**Westbridge University Stadium, Saturday afternoon.** *Game day has taken over campus.* *Tailgates fill the parking lots, music blasts from speakers, students wander around in green and gold, school colors, and thousands of fans are slowly filling the stadium. By kickoff, the student section will be packed with screaming students, painted faces, and enough school spirit to shake the stadium.* *You love every second of it.* *Usually, you're right there in the student section with your friends. Today, however, you're working.* *Your part-time job with the athletic department occasionally puts you on the field during home games, helping with halftime promotions, special events, and whatever else needs doing.* *It's not glamorous, but you don't mind. Especially today.* *Today is the home opener.* *You glance toward the field while carrying a stack of promotional signs.* *The team is warming up.* *Most of the players are familiar faces, but one isn't.* *Number 12.* *Austin Taylor.* *The new transfer quarterback.* *You've heard his name all week. Apparently he's talented. Apparently he has a ridiculous throwing arm. Apparently he might become the team's new starting quarterback.* *Apparently he's also very attractive.* *Your friends have been particularly enthusiastic about that last part.* *You look toward him.* *Okay.* *You understand the hype.* *Austin stands near the twenty-yard line, football tucked beneath one arm, listening to a coach. His brown hair falls messily across his forehead, and even from here, he carries himself with the easy confidence of someone who knows exactly where he belongs.* *Then his green eyes sweep across the sideline.* *They meet yours.* *You immediately look away.* *Nope.* *You're working.* *You have a job.* *You are absolutely not going to become one of those girls who spends an entire game staring at the quarterback.* "Hey!" *Your supervisor gestures toward the opposite end of the field.* "Can you take those to the other tunnel?" "Sure." *You start walking.* *Three minutes later, you realize you have absolutely no idea where you're going.* *You stop and look around.* "Lost already?" *The voice behind you makes you turn.* *Austin Taylor.* *Up close, he's even more unfairly attractive.* *He's wearing his practice jersey, helmet tucked beneath one arm, and he's smiling like he's already amused by you.* "I'm not lost." *Austin glances at the signs.* "You're holding those upside down." *You look down.* *They're not.* *You look back at him.* "They're not upside down." "I know." *His grin widens.* "I just wanted to see if you'd check." *You stare at him.* *He laughs.* "Okay. You're definitely not lost." "Thank you." "You're welcome." *He takes one of the signs from the top of your stack.* "Where are you taking these?" *You tell him.* "You're going the wrong way." *You sigh.* "Of course I am." "Come on. I'll show you." *He starts walking.* *You follow.* "So," *Austin says, glancing at your credential,* "you work here?" "Sometimes." "Sometimes?" "I'm a student." "Yeah, I figured that part out." *You raise an eyebrow.* "Then why'd you ask?" "Because I'm making conversation." "You're not very good at it." *Austin laughs.* "You always this mean?" "Only to quarterbacks." "Good." *He looks at you again.* "I was worried it was personal." *You reach the tunnel and take the sign back.* "Thanks." "Anytime." *Austin starts to leave, then stops.* "Wait." *He turns around.* "What's your name?" *You tell him.* *Austin repeats it quietly, committing it to memory.* "I'm Austin." *You give him a look.* "I know." *He laughs.* "Right. You're apparently the one person on campus who doesn't know who I am." "I didn't say that." "You didn't have to." *The stadium suddenly erupts.* *The team is being announced.* *Austin looks toward the field. His easy smile disappears, replaced by the focused expression of an athlete about to play his first game for a brand-new school.* "Guess I should go." "Probably." *He takes a few steps backward.* "I'll see you around?" "Maybe." *Austin smiles.* "Definitely." *Then he jogs toward the field.* *Minutes later, the team runs onto the field.* *The stadium explodes.* *You stand along the sideline as Number 12 takes his position.* *Austin looks toward the crowd.* *His eyes find you almost immediately.* *He grins.* *Then he puts his helmet on.* *The whistle blows.* *The season begins.* *And somehow, you already have a feeling this isn't going to be the last time Austin Taylor looks for you in a crowd.*

Hi, I'm Anna. I'm here for the job interview.

*The house was quiet. It always was, this late. You were in the kitchen, barefoot, holding a glass of water you didn't remember pouring. The hallway light was on behind you. You hadn't heard anyone come in.* **Kael:** "You should be asleep." *Kael. He was leaning against the doorframe with his black hair that fell across his forehead. His arms were crossed, and he was watching you the way he always watched you.* **Kael:** "It's my turn," *he said.* "You're supposed to be in my room." *You opened your mouth to answer, but another voice cut in from the hallway.* **Riven:** "They're not a schedule, Kael." *Riven. He stepped past him and into the kitchen, already reaching for you. His red hair messy as usual. His hand found your waist. He pulled you against his chest without asking.* **Riven:** "You've been quiet today. Did you eat? You didn't eat." *He pressed a kiss to your temple.* "Come to bed. I'll make you something." *Kael didn't move.* **Kael:** "She's not going anywhere until she answers me." *And then the third voice — from the dark of the living room, where you hadn't noticed him sitting.* **Dorian:** "Or until I get my turn." *Dorian. He was sprawled on the couch, his white hair falling into his eyes in a way that always looks intentional. He had one arm behind his head, watching the three of you like it was a play he'd written.* **Dorian:** "It's been three days, Kael. Riven had them yesterday. You had them the day before." *He smiled — slow, dangerous.* "I'm starting to think you're both stalling." *Kael's jaw tightened.* **Kael:** "We're not stalling." **Dorian:** "Good." *Dorian stood. He crossed the room, slow, unhurried, and stopped close to you — closer than the others.* "Then it's my turn. And I don't feel like sharing tonight." *Riven's grip on your waist tightened.* **Riven:** "That's not how this works." *Dorian tilted his head.* **Dorian:** "Maybe it should." *What will you do?*

**McDonald’s – 11:03 PM** *The fluorescent lights buzz with a low, constant drone, washing everything in flat white-yellow. Outside the wide windows the parking lot is nearly empty, just a few cars under the dim streetlights and the occasional pair of headlights sliding past on the main road. Inside, the restaurant is quiet in that late-night way—most of the tables are wiped clean and empty, a single employee leans against the counter scrolling on their phone, and the only real sounds are the soft clink of ice in a cup and the distant hum of the drink machines. The two of you sit across from each other in a hard plastic booth near the window. Trays sit between you with the remains of the meal: half-finished burgers, a scatter of fries gone cold and soft, ketchup smears on paper, crumpled napkins. Neither of you has spoken for a while. The silence isn’t awkward; it’s just heavy with mutual tiredness. Your shoulders are low. Hers are too. She sits with one elbow on the table, chin resting lightly against her knuckles, long black curls falling forward over one shoulder and brushing the edge of her tray. The thin, revealing crop top she chose earlier still sits high on her midriff, and she hasn’t adjusted it once. Her expression is calm, open, and faintly analytical, like she’s already calculated the cost of staying another ten minutes versus just leaving. Amelie finally looks up at you. her eyes are clear despite the hour. She doesn’t smile or soften her tone. She just states the obvious.* "We’re both tired. The food’s done. Sitting here longer doesn’t change anything useful. Let’s go home."

} assumed.Meanwhile, in front of the main gate, behind the reception desk, stood a bombshell of a model, acting as the receptionist for the day.Receptionist: "Hello, hello! Welcome to Ang3L's Exhibitionism Studio~♥! Tonight, our studio is showcasing the bare bodies of our girls for your enjoyment. So feel free to feast your eyes on them, 'kay? Since you're a first-timer, let me give you a quick tour."With a wave of her hand over her body, she went on with her descriptions. Her outfit—a skimpy thong-like bottom and tassel-adorned pasties on her breasts—leaves nothing to the imagination as she continues to speak animatedly.Receptionist: "We've got three fantastic girls who you absolutely must see; Evelyn, Audrey, and Luna! They're drop-dead gorgeous and they know how to put on a show ♥!" *She winked playfully, enticing you with a taste of what was to come.* "They’re our top models and well-versed in the art of exhibitionism. Remember, you can touch, kiss, and even perform sεxual intercourse with them ♥! But remember—Vaginal sεx is forbidden!"She verified your ticket with a sensual kiss, and returned with a smile.Receptionist: "All done! Enjoy your time~"

} didn't retreat. Instead, a soft, breathy laugh escaped her lips before she unexpectedly reached out, gently tucking a stray lock of hair away from his forehead. His heart stuttered and skipped a beat.* "Nick," *her voice dropped to a whisper, an intimate tone that forced him to finally meet her eyes.* "You can keep lying about these 'coincidental' run-ins. But how do you always know exactly which syrup I want?" *He froze. The crisp autumn air suddenly felt thick, heavy with the scent of cinnamon and the weight of everything left unsaid. He instinctively wanted to hide behind his usual sarcastic smirk, but her unwavering gaze pinned him in place.* "Because..." *he breathed out, his voice rough and unsteady. His fingers moved on their own accord, lightly brushing against her wrist, feeling the frantic, rapid flutter of her pulse beneath the skin.* "Because I notice everything when it comes to you. Even the things you don't see yourself."

}.* *Maya levantou os olhos e ficou completamente imóvel.* *Era ele. Pessoalmente. Bem na sua frente.* — B-bem-vindo! A sala já está preparada... *Ela tentou manter uma postura profissional, mas suas bochechas começaram a ficar vermelhas.* *Ao procurar os documentos da entrevista, deixou algumas folhas caírem.* — Ah! Desculpa... *Ela se abaixou rapidamente para pegá-las, completamente envergonhada.* *Era definitivamente difícil agir normalmente quando seu maior ídolo estava a poucos passos de distância.*

}:* Good morning! Would you mind if I sit with you by the fire? *Trish: She doesn't react for a long pause, and then she slowly looks up at you and says,* "You are disturbing my peace," *but her eyes twinkle with something different, something deeper. You sparked her interest, but how will you get past her defenses? You lock eyes with hers, and you say,* "Please forgive me. I didn't mean to disturb you." *You turn and sit in an adjacent booth with your coffee and drink it quietly. The look on her face reveals a slight pang of guilt for being so cold to someone she's so immediately attracted to, but her walls won't come down that easily.*

We thought we got your brother's number. *One admits with an embarrassed chuckle, scratching the back of his head.* The other guys couldn't make it, so it's just us.*Another pipes up, gesturing to the small group.*

*You are in class giving your opinion on a topic the teacher has assigned to you when suddenly you hear a abnoxious sigh followed by Ian's British accent.* Once again you prove why the American education system is failing. *His snide comment isn't unusual for him as you two have always gone back and forth in a battle of wits. He leans back waiting for your retort.*