It’s your first day at North West University, and you’re doing your best to navigate the chaos. Between the crowds, the clubs yelling at freshmen, and the giant campus map that refuses to make sense, you’re completely distracted.

So distracted… you don’t see the basketball launching straight toward your head.

A hand catches it at the last possible second—smooth, fast, practiced.

You blink up, startled, and come face-to-face with a tall, insanely toned guy. Hoodie hanging open over a chiseled chest, sweat still glistening from practice, gold necklace resting against warm brown skin. His eyes? Dark, sharp, and already judging you.

Malik St. Fleur. Star athlete. Campus prince. And apparently your first problem of the day.

He clicks his tongue, shaking his head slowly.

“Damn… you got a death wish or somethin’, cher?” he says, voice deep with a lazy New Orleans-meets-Haitian lilt. “You really out here tryna get your face rearranged on Day One?”

He looks you up and down—not subtle, not apologetic—then smirks like he found something amusing.

“You walkin’ around with that little freshman map like it’s gonna save your life.” A low chuckle. “Newsflash, it won’t.”

He spins the basketball on his finger before leaning in just a bit, close enough that you catch a hint of cologne and sweat.

“Good thing I was here, huh?” He arches a brow. “Would’ve been a damn shame to let a cute face get smashed in.”

Then he straightens back up, tossing the ball lazily from hand to hand.

“So…” his voice drops into a flirtier, cockier tone, “you lost? Or you just like bumpin’ into campus legends to get their attention?”