Ah, another day at Halworth University, the Ivy League of Ivy Leagues. You don't get in here unless your parents own banks, oil companies, or entire countries. It's the kind of place where even the janitors probably make six figures just for existing.
For me? It's just home.
The air smelled like money and privilege, and I walked through the front quad like I owned the whole damn place. Maybe I did, in spirit. Heads turned, voices called out, and I gave the bare minimum back—smiles, nods, smirks. That was enough.
"Yo, Matteo!"
I looked over. Ryan, our star quarterback, waved from across the lawn. Six-foot-something, all muscle, a smile so bright it could blind you. Every girl on campus drooled over him, and every guy wanted to be him. He had a football in one hand and a blonde hanging off the other, laughing at something he said. I raised my coffee cup to him like a toast, and he grinned back.
Yeah, that's right. The golden boy acknowledges me.
A couple steps later, I passed by a girl making out with her boyfriend near the fountain. She was practically climbing him, his hands all over her, squeezing her ass like he owned it. But when I walked by? She peeked over her boyfriend's shoulder, met my eyes, and winked.
At me.
I smirked. Of course she did.
Her boyfriend had no clue, still eating her face, but that wink? That was mine. That was the game.
I pushed through the doors of the main building and stepped into the chaos of the student lounge. It was packed, buzzing with the morning rush. Laptops open, people laughing, someone blasting music from a speaker even though signs everywhere said No Noise. Typical.
"Hey, Matteo."
Not the normal kind of hey. This was a lingering, stretched-out hey, like the word itself wanted me naked. A brunette across the room was leaning against a vending machine, eyes locked on me, lips curled like she already knew what I tasted like.
I gave her the smirk. Not too big, not too eager. Just a nod, smooth, like yeah, I saw you, maybe I'll think about you later.
And then—pause.
Shit.
Right in front of me stood Liz.
Of course.
Liz, the girl I fucked last night.
Tall, legs for days, body poured into a short skirt and a crop top that screamed look at me. Her hair was this glossy black waterfall that framed her face like she'd stepped straight out of a shampoo commercial. Her eyes were sharp, that stormy gray that made guys want to drown in them, and her lips—don't even get me started. Hot. Smoking hot.
Too bad she was also a walking headache.
She spotted me, and her whole face changed. One second neutral, the next locked on me like a heat-seeking missile. She stalked over, heels clicking against the tile like gunshots.
"You," she snapped, pointing a perfectly manicured finger at my chest. "I can't believe you."
I froze, just for show, tilting my head like I didn't understand. "Me?"
"Don't play dumb, Matteo. Last night? You treated me like—" Her voice cracked, but she powered through, eyes blazing. "—like I'm some cheap whore. You just left. No call, no text, nothing. Do you have any idea how humiliating that is?"
Her voice carried, and people nearby were already staring. Great. An audience.
Time to flip the script.
I sighed, soft, like I was the one hurt here. "Liz…" I let her name linger on my tongue, slow, careful. Then I dropped my shoulders a little, made my expression soften, like I'd just realized something. "Oh. You thought—" I shook my head, smiling faintly. "God, no. That's not what happened."
Her eyes narrowed. "Really? Then what happened?"
I leaned in slightly, lowering my voice so it felt like a secret between us. "You were incredible last night. I mean… wow. I left because I didn't want to wake you up. You looked so peaceful, I thought—why ruin that? And texting? I figured it'd be better in person. Isn't it?"
She blinked, caught off guard.
I pressed on, smooth as silk. "Look, if it came off the wrong way, that's on me. I'm sorry. The last thing I'd ever want is for you to feel like that. You're not… you're not some cheap anything. You're Liz. You know how people look at you when you walk in a room."
Her cheeks flushed, just a little, but it was enough.
I smiled again, warm this time, not cocky. "Honestly? I should be the one worried. You're way out of my league."
That did it. I saw it in her eyes—the shift, the tension melting just enough.
She folded her arms, still pretending to be pissed, but her voice had lost its edge. "You're such an asshole, Matteo."
"Probably." I shrugged. "But at least I'm an honest one."
She tried to hold onto her glare, but the corner of her mouth twitched like she was fighting a smile. Finally, she rolled her eyes and brushed past me, muttering, "Don't think you're off the hook."
I watched her walk away, hips swaying like she knew I was staring.
And when she was gone, I exhaled, shaking my head.
"Girls," I muttered under my breath. "So gullible."
I adjusted my backpack, flashed another smirk at the brunette by the vending machine who was still watching, and kept moving like nothing had happened.
Just another day at Halworth.
---
I finally dragged myself into my first lecture of the day—Economics, or something that sounded just as thrilling.
Half an hour in and I was already half-asleep. The professor's voice was like white noise, words sliding right over my head as I doodled on my notebook and scrolled through my phone under the desk. Same old. Same boring.
Jonas sat next to me, actually taking notes like some kind of saint. Nerd. I nudged him once, he shooed me away. Typical.
Then the doors at the back creaked open.
Heads turned. Not just one or two—every guy in the room turned.
She walked in.
Blonde hair that caught the light like it was staged. Green eyes sharp enough to cut glass. Curves poured into a black tank top and jeans that fit her like they were painted on. And that walk—slow, steady, like she didn't give a damn about the stares she was pulling.
Someone whistled. Another guy muttered a low "holy shit". The room rippled with it, voices stirring until the professor snapped for silence.
I didn't say a word. Just sat back in my chair, smirking to myself.
New catch.
She scanned the rows, picked an empty seat near the middle, and slid into it without so much as a glance at anyone. No shy smile, no awkward fumble with her bag—just calm, smooth, like she'd been here forever.
I leaned back, eyes on her for a beat longer than I should've, then looked away before anyone noticed.
Yeah. Definitely a catch.
---
To be continued...