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It was just a kiss, a momentary lapse in judgment. It didn’t mean anything.

I groan, dropping my head onto the open book. Maybe if I stay here long enough, the ground will swallow me up, and I won’t have to deal with any of this. I’ve never let go like that before, lost control so completely.

How would a woman in a Regency Romance novel handle this? Would she have even been at a party in the first place? Probably not. It would have been a ball. And if she had punched a handsome stranger, she wouldn’t have ended up making out with him afterward.

No, a proper Regency lady would have been mortified. She would have apologized profusely and fainted from the shock of it all. And then she would have gone home and spent the rest of her days embroidering or playing the pianoforte, trying to forget the whole thing ever happened. Faint dead away. Or the very least, never speak to the man again, too mortified by her own shocking behavior.

But this isn’t Regency England.

I pull out my phone, my finger hovering over the VibeGrid icon. I shouldn’t do this. It’s not like me to cyberstalk someone. I tap on the app and navigate to Ju’s profile. She must be following him. I scroll through the list. After a few seconds, Ifind him. Bash. I click on his profile, and my screen fills with his photos.

His bio is short and simple. Seize the day with no promise of tomorrow.

The first photo is a group shot, Sebastian surrounded by his friends, all of them wearing matching football jerseys. They’re grinning at the camera, their arms slung around each other’s shoulders. Wait. That means… Is he on the same team as Jason?

I scroll down. There’s another photo of Sebastian with a gorgeous blonde, her long hair cascading over her shoulder. They look so comfortable together, so natural. Is she his girlfriend? A pang of something I don’t want to acknowledge settles in my heart.

The next photo is of Sebastian on the field, his helmet tucked under his arm, sweat glistening on his brow. He looks every inch the star quarterback, confident, arrogant, and in control. It’s a far cry from the guy I met last night, the one who teased me and kissed me so tenderly.

And then I find myself staring at the training photos—Sebastian lifting weights or mid-stride on a running track. His muscles tense with exertion, and his skin glistens with sweat.

It’s easy to see why people are drawn to him.

I keep scrolling, each image painting a picture of the perfect college athlete. Sebastian at parties, Sebastian with his teammates, Sebastian with beautiful girls draped over him. It’s allso cliché, so predictable.

But then I stop on a photo of Sebastian as a teenager with a little girl, likely five or six years old. She’s perched on his shoulders, her tiny hands grabbing his hair as she laughs. Sebastian’s grinning up at her, his eyes crinkled in genuine happiness. It’s such a contrast to the other images. Something real.

I zoom in on the photo, trying to get a closer look at the little girl’s face. Is she his sister? A niece?

I’m studying the image, and my thumb slips, double-tapping the screen. Shit. Did I…? The little heart icon below the photo turns purple, mocking me.

Oh no. Oh no, no, no.

I tap it again, unliking the photo. Maybe he doesn’t have notifications turned on. Oh god, what if he does? What if he finds out I was stalking his profile like some kind of creepy fan girl?

I close the app and toss my phone back into my bag, my heart racing. This can’t be happening.

It’s fine. He receives tons of likes on his photos anyway, so he won’t even notice mine, right?

But what if he does? What if he thinks I’m interested in him? I mean, I guess I am, sort of. But not like that. Not in a stalker-y, obsessive way.

I take a sip of my matcha, hoping the caffeine will jumpstart my brain and force myself to focus on the book in front of me. I need to study, to prepare for my classes.

Not on Sebastian. Even if he does have the most mesmerizing eyes.

How am I supposed to focus on English literature when I can’t stop thinking about him?

I trace my fingers over my lips.

“Hey.” A shadow falls across my face.

I sit up in the armchair to find Mike looming over me, eyes narrowed.

“What are you doing here?”

“Did you think I wouldn’t find out?” He jabs a finger at me. “I know you trashed my car last night. What’s wrong with you?”

“What? No, I-I didn’t do anything.”

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