LOGINWesley POV
“Fuck.” I stood there in the rain like an idiot, watching Samantha run away until she disappeared around the corner. My lips still burned from the kiss. My dick was half-hard just from the taste of her and the way she had grabbed my shirt like she wanted to rip it off. I ran a hand through my wet hair and cursed again. That wasn’t supposed to happen. Not like that. Not in the middle of a group project meeting with Donald right there. My phone buzzed. I pulled it out fast. Samantha: Don’t text me. That was a mistake. I typed back immediately. Me: Bullshit. You kissed me back. Meet me at my flat tonight. We need to talk properly. No reply. Ten minutes passed. Still nothing. I headed straight for the hostel area, ignoring the rain soaking through my clothes. When I reached her building I stopped outside. I couldn’t just knock on her door like a creep. Instead, I sent another message. Me: I’m outside your hostel. Come down. Five minutes. That’s all. Still nothing. I paced under the shelter near the entrance. A girl with bright red hair stepped out, Angelina, her roommate. She spotted me and grinned like she already knew everything. “You must be Wesley,” she said, looking me up and down. “Samantha just came in looking like she got chased by the devil. Or kissed by one.” I gave her a small smile. “That obvious?” “Very. She’s in our room changing out of wet clothes. She told me to tell you to go away if you showed up.” Angelina crossed her arms, still smiling. “But I’m not her keeper. She’s confused as hell right now. That kiss really messed with her head.” “Good,” I said without thinking. “Because it messed with mine too.” Angelina laughed. “Careful, basketball boy. She’s not like the girls you usually play with. She’s got real pressure on her. Scholarship, strict family, and the whole thing.” “I know,” I replied. “I’m not trying to mess up her life. I just… can’t stop thinking about her.” The redhead studied me for a second. “Interesting. Most guys don’t admit that so fast.” She nodded toward the door. “She might come down and she might not. So… Good luck.” Angelina went back inside. I waited another ten minutes, leaning against the wall. Finally, the door opened again and Samantha stepped out, hair damp, wearing fresh clothes and a guarded expression. “You really don’t know when to quit, do you?” she said, stopping a few feet away. “Not when it comes to you apparently.” I pushed off the wall. “That kiss wasn’t a mistake, Samantha.” “It was,” she insisted, but her voice wasn’t as firm as before. “We were angry. It just happened. We have a group project to finish and I can’t let this ruin my grades.” I stepped closer. “One kiss isn’t going to tank your precious GPA. But ignoring what’s happening between us might drive us both crazy.” She looked up at me, those big brown eyes searching my face. “There is no ‘us’, Wesley. You’re a player. I’m focused on my degree. We don’t fit.” “You felt it too,” I said, lowering my voice. “The way you kissed me back, the way your body pressed against mine. Don’t lie to me.” Her cheeks flushed. She bit her lip and looked away. “Even if I did feel something, it doesn’t matter. Donald was right there. The whole group saw us argue and then I ran out. This is already messy.” The mention of Donald made my chest tighten. “Donald’s a good guy. But he’s not the one who just kissed you in the rain.” Samantha crossed her arms. “And you think that makes you better? You corner me, tease me, then kiss me without asking. What if I didn’t want it?” I raised an eyebrow. “You pushed me away after. Not before. And you kissed me like you were starving for it.” She opened her mouth, closed it, then sighed heavily. “This is exactly why I told you to stay away. You’re distracting and dangerous.” “Dangerous how?” I asked, stepping even closer until only a foot separated us. “Because I make you feel things you’ve never felt before?” Her breath hitched. She didn’t deny it. I continued, voice low. “Tell me you didn’t go back to your room thinking about my hands on you. Tell me you didn’t feel anything when I had you against that wall.” Samantha’s eyes flicked to my mouth for a second before she looked away. “We can’t do this, Wesley. The project meeting is already awkward enough. I need to keep my head straight.” “Then let’s make a deal,” I said. “We work on the project together properly. No bullshit. But after hours… we figure out what this is.” She shook her head. “You’re impossible.” “And you’re stubborn as hell.” I smiled. “It’s hot.” A small laugh escaped her before she could stop it. She quickly covered it with a cough. “I have to go back inside. Angelina is probably dying to interrogate me.” Before she could turn away I caught her hand. “One more thing.” She looked down at our joined hands, then back up at me. “I’m not giving up on this,” I told her. “Whatever this is. So get used to seeing me around, Samantha Williams.” She pulled her hand free gently, but not angrily. “You’re going to regret pushing me, Wesley Adams.” “Doubt it,” I replied. She turned and walked back into the hostel. I watched her go, that familiar heat still burning in my gut. Later that evening I got back to my flat. Donald was already there, playing video games with Jake. He paused the game when he saw me. “You talked to her?” “Yeah.” Donald set the controller down. “Look, man. If you’re just messing around with her, back off. She’s not casual. I like her. I was thinking of asking her out properly.” The words hit harder than I expected. I dropped onto the couch, tension running through my shoulders. “You’re really going after her?” I asked. Donald shrugged. “She’s smart. Pretty. Focused. Yeah, I am.” I stared at the frozen game on the screen. Samantha kissing me in the rain. Samantha smiling at Donald when he brought her coffee. The two images clashed hard in my head. Before I could answer, my phone lit up with a message. Samantha: Group chat is active. We’re meeting again tomorrow to assign parts. Please act normal. I read it twice. Then typed back. Me: Normal? After what happened today? Hard to be normal around you now. Her reply came quicker than I expected. Samantha: Try. For the sake of our grades. I smiled at the screen, but the knot in my stomach stayed. Donald wanted her. Samantha was fighting whatever this was between us. And I couldn’t stop thinking about the way she tasted. This was only going to get more complicated.SAMANTHA’S POV The small cottage on the lake had become our planning headquarters over the last two weeks of summer break. The wooden table in the living room was covered with magazines, printed photos, and a large notebook where Wesley had started sketching ideas in his surprisingly neat handwriting. A half-drunk bottle of wine sat beside a plate of strawberries we had picked from the local farm that morning. The late afternoon sun streamed through the wide windows, painting everything in warm gold. I sat cross-legged on the couch in one of Wesley’s old t-shirts, my laptop open to a wedding planning website. My curls were tied back in a messy bun, and I had a pen tucked behind my ear. Wesley lounged beside me, his long legs stretched out, wearing only low-slung shorts. His hand rested on my thigh, thumb tracing lazy circles that kept sending little sparks through me. “So the venue,” I said, scrolling through photos of small lakeside chapels. “Something intimate. Maybe right here
SAMANTHA’S POV The small cottage on the outskirts of Manchester smelled of fresh pine and the faint salt of the nearby lake. It was the kind of place people rented for quiet weekends, wooden beams, wide windows overlooking the water, a big stone fireplace that Wesley had already lit even though the summer evening was mild. We had driven here straight after the final board confirmation, suitcases thrown in the back of his old car, the radio playing low as we left the campus behind for the first time in months. I stood on the porch now, barefoot, a thin summer dress clinging to my skin from the humidity. The sun was setting over the lake, painting everything in soft oranges and pinks. Inside, Wesley was cooking something simple, grilled fish and vegetables, the same recipe he had perfected in his tiny flat kitchen during those stolen nights when the world felt like it was closing in. It had been three months since the board lifted my probation for good. Three months since my parent
SAMANTHA’S POVThe final board review room smelled of old paper and nervous sweat. I sat at the center of the long table, my hands folded so tightly my knuckles ached. Dr. Patel sat to my left with a thick folder, Professor Hargrove at the head, and two other board members flipping through documents. My parents were on the video screen from London, their faces tight with exhaustion and disappointment. Wesley waited outside the door, as close as the board would allow.“Miss Williams,” Professor Hargrove began, his voice heavy, “this is your final probation evaluation. Your grades have held, which is commendable given the circumstances. However, the board has received continued reports of private meetings, late-night activity, and public appearances with Mr Adams. The formal event photos, the championship game sightings, the anonymous tips, all of this has strained the university’s patience. We need to hear from you directly before we make our decision.”I took a deep breath, my voice s
WESLEY’S POVThe athletic department conference room smelled of stale coffee and polished oak, the kind of sterile scent that made my stomach turn. I sat alone at the long table, my hands clasped so tightly my knuckles were white. The scholarship review committee, Coach, the athletic director, and two academic advisors, stared at me from across the table like I was a problem to be solved. The folder in front of them was thick with reports: missed team meetings, the leaked videos, the formal event photos, the anonymous tips about late-night activity.“Mr Adams,” the athletic director began, tapping the folder, “your on-court stats in the rematch were solid. MVP performance helped. However, the off-court issues, the leaked material involving Miss Williams, the formal event photos, multiple anonymous reports of late-night activity, have raised red flags. Your GPA is barely above the minimum. One more incident and your scholarship is terminated. Do you understand the gravity of this situa
WESLEY’S POVThe athletic department conference room felt smaller than a locker stall. The scholarship committee sat across the polished table like judges at a sentencing: Coach with his arms crossed, the athletic director tapping a pen, and two academic reps flipping through my file. I sat alone on my side, back straight, hands clasped to hide the slight tremor. The email had said 10 AM sharp. I was five minutes early, heart hammering harder than before any championship tip-off.“Mr Adams,” the athletic director started, sliding a thick report toward me. “Your on-court stats in the rematch were solid. MVP performance helped. However, the off-court issues— the leaked material involving Miss Williams, the formal event photos, multiple anonymous reports of late-night activity— have raised red flags. Your GPA is barely holding at 3.0. We need to see a clear improvement plan today or we cannot renew your funding for next semester.”I swallowed hard, the words hitting like a bad foul. “I u
WESLEY’S POVThe locker room smelled of sweat, menthol rub, and defeat even though we had won the last game. I sat on the bench, towel around my neck, staring at the fresh email from the athletic scholarship office that had come in during the fourth quarter. Coach had forwarded it with a single line: “Read this. Fix it. Or you’re done.”The message was blunt: “Mr Adams, your cumulative GPA has dipped below the required 3.0 threshold for athletic scholarship renewal. Combined with documented off-court conduct concerns (including multiple reports of personal distractions), your funding is under immediate review. You have until the end of next week to submit an academic improvement plan and demonstrate improved focus. Failure to comply will result in full revocation.”I slammed my locker shut. The metal clang echoed through the room. Jake looked up from tying his shoes. “Coach chewing you out again?”“Scholarship review,” I muttered, pulling on my hoodie. “They’re threatening to cut me i
SAMANTHA’S POVThe campus notice board outside the student union was crowded with students chatting and taking photos. In the center, pinned with bright red tape, was the official invitation for the End-of-Year Formal, the biggest event of the semester. Black tie, live music, awards for academic an
SAMANTHA’S POVThe boarding gate announcement echoed through the terminal like a final verdict. “Flight to London Heathrow now boarding at Gate 14.”My suitcase handle felt slippery in my sweaty palm. Mum stood on my left, her hand firmly on my elbow as if I might bolt at any second. Dad stood on m
SAMANTHA’S POVThe taxi idled outside the hotel like a hearse waiting to carry away the last pieces of my freedom. My suitcase was already in the boot. Mum sat in the back seat, eyes red and determined. Dad stood by the open door, one hand on my shoulder like he was afraid I’d bolt.“We leave in th
SAMANTHA’S POVThe hotel room smelled like tension and cheap air freshener. Mum had drawn the curtains tight, as if blocking out the Manchester rain could block out the mess I’d made of my life. Dad sat at the small desk, typing angrily on his laptop, probably emailing the university again. Mum fol







