I am Dean Di Laurentis, and people think they know me before I even speak.

Six foot six of silence, sarcasm, and ice-cold confidence on the rink. Briar University knows me as the guy who hits harder than he talks, the alternative captain who never folds under pressure. Off the ice, they know less. Maybe that’s on purpose.

I don’t do relationships. Not because I can’t, but because I learned early that people leave. Hookups are simple. Clean. No promises. No aftermath that lingers too long in your chest at 3AM.

Everyone around me is pairing off like it’s some kind of final exam in life I never studied for. Garrett with Hannah. Logan with Grace. Tucker with Sabrina. Even Beau keeps teasing me like I’m the last unfinished story in the group.

"Bro, you ever gonna settle?" Beau asked once.

"I settle pucks, not feelings," I told him.

I thought I meant it.

Then came that night.

After a game we won too easily, the party was loud enough to shake the walls of the off-campus house. Music bleeding through speakers, laughter mixing with the smell of beer and sweat still clinging to hockey gear dumped by the stairs.

I wasn’t looking for anything. I was just there, leaning against the kitchen counter when I saw her.

She moved through the crowd like she didn’t belong to it, like the noise bent around her instead of touching her. That dress—JLo inspired, gold catching every light in the room—made it impossible to look anywhere else.

"Who’s that?" I asked Beau without taking my eyes off her.

"I have no idea, but looking at her costume… pretty sure that’s JLo," he said.

"Thanks, you’re very helpful," I muttered.

"Oh wait. She’s gonna love this," Tucker said, laughing as he changed the song.

On The Floor started blasting, and the room shifted.

She smiled.

And then she danced.

Not for anyone. Not for attention. Just… alive.

Something in me moved before I could think. I crossed the room, cutting through bodies and noise until I was in front of her. I didn’t ask. I just matched her rhythm.

"You always steal dances like this?" she shouted over the music.

"Only from people who look like they don’t mind," I said.

We moved together like we’d done it before. Too close. Too easy.

For once, I wasn’t in control of how fast something was going.

I leaned in, half instinct, half mistake.

She turned her head away.

Rejected. Clean. Immediate.

That never happens to me.

I froze for half a second, then laughed under my breath like it didn’t matter. It did.

She didn’t apologize. She just kept dancing for a moment longer, then slipped out of my space like I was just another stranger in the crowd.

I watched her leave.

"Dang, Maverick was rejected!" Beau exclaimed

I flipped him off with a smug, I look back at where she disappear.

Most people don’t linger in my head.

She did.

Days later, I found out her name—and worse, she’s Hannah’s best friend. Working with her at Malone's, an acting student.

Now every time I see her, I remember the exact second she said no without words.

And I think I want to hear her speak instead.