quiet men who look like they don’t want anybody speaking to them.”
“That is absolutely not true.”
She gives me a long look.
I sip my coffee.
She keeps looking.
I sip again.
“Okay, maybe a little.”
“A LITTLE?” She nearly chokes. “Girl, you see a man who barely speaks and suddenly you wanna learn his entire life story.”
“That’s called being curious.”
“That’s called needing prayer.”
Calvin nods thoughtfully.
“Your grandmother did always say you had a weakness for the mysterious ones.”
I whip around.
“Why are you bringing my grandmother into this?”
“Because she was right.”
Both of them are going to hell.
I’m sure of it.
Leo is getting closer now, and I suddenly become very interested in my coffee cup. I adjust the lid, check my phone even though it hasn’t buzzed, and pretend to be fascinated by a notification from the weather app.
Anything to avoid looking directly at him.
It’s not that I’m nervous.
I’m simply aware that he’s attractive.
There’s a difference.
A very important difference that I will be explaining to my therapist if this gets any worse.
I take another step forward, and then—
I feel it.
That unmistakable sensation of somebody looking directly at you.
I lift my eyes.
Leo is looking at me.
Not Zahari.
Not Calvin.
Me.
His gaze meets mine, and for a second, the noise around us seems to fade into the background.
His eyes are dark and steady, his expression giving away almost nothing. He doesn’t grin or lift his chin in some obvious attempt to flirt. He just looks at me, like he’s noticed something he wasn’t expecting to find.
His gaze flickers over my face before settling on my eyes again.
One of his eyebrows lifts slightly.
I have no idea what that means.
Maybe he recognizes me.
Maybe there’s something on my face.
Maybe I have a piece of breakfast stuck in my hair.
Lord, please don’t let me have food in my hair.
Then he passes us.
Just like that.
No hello.
No smile.
No dramatic pause.
He keeps walking like he didn’t just send my nervous system into a full-blown crisis.
I release a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
Zahari stops walking.
I take two more steps before realizing she’s no longer beside me.
When I turn around, she’s standing there with her mouth hanging open.
“Oh. My. GOD.”
I immediately point at her.
“Don’t.”
“HE LOOKED AT YOU!”
“He looked in our direction.”
“Girl, shut up. Calvin, tell her!”
Calvin glances back at Leo, who’s already several feet away.
Then he looks at me.
“He did look directly at you.”
I stare at him in disbelief.
“You’re supposed to be on my side!”
“I am on your side. I’m simply reporting what happened.”
“Report something else.”
Zahari grabs my arm again.
“No, because this is interesting. Leo does not be looking at people like that!”
I try to shrug it off.
“Maybe he thought I was somebody else.”
“Somebody else with your exact face?”
“It’s possible!”
“Amaliya, be serious.”
“I am being serious!”
Calvin takes a thoughtful sip of his coffee.
“Usually, when Leo looks at someone, it’s because they’re standing in his way.”
I blink.
“That’s comforting.”
“But he wasn’t looking at you like you were in his way.”
Zahari slowly turns toward him.
“Wait. So you’re saying—”
“I’m saying I don’t know what I’m saying,” Calvin interrupts, laughing. “Don’t put words in my mouth.”
Too late.
Zahari has already decided we’re starring in a romantic drama.
I shake my head and start walking again.
“Can we please talk about something else? I have a whole semester to get through, and I’m not wasting the first morning discussing a man who hasn’t even said hello to me.”
“Fine,” Zahari says.
The way she says it tells me she is absolutely not fine.
We continue toward the student center. I force myself to listen while she complains about a professor who assigned a reading before the first lecture even began.
I laugh in the appropriate places.
I respond when Calvin asks me a question.
I even manage to stop thinking about Leo for almost thirty whole seconds.
Then I make the mistake of looking back.
He’s near the entrance to the student center, standing beside the steps with one hand in his pocket.
And he’s looking at me again.
My feet slow.
My stomach does a little somersault that I did not authorize.
This time, there’s no mistaking it. His attention is fixed on me, his expression quiet and unreadable. Students move around him, talking and laughing, but he doesn’t seem particularly interested in any of them.
It’s almost like he’s forgotten what he came over here to do.
Or maybe I’m just being delusional.
Both are equally possible.
I hold his gaze for a second longer than I should.
Then I turn away, my heart beating a little faster.
Zahari has seen the entire thing.
Of course she has.
She grabs my forearm and practically vibrates with excitement.
“OH, BABY. YOU ARE COOKED.”
“I’m literally not.”
“LIYA, HE LOOKED AT YOU TWICE!”
“People have eyes, Zahari!”
“NOT LIKE THAT!”
Calvin shakes his head, wearing the expression of a man who has already accepted that the coming semester will be exhausting.
“Wonderful. We haven’t even made it to our first classes, and I’m already watching a situation develop.”
I glare at him.
“What situation?”
He gives me a gentle pat on the shoulder.
“Whatever you say, sweetheart.”
“I don’t like either of you.”
“Love you too,” Zahari sings.
I turn around so quickly that my curls swing across my face.
This is fine.
Everything is fine.
Leo Ramirez is just a guy.
A quiet, tattooed, ridiculously attractive guy who seems to have the entire campus making room for him and somehow managed to look at me twice in the span of five minutes.
That’s all.
It doesn’t mean anything.
I’m Amaliya Hart. I have classes to attend, assignments to ignore until the last possible moment, and a best friend who needs to learn the meaning of indoor voices.
I do not have time to be distracted by a man whose name I barely know.
I don’t fold over men I haven’t even had a proper conversation with.
I have standards.
I have self-respect.
I have a perfectly good iced caramel latte in my hand.
So whatever that look was, I’m going to forget about it.
Immediately.
Completely.
Forever.
I take another sip of my coffee and keep walking.
Then, because apparently my own mind enjoys making me suffer, one last thought slips through.
Why was he looking at me like that?
I shake my head.
Nope.
Not doing this.
Not today.
Absolutely not.
…But damn, I hope I see him again.
