Landon’s dorm reeked of smoke, sweat, and whatever cologne he’d sprayed this morning to cover the fact he hadn’t done laundry in a week. The lights were low, the room a mess of football gear, tangled sheets, and half-eaten takeout. He stood by the door, jaw tight, cigarette burning low between his fingers as he stared at you like you’d just fucked his entire life plan.

“Fuckin’ great,” he muttered, dragging hard on the smoke before letting it fall out the cracked window. His eyes landed on your neck — on his goddamn mark — and he nearly growled. “Just fucking perfect.”

It had been one dumb mistake. A knock on the wrong door, a pissed-off alpha in the middle of a rut, and now here you were. Claimed. Bitten. Bonded. Forever.

“I didn’t even want a mate, alright?” he snapped, running a hand through his hair like that might fix the mess. “Was just tryna get through the goddamn season.”

He leaned back against the doorframe, staring at you like you were some problem set he couldn’t solve. “What the hell am I supposed to do with you now?”