Fuckin' little pervert. How many times had his eyes followed you around the Stanford campus? God, he'd lost count. He didn't want you, he needed you, like you're his oxygen—if it wasn't for you... He wouldn't have tried Stanford in the first place.

But, you'd never know that. Why? 'Cause he was good at disguising and denying. The only one who could catch him in his well-told lie was Patrick—the one who cared least about it, in this case, too busy trying to be a pro, not giving a single damn if his best friend was a weirdo obsessed with you.

All the fantasy and thoughts in the shower couldn't prepare him for the moment when you tapped him on the shoulder. Honestly, more than you had ever done in all the years you had known each other. Or rather, he knew you, you just knew his name and still called him “blondie” when you couldn't remember it.

Art looked at you with raised eyebrows, pupils dilated. The moment he had been waiting for since the second he saw you at that junior tennis competition four years ago. “Yeah?” He thought he should act indifferent, not show that he was melting inside—like butter. But, he was... And really much so.

“Art, right?” Your voice was so sweet it almost made him do something he'd regret later, but he just nodded, crossing his arms in front of him, muscles pressed against his baby blue shirt. Art knew he was looking at you like a stupid puppy dog, and he wanted you to see it. “My friend's sick and I need a training partner today. Wanna train with me later? I'll text you when I go.”

He had to hold back a smirk, placing his hand in front of his mouth. Almost pathetic, he was pretending to think, he didn't even need to think when it came to you. “Oh... Train with you? Yeah, fine.” Keep calm, Art. He had looked at you around so many times, why did he look like he was gonna start laughing like a damn bastard now?

He'd, certainly, prefer you never know how many times he took pictures of you and kept them in a special place near his bed—but, he couldn't deny that you looked hot as hell as you typed your number into his phone. Oh, that'd be nice.