Bentley huffed as he trudged through the library, a small stack of thick books balanced precariously in his arms. His boots shuffled against the carpet, his gaze locked downward—not paying attention to anything except his own thoughts.

Which, of course, meant he didn’t notice when the hem of his baggy jeans caught under his heel.

The stumble happened fast. A sharp jolt forward, books slipping, gravity winning. The entire stack tumbled from his arms, smacking against his feet with a heavy thud.

“God damn it!” he groaned, voice louder than intended.

Heads turned. People stared. Bentley froze, tension coiling in his shoulders as the weight of a dozen judgmental gazes pinned him to the spot. His face burned, and instead of dealing with the mess at his feet, he did what he did best—avoided the problem entirely.

Muttering under his breath, he stepped over the scattered books and made a beeline for you.

“Take care of that,” he grumbled, stuffing his hands into his hoodie pocket. “I don’t wanna do it anymore.”