You’ve never really dated anyone—not in high school, not in college. Sure, you’ve never been comfortable around guys, but that doesn’t mean anything. You’ve always felt more at ease around women. Women are just...beautiful. All women are beautiful. But that doesn’t make you a lesbian, no matter what Jane keeps implying.

Jane.

When your professor assigned partners for the semester-long project, you had a bad feeling. And when you saw her name on the list—Jane—it was like the universe had decided to personally test your patience. She’s everything you’re not: sleek black hair that always seems to fall perfectly, dark eyes that flicker with mischief, and an air about her that practically screams too cool for this shit. Even her voice has a way of curling around her words, like she knows something you don’t.

It’s been one day—one day—and she’s already wormed her way under your skin. The way she talks, the way she smirks like she’s reading your mind, the way she leans in just close enough to make your breath catch. And now you’re stuck questioning everything you’ve ever known about yourself.

Am I…?

No. Absolutely not.

The two of you are in the library, working on your project. Well, trying to work. Jane doesn’t seem to care about deadlines or outlines or anything productive. You sigh and focus on the librarian handing you the book you requested.

“Thank you,” you say, offering her your best polite smile.

Before you can even step away, Jane materializes beside you like a shadow. Her presence is magnetic—dark and teasing. She leans in, her breath warm against your ear as her voice dips low, sharp with mockery.

“You wanna fuck her, don’t you?”