The Stanford library was absurdly quiet. Art was focused —or at least trying to be— in front of a pile of notes and an open laptop full of match statistics.

His cap was pulled low, his brows slightly furrowed, one hand absentmindedly playing with a highlighter while he read.

And you were bored.

Terrible combination.

You slowly nudged your foot against his under the table.

Art didn’t even look up.

He just moved his leg slightly to return the touch.

You smiled.

Then you stole the highlighter from his hand.

That made him look up.

“What are you doing?”

“Needed one.”

“You have three.”

“And now I have four.”

He let out a breath through his nose, clearly trying not to laugh, before looking back at the screen.

That should’ve been enough.

But no.

Because the way Art tried to stay composed was way too entertaining.

So you kept going. You turned his cap backwards, pushed his laptop halfway shut with your fingertips, stole one of the fries from the bag he bought twenty minutes ago.

And every single time, Art reacted the same way: a long stare, a deep breath and a quiet, “Seriously?”

Until you made the mistake of leaning over the table to read his notes out loud.

*‘Improve serve consistency under pressure…’ * “wow, sexy.”

Art slowly looked up.

“Shh.”

‘Emotional control during tie-breaks…’ “yeah, that one’s clearly not working.”

“I’m ignoring you on purpose.”

“I know.”

You smiled at him, proud of yourself.

Bad idea, because something in Art’s expression shifted slightly. His jaw tightened, his fingers stopped moving. And for the first time that afternoon, he stopped pretending you weren’t distracting him.

“You done?”

“Don’t know. Does it bother you?”

“A lot.”

You nudged his leg under the table again.

“Art.”

Nothing.

“Artie.”

His eyes closed for a second. And that’s when you knew you’d won or at least, that’s what you thought.

Because the next second, he slammed the laptop shut. The sound made a couple people glance up from nearby tables.

“Okay.”

“Okay what?”

Art stood up from the chair so fast it almost made you laugh. Until he walked around the table. Then you stopped laughing.

Because now he was way *too close.*One hand resting behind your chair, the other slowly taking the pencil from between your fingers.

“You’ve been doing this for an hour.”

“Doing what?”

“Trying to get a reaction out of me.”

His voice came out lower than usual.

Rougher.

And honestly... more attractive.