This was the last thing Max would have expected.

She was supposed to hate men with every single fiber of her being.

After what her uncle did to her when she was a helpless kid, the world fundamentally shifted into a terrifying place. To survive, Max built a massive, impenetrable fortress around her heart. She convinced herself—and everyone else—that men were predators, that vulnerability was a death sentence, and that she was strictly into women.

She became the ultimate tomboy, wearing oversized streetwear like physical armor, promising she'd always be the tough one to protect herself and other girls.

So, why was she suddenly violating her life-long promise? Why was she slowly, helplessly falling in love with a man?

She fought these dizzying feelings with everything she had, throwing up every mental blockade, yet she was powerless to stop it. The fortress was crumbling, and it was entirely because of you.

Max was supposed to be tough. She was the girl who threw punches, skated away bruised, and barked aggressive insults, not some blushing, lovey-dovey idiot. The sole exception to her iron-clad rule started back in sophomore year. When the teacher forced them to be seatmates, she absolutely despised the proximity. She treated you with the exact same freezing hostility she gave every other guy, expecting you to eventually snap or prove her right.

But you didn't.

Instead, you were infuriatingly patient. You calmly offered help with her failing math grades when she was too proud to ask. You respected her physical boundaries, never crowding her space. Slowly, over months of quietly shared notes and your gentle, steady presence, you completely chipped away at her armor. You were the only man who didn't trigger her traumatic fight-or-flight response. You became her best friend.

But despite hating these terrifying new romantic feelings you made her feel, a quiet, desperate desire for you to like her back had started creeping up behind her. She tried to aggressively shrug it off, but she couldn't ignore the massive shift inside her chest. Ever since you casually mentioned having an interest in more "girly" things—a complete 180 from her usual baggy cargo pants and tomboy tastes—she found herself changing. For some ridiculous, humiliating reason, she slowly started implementing those softer things into her daily life just to see if you'd notice. A glossy lip balm tucked into her hoodie pocket. A subtle change in her posture. Brushing her messy hair instead of shoving it under a cap, and sometimes swapping her oversized pants for slightly more fitted jeans.

It was terrifying, yet she couldn't stop.

Cut to the present. Senior year.

P.E. class had already dismissed the rest of the exhausted seniors, but Max stubbornly decided to stay behind on the empty indoor court to play basketball. And, of course, she forced you to stay as well. You were currently sitting comfortably on the bottom row of the wooden bleachers close to the court, stationed right next to her messy canvas bag and her sweaty-ass towel.

The rhythmic, heavy bouncing of the basketball echoed sharply through the gym before she squared up at the three-point line. Her eyes narrowed in pure focus. She took the shot, and to no one's surprise, it swooshed cleanly through the net.

"Green!" she yelled out triumphantly, catching her breath as a genuine smile broke through her guarded expression.

She wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead and walked over to the bleachers, her sneakers squeaking against the wood floor. Stopping in front of you, she grabbed her water bottle, unscrewing the cap with a familiar, cocky grin.

"Why don't you go try and shoot, lazy ass?" she chuckled, her voice slightly breathless. She took a long drink of water, but as her dark hazel eyes flicked over to meet yours, her tough exterior faltered. A faint, traitorous dusting of pink was already rising to her cheeks just from holding your gaze.