I’m not his type.

Sadly, he is my type, right down to his tight jeans, Converse, and tight black shirt that accentuates every indentation in his chest. Why isn’t he wearing a coat in February? Probably too tough.

“You okay?” he asks, his gaze drifting over me.

I clear my throat. “Yeah.”

“I suppose you’re on your way to class.” He checks his watch. “Which starts in five minutes. Looks like we’re both going to be late. At least you didn’t get any coffee on you.” He smiles, a flash of white teeth peeking through full, pouty lips.

I tell my eyes to stop looking at him—because football guys can’t be trusted, dammit—but there are three things my brain can’t help but notice: Mexican food, Star Wars, and a tightly muscled athlete…and donuts. So, four.

I nod. “Yeah, you sit with your fan girls in the middle of the auditorium. I sit in the back.” I sigh as he plucks the donut off his chest. “Sorry for bumping into you. I was in a hurry to get there, I guess.”

“No worries. It gives us a chance to talk.”

What? Why does he want to talk to me?

“About what?” I ask, but he doesn’t answer me.

Instead, he stares down at the pink and purple sprinkles and edible glitter that dot his shirt. “That’s a lot of sugar on my shirt. That can’t be good for you.”

“I…sorry. The sprinkles are a weakness, and I can’t resist getting them. I always say I’m not going to because they have to be at least another fifty calories, but in the end, they’re just so pretty.” I point to the squashed donut. “That particular one is called the Unicorn because it has every kind of sprinkle in the entire bakery on it.” I make the sign of the cross. “Rest in peace, sweet donut.”

I continue babbling about the different flavors of donuts as I hurriedly wipe at his shirt with my hands, flinging bits of dough to the sidewalk while secretly calculating if I have enough time to dash back in to grab another one.

His chest is—unsurprisingly—hard as iron, his pecs solid as my fingers fuss over him, and suddenly I’m feeling shy and self-conscious because I’ve touched him without permission. Sure, we briefly touched lips two years ago, but that seems like a lifetime ago.

I drop my hands to my sides and our eyes collide again.

A nervous sneeze threatens to erupt, and I push it down, my fingers clenching the straps of my backpack. Don’t do it, Delaney!

He clears his throat. “I was wondering if you wanted—”

Alex appears next to me. “Delaney! Are you deaf? I’ve been calling your name and you didn’t even turn around.” His eyes bounce from me to Maverick, taking in the donut, which is still in Maverick’s hand, along with my forlorn coffee cup sitting prettily atop an ornamental bush. “What happened?” he questions, his square face concerned, his eyes taking in my face slowly, lingering on my lips. He’s a handsome guy, lean and wiry, with soft eyes, auburn hair, and an easy smile that used to make me melt.

My entire body tightens. We haven’t spoken in a month, and now here he is, chasing me down across campus and looking at me like I’m a piece of candy.

“Aren’t you even going to talk to me?” Alex hitches up his backpack and takes another step toward me.

Maverick turns his gaze to me and throws up an eyebrow, as if prompting me to respond. He’s rather desperate, his expression seems to say.

I’d rather eat snails than talk to him, I say back with my face. I’m not sure he gets my body language message, but I could have sworn his lips twitched.

Either way, he says nothing, just slides his gaze from me to Alex.

I’m a bundle of nerves, and most of it has to do with Alex chasing after me, but some of it is because bumping into Maverick has me thinking back to Badass Athlete and what he’s doing right now. What if Maverick is Badass Athlete? They’re both blond and athletic…but what if Badass Athlete is just a tennis player? Or one of those volleyball dudes? There’s a ton of them.

Alex takes my hand, and because I’m so surprised that he’s touching me, I let him. “Look, babe, I don’t want to have this conversation in front of everyone”—he sends some side-eye toward Maverick, who hasn’t moved an inch—“but do you want to meet me at Pluto’s for coffee after your class? I know you love that place.”

Babe? Ugh.

“You asked what happened—we bumped into each other,” Maverick says rather abruptly as his eyes go from me to Alex, talking as if everything is perfectly normal. He’s trying to change the topic, and I appreciate it. Maybe he reads the desperation on my face. “Actually, I was on my phone—an emergency with my sister, but everything’s okay. I was looking down, and I guess Delaney was too.” He shrugs. “Unfortunately, she lost her breakfast in the process, and I lost my phone.”

“Did you drop it?” I ask, checking him out and not seeing one in his hands.

He nods, and it’s the perfect reason to immediately retract my hand from Alex’s and bend down to see if I can find it. Maverick does the same, and our shoulders bump together as we pillage through the azaleas.

“Thank you,” I whisper to him as we scan the sidewalk.

“For what?” he whispers back.

“For defusing that…moment.”

“Ah—you’re still into him.”

I scowl. “No, I’m not.”

“Then why are you so flustered?”

“I’m not,” I huff out under my breath. Scrambling around in the bushes is not the place to explain the dynamics of my relationship with Alex.

“You are. Is it because you bumped into me?” A small grin curls his lips, and I’m reminded of the arrogant football player I met at the bonfire.

I give him a glare. “No. I barely know you.”

“We can change that.” He cocks an eyebrow.

Oh.

Well then.

“I’m not one of your groupies. I don’t do random hook-ups.”

“Maybe I’m just trying to get to know you.”

I give him a get real look. “Why? We barely talk.”

His gaze flicks back to Alex, who’s also looking for the phone a few feet away. “Now that you’re not dating Alex…”

I let out a triumphant shout when I find the phone and hold it up over my head. Alex is glowering at us, and I think he has been since I pulled my hand out of his. I ignore him.

“Found it, and thankfully it didn’t get wet from my coffee.” Maverick and I stand together and do a little handoff where he gives me the crushed donut and I give him his phone. Our fingers graze, giving me a shiver of heat. I stick my hand in my coat pocket.

Alex touches my arm and shoots an annoyed look between Maverick and me. He’s holding my empty coffee cup, retrieved from the shrubbery, and he also grabbed my small desk calendar, which slipped out of my backpack because I left it half-unzipped in my rush to get out of the house this morning.

“Here, don’t you need this?” He waves it at me.

I give him a tight nod and shove it into my bag without looking at him.

“Are you okay? No bumps or bruises?” Alex asks, running his hands over my shoulders.

“No, I’m fine.” I straighten up and give my chin a little hitch to look at him. He’s not as tall as Maverick, about six-one.