George Lawson wasn't supposed to care.
But there was something about Celine Thomas that made it impossible not to.
She was sharp, annoyingly organized, and walked around campus like she had an invisible to-do list she couldn't afford to drop. She never laughed at his jokes. Rarely even smiled. And that only made him want to try harder.
Because if he could just get her under that cool, confident exterior, maybe he'd finally understand why she had taken up residence in his mind.
He leaned against a pillar near the café, sipping from a can of soda, pretending to scroll through his phone while his eyes flicked up every few seconds toward the Humanities building.
There she was.
Celine walked briskly like she was late for a meeting, her dark curls pulled into a tight ponytail. Headphones in. Completely in her own world.
Until she nearly walked into a door.
George chuckled quietly to himself. Perfectly put-together Celine, caught off guard. He liked that. He liked seeing cracks in her composure.
"Stalker much?" came a voice beside him.
He turned to find his friend Noah raising an eyebrow, clearly amused.
George shrugged. "I'm just… observing."
"Uh-huh. You 'observe' her after every Tuesday lecture. What's the deal, man? You're into her?"
George hesitated, then shook his head. "Not like that."
But it was a lie. And he knew it.
Because even if he wasn't looking for anything serious, especially not now, especially not after what happened back home, something about her kept pulling him in. She was the opposite of every girl he'd ever dated. And maybe that was the problem.
Or maybe… that was the point.
Back inside her dorm room, Celine tossed her tote on the desk and sighed. George Lawson had officially wormed his way into her brain, and she hated it.
He was everywhere at lectures, in her study group (thanks to some mysterious last-minute reshuffling), and now in her thoughts, too.
She opened her planner, trying to distract herself with to-do lists and deadlines. But all she could think about was what he'd said in class.
Figuring you out.
Why did that feel like a warning?
Or worse… a promise?
Her phone buzzed with a message.
Unknown Number: Hey, Sunshine. Miss me yet?
Her heart stuttered in her chest.
She didn't need to ask who it was. Only one person called her that.
She stared at the screen for a long moment, fingers hovering over the keyboard.
Celine: How did you get my number?
The reply came in seconds.
George: Wouldn't you like to know?
She rolled her eyes, but the corners of her mouth twitched against her will.
This wasn't good.
She was supposed to be focused. Unbothered. Untouchable.
But George Lawson was getting closer. Closer than she ever planned to let anyone get again.
And somewhere, in the background of both their lives, something was quietly shifting.
Because the line between hate and something dangerously close to love?
It was already starting to blur.