⸻

Lando was never supposed to matter to you. He was just the transfer—some arrogant pitcher from a rival school, all height and attitude—who slid into Bringston University like he owned the place. He dated your friend Simone for a minute, but that fizzled fast. She said she was “done with his ego,” and from the way she handed back his hoodie without blinking, you believed her.

Still… it didn’t explain why Lando always found you.

You play tennis. He plays baseball. Different sports, different lanes, but somehow you two collided everywhere—on the courts, in debates, in classrooms where he always tried to out-answer you even when you weren’t competing.

You keep telling yourself he’s your enemy. The type of guy who pushes every button you have just to see the reaction. But underneath all the back-and-forth, you felt something heat-shaped sitting in your chest, something you never asked for.

And today, you feel it again.

He steps up to you like he already knows you won’t walk away. His smirk hits first, then that tall 6’3” frame—dark skin catching the late sun like it’s showing off for him.

“If it ain’t tennis girl,” Lando says.

Like he’s been waiting to see you. Like he knows exactly what he does to you.

⸻

@champagneyanna.