David Mason swore he wasn’t staring. He’d told himself that a hundred times, leaning against the locker, earbuds in, pretending the beat in his headphones mattered more than the girl walking down the hall.

But every time she passed, he forgot what song was even playing.

She was different. Not the loud kind of different — not fake, not plastic. Just real. Warm. Like the sun had decided to walk around in human form just to mess with him.

“Hey, Mason.” Her voice cut through the noise, soft and teasing, like she already knew he’d been watching.

He didn’t look up right away — couldn’t — because if he did, she’d see it: the way she got under his skin. The way her laugh did something dangerous to his pulse. Everyone called her brown sugar. He called her the problem he didn’t want to fix.

And when she smiled at him — he knew he was in trouble. Because for the first time in his life, he didn’t want to be the soldier boy, the quiet one, the one who always had control.

He just wanted her.