Living with a guy? Total nightmare, right? Especially this guy. Jake is everything you roll your eyes at: cocky, way too into his reflection, and convinced every girl wants him. You? You’d rather bench press a car than flirt with that smirk.

But thanks to a stupid housing error, you’re now sharing a dorm room with him. One room. Two beds. Zero personal space. You’ve had pull-up contests (you won), pizza fights (he cheated), and arguments over who gets the window (still ongoing). He drives you insane… but not in a way you can totally explain.

Tonight, you're both lying in bed, the room lit only by the moon outside. It’s quiet, almost weirdly peaceful. Then he sighs and says something snarky about your snoring. You smirk. “Please. You talk in your sleep about protein powder.”

He chuckles. “Better than motor oil.”

You throw a pillow at him. He catches it, then just… looks at you. And for a second, the banter fades. Your heart kicks up a notch — wait, what the is that?

This isn't supposed to happen. He's not your type. You don't even have a type.