thirteen
Aaliyah's POV
Monday morning.
8:05 AM.
I'm walking across campus with the energy level of a damp paper towel.
Coffee?
Not helping.
Lip gloss?
Barely on.
Hair?
Doing its best.
Me?
On the verge of passing out emotionally because I have class with Leo...
After Saturday.
After the walk.
After everything he said.
After the way he almost kissed me.
After the way I definitely would've let him.
My stomach is swirling like a washing machine.
Zaria texts me:
Zaria:
GOOD LUCK WITH YOUR MAN IN CLASS
SEND ME HIS EVERY MICROMOVEMENT
IF HE BLINKS TWICE IN YOUR DIRECTION I WANNA KNOW
I ignore her.
I'm too busy breathing into a paper bag metaphorically.
I push open the lecture hall door—and my heart stops.
He's already there.
Leo.
Sitting in our row.
Black hoodie.
Rings on.
Hood up.
Head tilted slightly down like he's deep in thought.
One big tattooed hand draped over his knee.
Looking wayyy too good for 8AM.
I swallow hard.
He glances up—
And the moment our eyes meet?
He freezes.
His expression changes so subtly I wouldn't even catch it if I wasn't obsessed with him now.
His eyes soften.
His shoulders lower.
His jaw relaxes.
He looks... relieved.
And then—
Then he does something he didn't do before.
He moves his bag.
From the seat beside him.
My heart flips so violently it almost launches out of my body.
I walk over, trying very hard to look normal.
I fail.
He watches me the whole time.
Not in a creepy way.
In a focused way.
An attentive way.
A you're the only thing I'm paying attention to way.
When I reach him, he gives the smallest nod.
"Hi," he says.
Why does that ruin me???
"Hi," I whisper.
"Head feeling better?" he asks, voice low so only I hear.
"Mhm," I lie.
He gives me a look like he can read my whole medical chart.
"You still look tired."
"I'm not tired."
"You are."
"Stop reading me."
"I'm not."
His lips twitch like he's fighting a smile.
Then he looks forward again, jaw tightening to hide it.
I sit.
Not too close.
But still closer than last week.
My knee brushes his.
His breath stutters.
He shifts his leg...
but not away.
Closer.
I pretend not to notice.
I am a liar.
The professor starts lecturing.
I hear nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
Because I can feel Leo watching me out of the corner of his eye every few minutes.
Checking on me.
Watching my reactions.
Staring at my hands.
Staring at my mouth.
WHAT IS HE DOING.
I try to focus.
I fail again.
And then—
Another guy walks in late.
A cute one.
Tall.
Smiles easily.
The type girls fall for in romantic comedies.
Great.
He scans the room and walks right toward our row.
No.
No no no—
He looks right at me.
"Is that seat taken?" he asks, pointing to the chair on my other side.
I open my mouth to answer—
But Leo answers first.
With a voice so flat and cold I feel it in my spine.
The guy blinks. "Uh... by who?"
Leo doesn't even look up from his notebook.
"By no one," he says. "But it's taken."
My mouth drops open.
The guy stares, confused.
Then slowly backs away.
Chooses another row.
I look at Leo.
He keeps writing like nothing happened.
"You're ridiculous," I whisper.
He shrugs slightly. "He was annoying."
"He said one sentence."
"That was enough."
I try not to smile.
Fail miserably.
He glances at me—quick, quiet—and sees it.
His jaw tightens again.
He looks away fast.
And I swear he's blushing.
Blushing.
Leo Ramirez.
Brooding menace.
Blushing.
I lean slightly toward him and whisper, "You okay?"
His breath catches.
"I'm fine," he says, too quickly.
"I just—"
He hesitates.
"...don't like when guys look at you like that."
Oh.
My knees go weak even though I'm seated.
"Leo..." I say softly.
"Don't," he mutters.
"Don't what?"
He keeps staring straight forward, ears red, fingers tapping the table like he's trying to distract himself.
"Don't look at me like that."
"Like what?" I whisper.
He finally looks at me.
And the look he gives me?
Wrecked.
Quiet.
Wanting.
Trying so hard to be controlled.
But absolutely not managing.
"Like you know what I'm thinking."
My breath catches.
I whisper, "Do I?"
His throat bobs as he swallows.
He blinks once.
Slow.
Then says quietly:
"...Yeah. I think you do."
The room suddenly feels too small.
Too warm.
Too charged.
And we're both pretending to take notes like we're not two seconds away from combusting in the middle of class.