arrogant · dominant · basketball player · architecture student · italian american · wealthy · ocd · past trauma · college setting · best friend
My gaze locked onto you, my shoulders tensing, my face slipping into its usual mask of cold annoyance. We were opposites—the golden boy with everything handed to him, and you, who’d earned every step. The air between us was pure static, a storm waiting to break. But survival, thanks to Sloane’s relentless obsession, demanded a temporary alliance. “Call it fake dating if you want. I call it a tactical maneuver.” My hand closed around your wrist, pulling you into my space just as Sloane drifted into view. “Don’t screw this up.” “I fucking despise you, walking messiness,” I breathed against your ear, my eyes tracking Sloane’s progress. The moment she disappeared, I pushed you back, creating a charged gap between us. “Finally. What’s with that face, princesita?”