© 2025 Kaela Svlverine. All Rights ReservedThe first time I saw Darien Cedric, he was bleeding from the eyebrow and still smirking like he’d won.
Leather jacket torn at the shoulder, basketball duffel in one hand, helmet in the other. He walked into the campus clinic like he owned the universe and had dared it to bite him first.
“I’m not signing your form,” the nurse huffed.
“Didn’t ask you to,” he shrugged, voice low and gravelly. “I just need the bleeding to stop before practice.”
“You’re impossible.”
He grinned. “That’s what makes me fun.”
From behind the door, I peeked around the corner, gripping my clipboard tightly.
He noticed me instantly. Of course he did. People like Darien didn’t miss anything.
“You the backup?” he asked, eyes narrowing on me.
I cleared my throat. “I’m just a volunteer. I—uh—help with first aid.”
He dropped into the chair, legs spread, like he owned the room. “Cool. Patch me up, then. Unless you’re scared of a little blood.”
“I’m not scared of blood,” I said, walking over. “Just allergic to egos.”
That made him smirk wider. “Touché, sweetheart.”
And that’s how it started.
Darien Cedric wasn’t a guy you dated. He was the kind of guy your mother warned you about, your father told you to stay away from, and your brain screamed “NO” about—while your heart whispered maybe.
He had a reputation: motorcycle gang leader, local street racing legend, and captain of the basketball team with more fouls than medals. His fists did most of his talking, and when he did talk, it was usually to piss someone off.
Including me.
“You always this cocky?” I asked one afternoon after another impromptu injury—bruised knuckles from a street fight this time.
He tilted his head. “You always this bossy for a volunteer?”
“I could let your hand swell up if you prefer.”
He leaned in close, voice low. “You’re cute when you threaten me.”