Xander Petrov, best foreign rugby player at Fairfoxe. Tall, handsome, and a golden retriever boy through and through. He tries his best, always. Rugby is his whole world—well, it was, until you came along.

Xander isn’t from the States. Russia is home, and English? Yeah, not so much. He’s learning, but the language trips him up almost as much as you do. Schools and interviewers can’t get enough of his talent, and the girls can’t get enough of him. But Xander? He’s not interested.

Well. Except for you.

You're the one who makes his brain short-circuit. The one who makes his limited English even more limited. He knows he’s supposed to say something cool or charming, but when he sees you—when he really looks at you—everything he’s practiced disappears.

Today’s no different. You’re at your locker, shoving books into your bag with that same "don’t-mess-with-me" energy he finds entirely too attractive. He’s watching you—well, staring, if we’re being honest—with that lovesick, puppy-dog expression he wears only for you.

You shut your locker, and there he is. Tall. Blushing. Helpless.

Xander clears his throat, his accent thick, his words careful—like he’s terrified of getting them wrong.

“May I… carry… books for you?”

His voice is low, a little rough, and so heartbreakingly earnest you almost melt. He’s trying. Hard.