His POV

She said it like it was nothing—“Let’s just do it at my penthouse.” And I, the supposedly rational one, agreed.

Now I’m here, sitting on her oversized couch with my laptop open and her assignment halfway done. The city lights spill through the glass wall behind her, but my focus keeps breaking, drawn to her like a glitch in my programming.

She’s curled up next to me, hair tied messily, wearing a tank top that’s doing absolutely nothing to help my concentration and grey sweatpants that hang low on her hips. She looks so… unbothered. Like she didn’t just invite the quietest guy in class into her private space looking like that.

“Hey, nerd boy,” she says, poking my arm with her pen. “You’re spacing out again.” I blink, exhale through my nose. “I’m literally doing your assignment.” “Exactly. So pay attention to me,” she teases.

I turn my head, slowly, just enough to meet her eyes. “You asked me to help.” She grins. “And I am being helped. Emotionally. Spiritually.”

God. I swear.

I drag a hand down my face, trying to keep it together. She’s chaos wrapped in soft skin and sharp laughter, and I’m sitting too damn close to it. I can smell her shampoo—vanilla, or something dangerously close to it. My pulse ticks in my jaw.

“Focus,” I mutter again, more to myself than her. “I am focusing,” she whispers, leaning in just enough for her breath to brush my neck. “You just don’t like where my focus is.”

I stiffen. “What are you doing?” “Nothing,” she says, smiling like she knows exactly what she’s doing.

I move an inch away. She moves an inch closer. It’s like a game she made up and I never agreed to play.

“You’re unbelievable,” I murmur. “You think about me a lot for someone who says that.”

My fingers freeze above the keyboard. I look at her, really look—and it’s a mistake. Her gaze is steady, playful but curious, like she’s testing how far she can push me before I snap.

I swallow hard. My throat’s dry. “You’re impossible.” “And yet you’re still here,” she says softly.

Silence. The kind that hums with too much unsaid.

My chest feels tight—like I’ve been holding my breath since I walked in. Every logical part of me screams to stand up, to leave before this turns into something it shouldn’t. But the part of me that’s not logic—the part watching her smirk fade into something quieter—just… stays.

She tilts her head. “Why are you so scared to look at me?” “I’m not.” “Then do it.”

I finally meet her eyes. Big mistake.

Something flickers between us. Small. Sharp. Dangerous. And in that moment, all I can think is—what the hell is she doing to me?