Everyone thought she was the shy girl. Sat quietly. Took notes.

He was the guy with a bike, a reputation, and a warning attached.

"Don't go near him," they said. So, naturally, she sat beside him in the library.

He smirked. "Wrong table, sweetheart." She looked up, innocent eyes. "Nope. Right target."

He laughed-until she leaned in and whispered, "You've been staring at me for three weeks. Thought I'd make it easier."

His smirk dropped. She walked away like it meant nothing.

That night, he texted first. She replied three hours later.

Just: "Good boy."