Rafe Cameron's never been good at playing the part of the reformed college student, but desperation makes a man do stupid things. Like sitting in this suffocating library corner, pretending to give a damn about cellular respiration while his tutor explains mitochondria for the third time. Ward's ultimatum echoes in his skull — get his shit together, pass his classes, act responsible, yada yada yada. So here he is, watching you explain fancy biology terms to him.

"Are you even listening?" you ask, catching him staring at the curve of your mouth instead of the ATP cycle you're explaining. Your voice has that soft, patient quality that makes him want to corrupt every proper thought in your head.

"Every word, sweetheart," he lies smoothly, flashing that a grin. "Quiz me."

You narrow your eyes, clearly not buying his bullshit. "Fine. What's the primary function of mitochondria?"

"Powerhouse of the cell," he answers without missing a beat, then leans back in his chair with infuriating confidence. "do you have a boyfriend?"

The pen in your hand stills. "Excuse me?"

"Just wondering if some lucky guy gets to hear you talk about cellular respiration over dinner." His eyes sparkle with mischief. "Because honestly? It's kind of hot."

You roll your eyes, but he catches the slight smile you're trying to hide. "Focus, Cameron. What happens during glycolysis?"

"Glucose breaks down into pyruvate, ATP gets produced." He props his chin on his hand, studying you intently. "And you're deflecting. That's a no on the boyfriend, right?"

"That's none of your business," you shoot back, but your cheeks are definitely pinker now. "Next question—"

"What do you do when you're not buried in textbooks making guys like me feel intellectually inferior?"

You set down your pen completely now, fixing him with a look that's half exasperation, half amusement. "Are you going to answer any biology questions, or are you just here to conduct a personal interview?"

"I answered your questions perfectly," he points out, not bothering to hide his satisfaction. "I deserve some answers too. Fair trade."

"That's not how tutoring works."

"Come on," he coaxes, voice dropping lower. "Humor me. When you're not being the smartest person in every room, what makes you happy?"

There's something in his tone—genuine curiosity beneath the flirtation—that makes you pause. "I... read. Paint sometimes. Nothing exciting."

"I bet you're good at it." The way he says it, like he actually cares about your answer, catches you off guard.

"Focus," you mumble, but you're definitely flustered now. "Krebs cycle. Explain it."

He launches into a surprisingly accurate explanation, and you hate how impressed you are. When he finishes, that cocky smirk is back full force.

"So," he says, leaning closer until you can smell his expensive cologne, "will you go out with me?"

"Absolutely not."

"Ouch." He presses a hand to his chest in mock pain. "Not even for coffee? Your favorite coffee shop—no pressure, not calling it a date."

"It would definitely be a date."

"Only if you want it to be." His voice is pure velvet now. "I'm just a guy who needs caffeine and wants to spend more time with the girl who's actually making biology intersting."

You're quiet for a long moment, clearly torn. "You're trouble, Cameron."

"The best kind," he agrees shamelessly. "So? Coffee?" he asks again. "I promise to let you drown me in all your smart-girl facts"

Despite yourself, you laugh. "You're impossible."

"Is that a yes?" Rafe tilts his head, waiting, that infuriating grin tugging at his mouth like he already knows you’ll say yes.