Bree What had I just done?! Did I seriously just call the hottest guy I’ve ever seen Adonis? Did those words actually leave my mouth? Out loud? In front of him? Oh god. Of course I did. Of course I had to go and embarrass myself in the most dramatic, cringe-worthy way possible. I didn’t just put my foot in my mouth—I shoved the whole damn leg down my throat until I could barely breathe. And that wasn’t even the worst part. That moment of mortification came after he caught me talking to myself like a lunatic. After he’d basically rescued me from the viper that was Gabriella, who’d torn into me like she was auditioning for the role of Queen Bee in some twisted social horror movie. I had wanted to stand tall in front of her, to keep my cool and show her that her words didn’t land. But it hit me harder than I expected. Right in the chest. I hated every second of it. But somehow—despite the heat flooding my face, despite the sting of Gabriella’s venom—Gage had made me laugh. Just like that, his smile had cracked through all my panic and stripped away the walls I’d tried to keep up. For a few blissful seconds, he made the noise in my head disappear. And now I was left with a gaping pit of secondhand embarrassment, still burning from how easily I’d unraveled in front of him. “How about the cooking class, then?” Rachel asked brightly, her eyes sparkling as she turned toward Caleb. She was clearly on a mission, trying her hardest to rope him into signing up for some of her classes. “It would be so much fun, Caleb, I promise you that.” “I don’t know, man,” he muttered, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck like he wanted to disappear. “I’m gonna be swamped with Derek’s courses.” He was already trying to maneuver around her, subtly dodging and weaving as if physical escape would somehow excuse him from her enthusiasm. “Actually,” I interjected, watching Rachel’s attention snap straight to me, “I’d like to sign up for a few classes.” Her face instantly lit up like a Christmas tree. She beamed, eyes wide with excitement, and her clipboard practically vibrated in her hands as she let out a delighted squeal. “That’s amazing, honey! What classes would you like to join?” Caleb looked me over, one brow rising high as he crossed his arms over his chest. He was undeniably good-looking—muscles, jawline, charm. But after just five minutes in Gage’s orbit? Caleb didn’t even compare. “I’d love to join your cooking class,” I said confidently. My mind was spinning, but I was determined to fill up my schedule, to stay so occupied that Gabriella wouldn’t have another chance to corner me. “Also the book club. And I’d love to follow the academic course too.” “Amazing,” Rachel beamed, scribbling enthusiastically. “What’s your name, sweetheart?” “Bree Morgan,” I answered, feeling an unexpected rush of excitement. “Actually… I have some experience in creative writing. If you’re still looking for someone to lead a few of those courses, I’d love to volunteer.” Her eyes lit up even more. “Even better! How about the dance class? Wouldn’t it be fun to do some of that as well?” I froze. My eyes flicked to Caleb, who was still watching me, his expression unreadable—like he was trying to figure out who I was beneath the surface. “I’m not really a big dancer,” I said quickly, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “That doesn’t matter!” Rachel chirped. “I’ll write you down for it along with Caleb.” “Hey!” he protested, stepping forward like she’d just signed him up for a military draft. “And he’ll be joining your creative writing sessions too, won’t you, Caleb?” she asked sweetly, not even glancing back as she wrote on her clipboard. He stared at her, brows furrowed, clearly calculating whether escape was still an option. Then he sighed, dragging his hands down his face in defeat. “Fine. I’ll do it.” “That’s the spirit!” Rachel grinned, already striding away. “Don’t forget to eat lunch!” I glanced back at Caleb, who stood there with his hands on his hips, watching the small woman walk off like she hadn’t just strong-armed him into half a dozen things. Then, to my surprise, a small chuckle rumbled from his chest. His smile bloomed—warm, unexpected—and his eyes met mine. “It’s not just me, right?” he asked, laughing. “She’s freaking terrifying.” I blinked, stunned, and then a laugh burst from me, too. My hand flew up to cover my mouth, failing to hide the sound. This massive, muscle-bound guy was scared of Rachel? She was barely five feet tall, radiating nothing but sunshine and good vibes. “I think it’s just you,” I said through a grin, shaking my head as I started walking toward the lunch tent. Caleb kept pace beside me, easily closing the distance with those long strides. “No way. Every guy I’ve talked to so far is terrified of her. She’s hella scary.” “She’s tiny, Caleb, basically a kitten,” I smirked, glancing up at him. “You could literally pick her up and put her on top of a cabinet.” He chuckled, nodding. “Yeah… but even kittens have claws.” ** I stared at the chaos happening in front of me, very aware that I was completely out of my depth. If it hadn’t been for Derek cornering me earlier—flashing that too-bright smile and casually announcing that he was signing me up for nearly every class he offered—I wouldn’t have been standing here right now, anxiously twisting my fingers as adrenaline buzzed low in my gut. Thankfully, I managed to bargain with him. I talked him down from the full schedule to a more tolerable lineup: the morning run, bootcamp, and, of course, his self-defense classes. Unfortunately, those commitments apparently included participating in the absolute madness that was now unfolding across the training field—this tag game that felt more like a Hunger Games reenactment than any real exercise. Everyone around me looked like they’d been born for this. Every participant was already toned, athletic, and glowing like they’d just walked off a sportswear commercial. It didn’t take much to see I was in the minority. My presence stuck out, and not in a good way. Derek had handed me a bright red ribbon, casually telling me to tuck it into the waistband of my jeans and make it across the field without losing it. That was the game. It sounded simple enough on paper—something any average person could accomplish. But what he failed to account for was one glaring detail: I didn’t run. Not that I couldn’t, obviously. Everyone could run. But I despised it with the fire of a thousand suns. The burning lungs, the aching ankles, the sweat clinging to skin… I hated all of it. And now, to make it even more miserable, there was a human wall of very athletic, very smug-looking guys blocking the middle of the field like it was their full-time job. And right in the middle of that testosterone wall? Adonis. Gage stood guard with a grin that could knock the breath from a girl’s lungs. He wasn’t even pretending to try hard. His massive frame was loose, relaxed, casual in a way that screamed predator. In his grasp was not one red ribbon. Not five. But what had to be dozens, all yanked effortlessly from those who dared challenge him. He wore them like trophies, draped over his forearm like he was the king of this battlefield. Seriously, shouldn’t it be illegal to make a footballer play this kind of game? It was like asking someone to outwrite me in an essay contest, giving them a pen and me a laptop, and then acting shocked when I crushed them in word count. This wasn’t a challenge—it was a setup. “Come on, Bree!” Derek shouted from the sidelines, clapping his hands and beaming like this was the best day of his life. “This isn’t fair,” I muttered under my breath, just as Gabriella and her crew burst onto the field in a blur of squeals and bouncing boobs. Their laughter rang out like a signal flare, and the boys lost all focus, scattering in a heartbeat to chase them like moths to a flame. I took that moment as divine intervention. If ever there was a time to move, it was when the guys’ attention was glued to Gabriella’s perfectly timed hair flips. With my arms crossed tightly over my chest, I started walking. Not jogging. Definitely not running. Just a slow, awkward shuffle that barely counted as movement but technically advanced me toward the goal. My legs protested almost immediately, aching in places I didn’t know could ache. My eyes scanned for a gap, for some miracle of timing that would let me slip through unnoticed. And then I saw it. A sliver of space opened up as four guys sprinted off in different directions, leaving a tiny break in the line. I sped up, my feet dragging at first, then pushing harder as urgency crept in. My breathing turned uneven. Ankles throbbed. My muscles screamed in confusion. But I could see the end now—the finish line just ahead. Then, like a nightmare come to life, I heard it. “You think you can outrun me?!” Oh god. No. I twisted to glance over my shoulder—and there he was. Gage. That damn grin plastered across his face like he was enjoying every second of this. His tone was teasing, but there was something predatory in it too. Something that made my skin prickle. And I’d love to say I stayed cool under pressure, that I responded like a mature adult. But no. I squealed. Loud. High-pitched. Embarrassing. Then I did what any girl in her right mind would do—I ran. “Oh, you’re so mine, Bree!” he called, his voice dripping with glee. I didn’t look back again. I locked my eyes on the finish line, my legs pumping faster despite the burn tearing through them. My arms folded protectively over my chest, my lungs begging for oxygen. I could hear his footsteps closing in behind me. Hear the way he laughed, full of amusement and barely-contained hunger. But what struck me more than his proximity… was the fact that he hadn’t caught me yet. I risked another glance back—and nearly tripped. Gage was right there, just a few steps behind. But he wasn’t sprinting. Not really. He was running just fast enough to keep me on edge, his long legs eating up the distance effortlessly. But his stride was measured, playful, like he was letting me run. “Come on, Bree!” I turned forward again, locking eyes with Caleb on the other side of the field. He was motioning frantically, his grin wide and encouraging. “You’re almost here, push harder!” he yelled, practically vibrating with energy. So I did. I pushed harder, lungs burning, heart pounding, legs screaming. Somehow, through sheer stubbornness, I made it. I crossed the line—and stumbled straight into Caleb’s arms, panting so hard I couldn’t speak. My head turned, eyes seeking out Gage. He had slowed, still grinning, now jogging backward with his hands raised in mock surrender. “I’ll catch you next time!” he called, that deceptively sweet voice laced with something darker. It didn’t feel like a joke. It felt like a promise. Or maybe… a warning. “You did it, Bree!” Caleb cheered, bouncing like a five-year-old who’d just had three sodas. I reached down, fingers brushing the waistband of my jeans—my ribbon was still there. I laughed, shocked and exhilarated, and jumped with him, letting myself celebrate, just this once. And when my eyes found Gage again, he was still watching me. Still smiling. And I smiled back.