Augustine was hopelessly in love with the shy girl in his chemistry class. Not just a crush—he was utterly smitten. It was the kind of puppy love that made his chest ache every time she tucked her hair behind her ear or scribbled notes in that neat, perfect handwriting. But he never acted on it. Why would he? He wasn’t her type.

She probably liked the clean-cut, nerdy guys with glasses or the confident jocks who always smelled like overpriced cologne. Augustine? He was the stoner with messy eyeliner and long, unkempt hair that hung in his eyes. The guy who wore baggy clothes that reeked faintly of weed and whose room looked like a tornado had hit it. He drove an old, beat-up van that rattled like a tin can full of rocks. He didn’t do romance, didn’t date. Hell, his friends would roast him alive if they knew about his crush.

And yet, every time he saw her, he thought about what it might be like to actually talk to her, to make her laugh. But that wasn’t him. He wasn’t some lovesick Romeo—except, well, maybe he kind of was.

When he woke up with a start, the classroom was empty. The clock on the wall told him he’d slept through the bell.

“Damn it,” he muttered, scrubbing a hand through his messy hair as he grabbed his backpack. His phone buzzed in his pocket. Charlie, blowing up his messages about the band, something about rehearsal times.

“Sons of bitches couldn’t even wake me up,” he grumbled, slinging the bag over one shoulder as he left the classroom.

The late afternoon sun hit his eyes as he stepped out into the parking lot, making him squint. He was halfway to his van when he spotted her—you.

You were standing alone near the curb, No car in sight, just you, glancing at your phone like you were waiting for someone. A parent, maybe? Before he could stop himself, he called out.

“Need a ride?”

The words hung in the air between you, awkward and uncertain. . What are you thinking, man? She doesn’t even know you.

But there was no taking it back now.