two
Aaliyah's POV
I swear I'm not late.
Well... okay. I'm not that late.
Eastbridge University's Liberal Arts building is a maze designed by someone who hated students. Every hallway looks the same. Every door looks like a door to a broom closet.
And the worst part?
Intro to Psychology is on the third floor, down the left hall, through the atrium, past the vending machines, and then up another weird set of stairs.
Who decided that??
By the time I reach the classroom, I'm slightly out of breath and reconsidering all my life choices.
Inside, the lecture hall is packed.
Packed like I walked into Beyoncé's Homecoming.
Every seat is taken—except for one.
The one next to him.
Leo.
Black hoodie, black shirt, black sweatpants—looking like the human embodiment of "don't sit near me."
He's leaned back in his chair, legs spread in that casual, arrogant way attractive men get away with.
Hood down, curls messy, tattoos peeking out.
Headphones in.
Jawline aggressive.
He hasn't seen me yet.
Thank God.
I hover at the end of the row, staring death in the face.
I inhale.
Exhale.
Shuffle down the aisle like a hostage.
And that's when he looks up.
His eyes meet mine.
Sharp. Dark. Focused.
I freeze like a mouse that accidentally locked eyes with a panther.
His brows pull together slightly.
Not angry.
More like: Really? Her? Here? Right now?
He glances at the empty chair beside him, then back at me.
Oh.
Oh no.
I eye the empty chair.
My ass cheeks clench from the sudden pressure of existence.
I swallow. "Uh... is anyone... sitting here?"
He pulls out one headphone slowly. "No."
His voice is deep. Like basement-level deep.
Like "voice actors would kill for this tone" deep.
I slip past the row, trying not to fall or bump into anyone, and lower myself into the seat next to him.
The desk is tiny. My thighs touch the edge. My boobs definitely brush the table. My hair cascades over my shoulder. I try to look normal.
Until I feel it.
A stare.
A heavy, intentional stare on the side of my face.
I turn my head a tiny bit.
Leo is looking at me.
Really looking.
Not subtly.
Not shyly.
Not with that bored expression he gives everyone else.
His eyes drag down my profile, slow enough I feel every second.
My jawline.
My lips.
My chest.
My waist.
My thighs.
Back up.
Then my face again.
His jaw flexes so hard I almost apologize for existing.
He looks away quickly, like he wasn't just committing a crime with his eyes.
I grip my notebook.
This is fine.
"Sorry," I whisper before my brain can stop me. "I didn't think the class would fill up."
He lifts one brow, like you don't need to explain yourself to me, then mutters,
"You're fine."
Oh.
Oh that did things.
The professor starts talking. I try to focus, but Leo shifts beside me, his knee brushing mine.
I pretend to ignore it.
He pretends he doesn't notice.
We are both liars.
Every few minutes, he glances at me like he's trying to figure out a math equation that personally offended him.
Finally, halfway through the lecture, he leans toward me slightly.
"You always sit this far back?" he mutters.
I blink. "Do you always interrogate people you've never talked to?"
His lips twitch—barely—but it's there.
A micro-smirk.
"I wasn't interrogating you," he says quietly.
"You looked annoyed when I sat down."
Another jaw clench.
Another glance down my body.
Another fight he is losing.
He shrugs. "Wasn't annoyed."
"That's just your face?" I tease.
He gives me a side-eye so powerful I feel it in my stomach.
Before I can say anything else, the professor calls our row number for attendance.
He sits up straighter.
The girls two rows in front turn around, giggling at him.
He ignores them completely.
His eyes stay on me.
When the professor calls, "Aaliyah Hart?"
I raise my hand. "Here."
I hear it—the faintest inhale from Leo, like he didn't know my name until now and is already memorizing it.
Then the professor says, "Leonardo Ramirez?"
My head whips toward him.
He clears his throat quietly. "Here."
I look at him with the most childish grin forming on my face.
He knows.
He sees it.
His eyes narrow. "Don't."
"Leonardo?" I whisper dramatically, hand covering my smile. "Like the ninja turtle?"
He closes his eyes like he's making the Sign of the Cross.
"I told you not to."
I giggle. I cannot help it.
For a moment — a fraction of a second — he smiles back.
And it hits me right in my chest.
Oh, yepp I'm done for.
When class ends, I pack my things quickly, trying to leave before him.
He stands up first.
Blocking the aisle.
Blocking me.
Definitely on purpose.
"You in this class all semester?" he asks, voice low.
"Uh... yeah? Why?"
His eyes flick down my body again, openly this time.
"No reason."
Liar.
He moves aside to let me out but stays close—too close.
I squeeze past him and feel his eyes burning into my back the whole way down the stairs.
By the time I reach the door, my heart is doing backflips.
I step into the hall.
I can feel—literally feel—eyes on me.
I turn slightly.
Leo is at the top of the stairs.
Watching me.
Hands in his pockets.
Expression unreadable.
Jaw set.
He looks like he wants to say something.
Then he looks away and heads in the opposite direction.
And my stomach?
My stupid traitorous stomach?
Falls straight to my knees.