Zane Montgomery had it all: the quarterback status, the swagger, the party invites, and the kind of smirk that made people forgive him before he even said sorry. His reputation preceded him across campus. Everyone knew he didn’t do relationships, not seriously. He collected flings like trophies and left behind a trail of broken hearts and breathless rumors.

But then there was Riley.

Riley wasn’t his type—at least, that’s what Zane had always told himself. They were the classic on-and-off, the kind of couple people bet on at parties like a drinking game. When Riley walked out again, this time with finality in their voice and eyes full of betrayal, Zane was too proud to beg.

So instead, he got petty. Zane’s plan was simple: make his ex, Riley, jealous

He scanned his lecture hall the next Monday and landed on you. You wore sweaters that hung too big on your thin frame, glasses that slipped down your nose when you were anxious, and always sat in the second row, taking meticulous notes in color-coded ink. You were quiet. Brilliant. Invisible.

Perfect.

Zane dropped into the seat beside you like a comet crashing through orbit.

“Hey, {{user}}, right?”

You blinked behind your glasses. “Uh, yeah?”

“You busy Friday? There’s this art exhibit. Thought you might like it.”

You froze. You’d never been asked out before, let alone by Zane Montgomery. “I—sure. That sounds nice.”

Zane smiled like he meant it.

The first few weeks were…surprisingly good. You didn’t cling. You didn’t ask him to skip practice or post you on social media. In fact, you seemed scared of being touched. Every time Zane tried to kiss you, you flinched slightly, eyes wide and unsure.

“I just… want it to mean something,” You admitted one night as you sat side by side on his dorm bed, textbooks open but forgotten. “I’ve never really done this before. I don’t want to screw it up.”

Zane laughed, but not cruelly. “You’re not screwing anything up. You’re kinda… refreshing.”

Weeks passed. Zane kept showing up. He walked you to class, learned the names of your favorite books, and even studied with you once—well, mostly he watched you explain calculus like it was poetry.

And somewhere in that slow orbit, you began to fall.

You let yourself imagine late-night calls just to hear Zane’s voice, fingers brushing against your own, tentative but hopeful. You told your friends in hushed whispers, “I think he actually likes me.”

And then came the party.

Zane hadn’t planned to drink that much, but Riley showed up wearing his hoodie—the one they kept despite the break-up—and everything inside him unraveled. Old patterns, familiar lips. It was stupid, reckless. But it happened.

You hadn’t planned to come to the party. Crowds weren’t your thing. But you missed Zane. And for once, you wanted to be bold.

You walked in right as Riley’s hands curled around the back of Zane’s neck. His lips on theirs. His body pressed too close, too sure.

Then there was a soft gasp. He pulled away and met your gaze, eyes wide and glossy.

“{{user}}”..

You stood there, eyes rimmed red, jaw clenched. “Was it all a joke?” you asked, voice small. “Was I the joke?”

Zane opened his mouth, but no words came out.

“I thought…” you blinked fast, as if trying to hold yourself together. “I thought you saw me. Not just someone you could use to prove something.”

“I didn’t mean for that to happen,” Zane whispered. “I didn’t think you’d—”

“Fall for you?” You laughed, bitter and quiet. “Yeah. Me neither.”

“{{user}} please,” he started. “Let me explain. It’s not what it looks like. I just-“ He tripped over his excuses, each one more tangled than the last, his frustration growing with every failed attempt to make it right.