And that perfectly rounded butt!
My eyes betrayed me and slid right back.
I drooled until the shirt in my hands was dry on the line, then reluctantly went back into the dorm.
Over the next few days, every time I was on the balcony I couldn’t help stealing glances that way. Coincidentally—or fate—I saw that body several more times. Sometimes I could even make out abs.
You might ask why our dorm faces the boys’. I thought it was weird too at first, like the school lost its mind putting boys’ and girls’ buildings so close that you can see each other’s balconies.
Turns out the dorm complex wasn’t divided by gender, and our building just happens to sit right on the boundary line between the boys’ and girls’ dorms.
Ridiculous, right? I thought so too.
But that little coincidence turned out to be my perfect chance to admire some male hormone action.
I couldn’t believe it myself. After a few stolen looks, that body even showed up in my dreams.
I thought about him day and night. After being single for so long, I got impulsive and posted something on the Confession Board—maybe I could actually snag a boyfriend.
I hadn’t gotten a good look at his face, but his body hit every one of my taste points.
Here’s what I wrote: To the shirtless guy across in Building 7—I’ve seen you a few times. Your butt’s amazing (covering face). I know this is kinda wrong, but can I shamelessly ask for your contact? (humble) The red boxers! The middle of the fourth floor!
My post was just text, but the comments exploded with people imagining all sorts of scenes.
“Shirtless?
Just shirtless? (doge)”
“LOL red boxers, doing his zodiac year?”
“…Is this a girl objectifying men?
Guys, protect yourselves!”
I frowned. No, I wasn’t that bad.
I put my phone away and tried to focus—calculus made my head ache.
Finally class ended and I planned to nap, but the guys next to me started buzzing with laughter. Curious, I looked over.
They were holding a phone with a picture on it. I was about to shrink back when my roommate slid her phone toward me: “Look! This girl’s hilarious!”
I peered at the screen. The text looked familiar—holy crap, that was my post from the Confession Board!
I sweated through my awkwardness and felt like my toes were curling.
Thankfully it had been posted anonymously—no contact info left.
“This girl…” my roommate grinned at me. “Total perv, huh!”
I could only force a smile and nod, too embarrassed to say anything. The classroom erupted in laughter; I buried my face in my phone.
When the bell rang, I finally risked checking the Confession Board. My post had blown up—comments, reposts—I panicked.
People were already speculating: “Shy Claire saw the boys’ balcony—Building 7’s opposite…isn’t that Building 6?”
Shy Claire?
They already gave me a nickname.
Ugh. I was mortified and nervous. If they dug deeper, they might find out I was the one who posted.
That evening, walking down the dorm hallway, I heard people excitedly saying, “Did you hear? The Confession Board girl is from Building 6!”
“LOL who’s this, so shameless?”
I wiped sweat from my face and walked faster.
My roommates were talking about it too. I pretended I didn’t care, but my heart was racing and I kept glancing at the building across, feeling guilty.
Weirder still, after the post, a bunch of girls started staring at the middle of the fourth-floor balcony. Suddenly shirtless outings across the way dwindled. My joy vanished in an instant.
The rumor kept growing. For a few days “Shy Claire” became a campus legend. As for me, I prayed it would die down—every extra day increased the chance someone would unmask me.
A couple days later, the Confession Board sent me a string of numbers. Bad feeling. Then it messaged: “Someone says he might be the guy you’re talking about—sent a photo. Take a look.”
I almost cried. I could already see my identity peeling away.
I zoomed the picture. It was a balcony scene—potted plants and jars. My heart thumped as I looked toward that same balcony.
The other dorm’s balcony actually had the same potted plants. I wasn’t sure though, so I messaged the Board: I’m not sure—can you get him to stand on the balcony?
Two minutes later, someone on the opposite balcony actually came out. I crouched down before I could even see clearly.
False alarm—he didn’t know I was the one who posted. It was lunchtime; few people were out, so I was pretty sure it was him.
The Board hurried me: Is that him? No mistake? If so, add him (doge).
I rolled my eyes. The Board loved the drama.
I copied the numbers, pasted them, searched, and trembling, clicked the avatar that popped up.
It was an anime guy as the profile pic and the status shouted: Single.
Perfect—maybe we could chat and become a couple.
But my thumb kept hovering. I hesitated for minutes. The Board kept nagging: “Added yet? Added yet?”
I snapped and added him.
He accepted almost immediately, and before I could type, he messaged: “Are you the one spying on me?”
Not friendly—but fair. I defended myself: “Study people appreciate beauty. That’s not spying, that’s appreciation!”
“Building 6, right? Come stand on your balcony so I can see.”
He sounded commanding.
“Not in my room.”
I lied, fingers flying. The thought of standing out there was mortifying.
“Do I look dumb? You just had the Board tell you to stand out so I could see.”
“Hurry up.”
His push made me nervous; stupidly, I opened my door and stepped onto the balcony.
I stared at my phone and looked across. Someone pushed their door open on the other side. I peered—build and shape matched what I’d seen before; probably him. Daylight let me see more: he looked decent, in a loose black athletic tank, muscular arms—very manly.
A message came after a minute: “Which one? There are a few girls across.”
“The prettiest one.”
He didn’t know, so I shamelessly lied.
He sent a covering-mouth laugh emoji—there was a hint of mockery in it.
“Even if she’s pretty, it’s too far. I can’t see clearly.”
I put my phone down, not bothering to reply.
Then a new message popped up: “Why don’t you send me a selfie? I’ve seen you looking at me, so seeing your picture isn’t too much, right?”
He had a point, but I refused. “Nope.”
He switched topics: “What’s your name?”
“I can’t say.”
“Why not?”
“Afraid you’ll out me.”
“…”
He paused a few seconds. “You’ve got some self-awareness.”
After a while he sent: “So… did you post because you’re just after my body?”
“Yup!”
I typed excitedly—no filter.
After that message, he went silent.
“Hello?”
I sent meekly.
Half an hour passed. No reply. I wanted to cry. My shot at getting a boyfriend seemed dead.
That night I peered at the dorm across again. A fully dressed guy walked out—my fantasies felt over. Why had I posted? I should’ve just enjoyed the view from afar. Now I’d ruined it.
Maybe emboldened by despair, since he wasn’t replying anyway, I typed something dumb: “Here? Want to see legs?”
No response.
“Here? Want to see waist?”
Still nothing.
“Here? Want to see abs?”
This time his profile lit up with a red exclamation mark—right away. Pretty.
I accepted reality, put my phone away, and shut it off. My little romance spark had been snuffed out by my own mouth.
After that, I lost contact. No more adding, no more messages. I hated it.
But out with the old, in with the new, I told myself.
From then on, I never saw a shirtless guy on that balcony again. Good—bad habit curtailed.
The “Shy Claire” gossip continued to weave around campus. I trudged along, feeling like I might as well take out a handkerchief and cry.
Who would’ve thought Shy Claire actually managed to get the shirtless guy…only for her romance to fizzle at the start?
Life goes on. I had an elective that afternoon—important first class of sophomore year. I walked half an hour under the blazing sun to get to class and sat in a corner seat.
As class filled, the back rows were taken. A guy sat down beside me. I glanced over—nice build.
I glanced up at him and felt his silhouette tug at a memory—the clothes looked familiar too—but I couldn’t place where I’d seen him before.
The boy seemed to notice me looking. I immediately dropped my eyes to my phone, suddenly guilty.
Two classes flew by. Between the teacher’s lecture drone, I finished a week’s worth of notes.
The guy beside me sat quietly, eyes glued to his phone.
Not a word passed between us.
Finally the bell rang and the teacher spoke clearly for once.
“This is today’s homework. Take a photo—bring a paper copy next class.”
My ears perked up. I looked up and the PPT listed the assignment details.
I hurriedly shut down the other apps on my phone.
After a fumbling minute, I managed to open the camera and zoom in on the board—only for the teacher to snap the PPT off with a click.
…Unbelievable.
I watched other students get up and the teacher move faster than all of them.
The boy beside me began packing up too. Panicked, I did something impulsive: I grabbed his arm.
He looked startled, staring at me blankly. His gaze slid down to my hand on his arm and his brow furrowed.
I let go right away and stammered, “Uh… um… can you—classmate? I didn’t get a picture of that PPT. Could you send it to me?”
Luckily he wasn’t a jerk. He softened and opened his phone, brought up a QR code in his social app, and offered it to me.
“You can add me and I’ll send it,” he said.
I thanked him and scanned the code. When I saw the avatar and username I felt a jolt of recognition—and then panic. That anime avatar… wasn’t that the guy who’d blocked me on the other side?
My heart sped up. I didn’t know what to do.
I studied him carefully. No wonder he looked familiar.
Small world—couldn’t be worse. Adding him felt risky; not adding him felt cowardly. Drama, drama.
“Hurry and add me, I’ve got things to do,” he urged.
I couldn’t lose face. I forced a calm smile and shook my head, “It’s fine. If you’re busy just go ahead—I’ll ask someone else.”
I gathered my bag to leave but he grabbed my wrist.
He smiled warmly, benign and friendly. “It’s fine, I’m not in a rush.”
Then he snatched my phone, tapped to add me.
When he saw the little red notification badge pop up by his contacts, he opened the chat and his face changed. His mouth flattened, eyebrows knitting together.
He flipped open our chat history and looked up at me with that frown. I lowered my head, embarrassed.
“Slut?” he said slowly, the word dripping with a mix of contempt and amusement.
“I’m not!” I snapped and tried to walk away. He still had my wrist, tugged hard, and I was yanked back.
“So it’s you. Tried to run when I found you, huh?” He curled a mischievous smirk.
“I’m not—no I’m not!” I protested. Of all mistakes, why did I have to mouth off on the Confession Board?
Perfect. My identity exposed—right in front of the person I’d been trash-talking.
He pulled me toward him. I lost my balance and ended up sitting back down, pressed against his thigh.
He chuckled and leaned close enough that his breath tickled my ear. “Not gonna look at my legs, abs, waist?”
“Don’t look, don’t look, okay, I’ll stop!” I squealed.
He ignored me and lifted the hem of his pants a bit, revealing the top of his thigh.
I said I wouldn’t look, but my eyes betrayed me and drifted downward. Before I could get a good look, he dropped his pant leg and glared.
“So you did look. Nice. Calling you a perv wasn’t slander at all.”
He raised his phone toward my face, grinning. I covered up and snatched at his phone.
“What are you doing?” I demanded.
“Exposing you,” he said casually, holding the phone high.
He was taller than me. I stood on tiptoe and even jumped, but couldn’t reach.
I gave up and sighed. Time to bargain.
“Please don’t expose me. I didn’t mean it. I promise it won’t happen again. You can do whatever—just don’t expose me.”
“Anything?” he mused, chin in hand, a sly glint in his eye.
“Really, anything!” I blurted.
He suddenly smiled. “Okay… bring me a package?”
I froze. “You’re treating me like a maid?”
“Not okay? Fine then.”
He started to walk away.
I grabbed him. “Okay! Okay, I’ll do it!”
“Delete the photos first,” I bargained.
“Nope. You’ve taken advantage of me enough. A delivery isn’t enough to let you off.”
Ugh. He was annoyingly shrewd.
“Fine,” I relented.
“You can trust me. I won’t post them. Even if I did, I’d warn you first.”
As if that were reassuring.
“Make it up to me,” he added. “When you’ve really shown remorse, I’ll delete them.”
I huffed inwardly—so basically he’d given himself a convenient reason to boss me around. Whatever. For the sake of dignity, I gave in.
That afternoon I went to the Parcel Center with his pickup code. It was the furthest one from our dorms and I could swear he was doing this on purpose.
He could mock me all he wanted. When I found the package and hefted it with one hand, I questioned reality.
What on earth was this? So heavy.
I carried it out, under the hot sun, and squinted at the label.
Recipient: Mighty Man Mighty Man You’re a Ghost—yeah I sighed.
Under the item description were two characters that slapped me: dumbbell.
My mouth went tight. I cursed under my breath at the blazing sun. One day I’ll get him back.
When I got to the dorm building I voice-called him.
He came down quickly, took the barbell from my hands, and flashed a smile. “Thanks.”
Okay, at least a sliver of decency.
My arms were tired. I stood under the boys’ dorms, phone in hand, and asked, “What’s your name? I need to save you in my contacts.”
“Ethan Brooks,” he said.
I typed it in. He glanced down at his phone as I entered his name.
“My last name’s Shaw,” he added.
I kept my guard up—better to be cautious in case he tried anything.
While I was tagging him I complained, “Don’t send me heavy packages again. My arms are killing me.”
He smiled without answering.
“Oh, why the barbell? Working on your arms? Show me?”
His smile faded. “I got it to smash watermelons. And in a pinch, to smash a pervert’s head.”
My smile froze. Slightly violent, huh? Maybe I should keep my distance.
Just then my roommate Lily Park clapped a hand on my shoulder.
“Oh! When did you get a boyfriend? Why didn’t you tell us?” she giggled, covering her mouth.
“It’s not—” I started to explain, but Lily took off before I finished.
“Don’t mind her,” I told Ethan.
“I mind,” he said and went up the stairs fast.
What a serious guy. Not exactly easygoing.
Still, I worried he’d be upset, so I messaged him: Sorry, my roommate didn’t mean anything—she just worries I’ve been single too long.
After a while he replied with a single word: “Oh.”
I let out a breath and felt better.
A week later I trudged to that miserable elective. I remembered last time and told myself not to hassle him for a pic of the PPT again.
At the cafeteria doorway I saw everyone’s tasty breakfasts and patted my bag—no bread. I fumbled for my meal card—no card either.
Great. Cursed morning. No food card.
I headed to class resignedly. The room was nearly empty. Ten minutes later Ethan walked in, scanned the room, met my eyes, and came straight to me.
I plopped my bag down and, when he reached me, I said loudly, “This seat’s taken.”
He didn’t say a word and moved to sit behind me.
Now I was even more flustered.
My stomach growled. Two hours of class ahead. I turned to Ethan, desperate: “Do you have snacks?”
He gave me a cold look. “No.”
My eyes dimmed.
“You didn’t eat breakfast?” he asked.
I nodded.
“Go to the cafeteria then. Don’t ask me for snacks,” he said in that blunt way only straight-shooters have.
I’d added him partly to flirt with a potential boyfriend, but after the barbell incident, any crush evaporated.
I sighed. “I forgot my card.”
He tossed a meal card onto the desk. “Use this.”
I grinned and it felt oddly bossy—CEO vibes—but I didn’t care. I ran to the cafeteria, bought two buns, and returned having already eaten one.
I handed the card back and transferred him money.
I looked at him. “Could you… delete the photos?”
“Didn’t you think about consequences when you sent me those flirty messages?” he shot back. “You should own what you did.”
“Come on—I was just messing around. I never meant it!” I pleaded, tearing up inwardly. I never imagined the guy I mocked would be sitting next to me in class. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have dared.
The class bell rang. Someone else came in, looking around for a seat. She walked up to me, panting, and asked, “Is this seat taken?”
I scanned the room—seemed like mine was the last open seat.
“Uh… no, it’s free,” I answered, then felt the air pressure shift behind me. I glanced back—and met Ethan’s dark, piercing gaze as if he could swallow me whole.
I had to keep playing dumb, so after class I bolted for the door — and of all people, Ethan Brooks actually followed me.
Guilty as charged, I figured he was going to boss me around about the photos again.
I picked up my pace to shake him off. He sped up, too.
With those long legs of his, if I wanted to lose him I’d have to sprint.
So I ran.
Ethan matched me for a few quick strides, then planted a hand on my shoulder.
"What are you running for?"
I opened my mouth, thought for a second, then shot back, "Why are you following me?"
That seemed to throw him. He paused, said nothing for a beat, then whispered, "Together?"
I nodded and fell into step beside him.
He seemed nervous about the silence and suddenly started a topic like he was trying to avoid awkwardness.
"You… you haven’t been sneaking glances into our dorm, have you?"
I burst out laughing, totally misunderstanding, but played along: "Hooking up? With who — with you?"
He didn’t get my joke, blinked, and answered dumbly, "Uh, yeah."
I couldn’t help the little smile tugging at my lips. It was kind of fun, getting one up on him verbally without even trying.
I straightened up and said, "I haven’t been looking. Everyone’s bundled up. What’s there to see?"
He snorted. "If they’re not wearing clothes, you would look, right?"
I nodded. He started walking faster, like he wanted to leave me behind.
"Why are you running!" I called.
He kept going, widening the distance between us.
I jogged to catch up and grabbed his arm. We ran face-first into someone holding a basketball. Ethan slowed and greeted him.
"Hey."
"Hoops later?" the guy asked.
He was a campus athlete type — wide shoulders, black tank top, toned arms. He flashed a lazy smile, and his gaze drifted to me, then to the hand I had looped through Ethan’s arm.
"Oh? Girlfriend?" he teased.
Ethan looked annoyed but didn’t confirm or deny. He frowned and said, "None of your business."
He tugged me along. "Wait for me, I’m dropping my backpack at the dorm."
I couldn’t help sneaking another glance. The other guy’s t-shirt was soaked with sweat, radiating a kind of aggressive, obvious masculinity.
Ethan’s displeased voice snapped, "What are you looking at?"
I came back to myself, let go of his arm, and asked casually, "Who’s that guy?"
Same cold dismissal as always: "None of your business."
Wow. That one line brushed off two people at once.
"Nice build," I said, objectively.
Ethan was noncommittal. "Better than mine?"
I pouted on purpose. "Yeah, a bit."
I had this nagging sense that the guy’s back looked familiar, but I couldn’t place why.
Then Ethan completely ditched me. He picked up his pace, walked straight into the dorm with a cold face, no goodbye. What the heck?
I shrugged it off. Whatever — we weren’t going to spark anything anyway. As long as I kept him amused and he didn’t expose my photos, all good.
For some reason Ethan showed up in my dream again that night. Couldn’t even get a peaceful sleep.
Thinking about that dream and his face later, he really wasn’t bad-looking. Nice build. Just… not great at small talk.
I idly scrolled through my feed like usual and clicked on the Confession Board submissions. Someone had confessed about Ethan?
The photo was of a back — a snapshot of someone shooting a basket. The shirt looked exactly like what he wore yesterday.
Remembering he had me pick up his package, I grinned. Time to "return the favor."
I typed a quick comment: "The guy who plays ball is single and kinda hot—sis, go for it!"
Soon the message notification lit up. I hit accept.
"Miss, can I have contact info?" the girl asked.
I was about to give it, then thought better of it and screenshot the post to Ethan.
"This girl likes you. Want me to give her your contact?"
He replied with three curt words not long after.
"Are you crazy?"
I could almost see his face as he typed — sulky and deadpan.
I replied without blinking, "Need meds?"
"I’ll send a little admirer to bother him if he doesn’t delete my photo," I threatened, playing it up.
"Try it," he shot back.
He always sounded like he was issuing ultimatums.
After a while I gave up trying and apologized to the girl, coming up with an excuse to smooth it over.
Desperate times. If he wasn’t going to delete the photo, I had to at least keep him from exposing me. People like him — I would avoid them in the future.
School rules said each student had to run dozens of kilometers each year. My roommates were all done; I was the only one who hadn’t started.
It was brutally hot during the day, so I went out running at night in sneakers and headed for the track.
Lots of students were out. From a distance it was a moving, dark sea, backlit by blinding lamps. I watched other runners’ sweaty faces and almost chickened out.
I switched on my phone and started jogging. Half a lap in I was already gasping.
Someone behind me stepped on my foot. I heard a soft "sorry." I was already in a bad mood — why did he have to bump into me?
"That quiet? Didn’t eat dinner?" I shouted, crouching to tie my shoe. The stranger behind me stopped.
When I looked up, it was Ethan’s familiar face.
God, him again.
He looked surprised too, blinked, and muttered another apology. I got a little nervous and took off again.
Ethan kept pace, running beside me now. "By the way, don’t you owe me an apology?"
"Huh?"
"Don’t microtrash-talk without apologizing?"
"Oh, sorry," I said in a tiny mosquito voice.
"Louder. Did you not eat?"
He frowned.
I swallowed my pride and raised my voice: "Sorry!"
"Say it out loud."
"What?" I protested. "Ethan, don’t make me humiliate myself. I still have a reputation."
"You called me out for wearing red boxers on the wall. You didn’t care about my reputation then," he retorted coolly.
I couldn’t help snickering but got a warning look.
"Photos…" he threatened in a low voice.
"Sorry!" I suddenly yelled, probably startling a runner ahead of me. She flinched and glanced back in confusion.
I caught Ethan’s smile — it shot up in the corners, bright and boyish.
Tit for tat. "And don’t give my contact to people without asking."
He gave me a cold look — the expression clearly said: speechless. Then he picked up his pace and pulled ahead.
I kept a comfortable jog. Pretty soon he popped out in front, having passed me by a lap.
We ran awhile, then he reappeared behind me and lapped me again. This guy’s stamina was insane.
Leaving the track, he was walking ahead. I sped up to catch him.
"You have amazing endurance," I said, genuine. Then I tried to bait him, "Next time bring my phone?"
He gave me a cold look, bought a bottle of water from the side of the road, tilted his head back and drank. His Adam’s apple moved; the sweat on his skin gleamed under the streetlamp.
"Do you lack legs?" he dropped casually.
I huffed. Figures. He was impossible to trick and loved to snark.
As we walked along the path I noticed his stride looked off — a limp, subtle but there.
"What’s wrong?" I couldn’t help asking.
He ground his teeth. "My leg cramped."
I teased, "Who told you to run so fast then?"
The Boy Next Door Knew My Secret
He sighed and slowed. The path ahead was dim — some lamps didn't reach the cracked, uneven paving stones. I flipped on my phone flashlight and saw him walking carefully, brow furrowed.
"Want me to help?" I asked.
He nodded. I slipped my hand lightly under his arm. The phone wobbled in my hand and the flashlight swung — in a blink the path turned pitch black.
Right after that came a low cry from Ethan and the sudden lightness where my hands had been.
I aimed the flashlight at him and found him sitting on the ground. We had stepped down a small drop-off; he missed it and twisted his ankle.
He winced — he looked like he was in pain.
"Can you walk?" I asked.
"Not sure," he said helplessly.
I tried to help him up. His arm slid across my back and looped around my shoulder for balance — and then I realized his hand brushed my chest.
"Ethan Brooks! You touched my chest!" I yelled.
"Did I?" He let go quickly, coughed once, and two pink patches bloomed on his cheeks.
His shoulder felt lighter, but his standing leg wobbled. I steadied him again.
"Sorry, I didn't notice. I thought I was just holding your shoulder," he mumbled, looking down.
What did he mean by that? Was he implying I'm flat-chested? Insulting me indirectly like that — I won't stand for it.
"Ethan, with that mouth of yours you better not be single forever!" I shouted.
"What did I say?" he looked genuinely puzzled, innocent as ever. Such a backhanded insult with zero awareness.
"I bet you'll never get the girl you like!" I blurted.
Suddenly he looked a little forlorn. My chest tightened. Did I really hurt him? Please don't let those words kill his confidence.
I hurried to backtrack. "I was joking! Don't take it seriously. If you like someone, go for her. You're not ugly — you've got a chance."
He rolled his eyes and said nothing.
I walked him to the boys' dorm. The dorm attendant gave me a strange look. Soon his roommate came to help; Ethan thanked me and was led inside, supported.
I watched his retreating back and couldn't help thinking it'll be rough for him on the stairs tonight.
Then his roommate murmured, "So this is the girl you were talking about?"
I froze. Which girl? Me? What did he say about me? I watched them disappear into the dorm and felt my heart skip.
Too bad Ethan didn't answer. He kept walking deeper into the crowd.
I went back to the dorm and texted him: "What did you say about me behind my back?"
"Called you a pervert."
He replied grumpily.
I snorted and sent back: "Rest up and heal!"
On the way to class, I was telling my roommate Lily that I’d met a new guy. She was half-chatting with her boyfriend, half-indifferent, telling me to hurry up.
I said, "We don't even know if I like him—what's the rush?"
When she finished texting, she turned to me and started in on a full explanation.
"Come on, just go for it. As long as his character's decent, that's enough. And haven't you always wanted to be in a relationship? If you don't try now, you'll be single forever."
I nodded dumbly. She wasn't wrong.
At the corner, Lily and I were about to cross the street when a familiar figure suddenly flashed by, cut in front of me, and disappeared into the crowd ahead.
I tried to push through the sea of people to get a better look, but Lily tugged my arm and we turned the corner—he was gone.
That person… kind of looked like Ethan.
Ethan's leg had healed and he asked me to go run on the track with him.
When Lily heard, she clapped her hands and said, "If he asked you out, he's definitely into you!"
I felt a small thrill…but my leg still ached, all sore and heavy. I hesitated.
He messaged again: "If you come out, I'll run one lap with you."
Could this get any better?
I shot up from my seat. One lap is one lap—free is free.
Still, why was he being so attentive all of a sudden? Never mind. Even if it's a trap, I'm going!
There were people running shirtless on the field today—I stared. And of course I ran into Ethan. He glanced my way, and his face went a little dark.
Half a lap in, my leg was done. I handed him my phone.
"Hey, time to make good on your promise."
"I can help, but you gotta show some sincerity. Give me a name."
He raised an eyebrow at me.
I froze. So he was trying to get me to confess.
"I won't do anything to you."
He shrugged helplessly.
"Shi Ye."
I just said it.
A smile flickered in his eyes. He ran with me like he said he would, and then did the remaining laps too.
I stood there doing nothing while he finished, feeling inexplicably pleased.
When we walked together back, I sighed, "Man, I wish I had a boyfriend who'd run with me every day."
I glanced over to gauge his reaction, but he didn't say anything.
So I pushed a little further.
"Ethan, are you looking for a girlfriend?"
"No. I'm fine alone."
He looked sullen.
Great—he shut down my idea at the source.
"Do you like me?"
He surprised me by asking, turning to look at me. His profile was kind of handsome.
I waved my hand. "How could I? Why would you ask me that?"
Quick on my feet, I lied, "Oh, I have a friend who wants to date someone. I'm thinking of setting her up."
I smiled. "Oh, well that's good."
That settled it. Ethan's face went cold, like an iceberg closing over.
Seeing his mood tank, I didn't press. We walked home in awkward silence.
After that day, whenever I tried to chat with him, Ethan was indifferent—short replies, little interest.
Was I just rushing things?
I wouldn't give up. I pinged him again: "Really not looking? What do you think of me?"
I even added a playful emoji so it wouldn't be too awkward if he said no.
I took a deep breath and set my phone down, waiting for it to light up.
After several minutes it finally did, with a curt, blunt reply:
"Not great."
He even sent a "nose-pick" sticker after it.
I blinked. Disappointment swamped me—but not sadness so much as stubborn unwillingness to accept it.
Ethan's bluntness was just… Ethan. I turned my phone off and sat there stewing.
Truthfully, I hadn’t had many expectations—my sudden confession had been a mix of impulse and the urgency to stop being single.
I told Lily about it. She looked genuinely shocked.
"For someone like you, landing an Ethan would be great. Who knew you couldn't even snag that!"
"What do you mean 'someone like me'?" I rolled my eyes at her.
I decided to pretend the confession never happened and kept treating him like a friend. I still asked him to run sometimes, but he started showing up less.
When I asked why, he brushed it off in a line or two.
Once, I actually got him out to run. We jogged side by side on the track. I nudged his arm and teased, "Hey, what's up with you lately? Got a girlfriend now? Can't meet up?"
He didn't answer. His face darkened, and his deep eyes looked unreadable.
We walked back together.
"Hey, that guy you played ball with last time—can you introduce him to my friend?"
He frowned slightly and said flatly, "I don't have his contact."
I thought for a second. "Really? You guys looked pretty close…"
"Not close."
He looked annoyed.
Fine. I gave up.
One night after class, Lily and I passed the basketball court and saw a group of people running around. I spotted Ethan in the crowd—and the guy who'd played with him before. Okay, so they're definitely not strangers. I smirked.
Lily noticed my stare and dragged me into the bleachers to sit.
That single roommate of ours—I'd been planning to set her up with someone. On the court, players darted back and forth, and Lily pointed at Ethan’s friend: "That one's cute."
I got excited. "Oh, you like that type?"
Her face went green. "Shi Ye, speak normally. People might think I'm cruising the wrong places!"
A whistle blew. The players stopped. Ethan walked toward us.
I happened to have an unopened water bottle in my bag and reached to hand it to him. Another girl also offered him water; Ethan glanced at me but took the other's.
My face flushed with embarrassment.
The other guy walked over and gave me a teasing eyebrow. "If you don't mind, I'll buy that bottle."
Gotta give him credit—smooth recovery. Ethan shot him a glare, grabbed the water from me, popped the cap, and took a gulp.
I played along. "Five bucks a bottle—WeChat or Alipay?"
Ethan blinked, then laughed irritably, "You're quite the entrepreneur."
I snorted.
The air around us heated, and my cheeks burned. Both guys were sweaty; Ethan lifted his shirt a bit, showing a flat stomach—no obvious abs.
I looked away, remembering the "scene" I'd once seen from the opposite dorm balcony. Something felt off.
"That's not right," I muttered.
Ethan heard and glanced at me. "What's not right?"
I tiptoed closer and whispered in his ear, "Ethan, did you used to have abs?"
He frowned, looking exasperated. "I have actual things to do."
Then he tilted his head back and drank a big gulp of water. "I did, but this semester I've been lazy—gone."
Huh?
But I clearly remembered seeing abdominal muscles from the other dorm balcony. Was I misremembering? Just then the other guy also pulled his shirt up a bit, and I thought I glimpsed abs on him.
On closer look, Ethan and that guy had similar builds. Could it be… I had mistaken one for the other from the balcony?
Ethan followed my gaze and frowned.
I whispered, "Are you and him… roommates?"
Ethan nodded.
Crap. Maybe the person I peeked at in the dorm wasn't Ethan but this other guy.
Ethan noticed my discomfort. "What's up?"
Before I could answer, Lily grabbed me and pulled me aside, cheeks flushed. "Can you get his WeChat for me?"
She pointed at the other guy.
"Why don't you ask him yourself?"
"I'm too shy…"
For my friend's sake, I agreed.
I looked where she pointed. The guy had picked up a ball and was leaving the court. I hurried after him.
"Hey—could I add you on WeChat?" I called, a little too loudly.
Ethan suddenly hustled over, his face dark. "Shi Ye, that's crossing a line."
With that he grabbed the guy and walked off.
Lily and I watched them go in stunned silence. What was that about?
I went back to the dorm in a mess. Ethan… seemed mad at me.
After that, I couldn't even get him to go running with me. My invites went unanswered.
And the plan to get my roommate his contact fizzled out.
Summer came, and the heat was on. Lily and I decided to cool off at the pool.
The pool area wasn't big. I had just changed into my suit when I spotted a familiar back—someone I recognized more and more as he turned. It was the same guy who'd played basketball with Ethan.
He walked over smiling. "Little miss, you look familiar."
Lily stepped in front of me protectively, eyeing him.
I whispered, "Ethan—"
He brightened. "Oh—Ethan's girlfriend?"
I awkwardly lowered my head. "Uh… no."
We'd only met once. He didn't remember me.
"Can I add your WeChat?"
He pulled out his phone, a hopeful curl at the corner of his mouth.
I hesitated, then thought of Lily's disappointment the other day and happily opened my QR code.
"Sure."
"Don't you dare," Ethan suddenly appeared from nowhere and blocked my phone screen with one hand.
"Ethan, that's not fair. She's not your girlfriend. Why do you care?" I protested.
He raised an eyebrow and smiled, but didn’t stop him.
Ethan Brooks glanced back at me, displeased, and snorted coldly, “Yeah, I’m not your boyfriend.”
I dropped my head slightly; my heart inexplicably sped up.
Ethan narrowed his slitted eyes and stared at that guy with a predator’s look.
With his other hand he tugged my arm and started pulling me toward the locker rooms.
Once we were away from the crowd, I wrenched my arm free and planted my feet, looking at him. He looked indifferent.
“You weren’t just saying you liked me before?”
His expression was horribly sour.
“Well, you don’t even like me, so… can’t I have someone else?” I twisted my hair, feeling guilty.
I had to save face. Since he’d already rejected me, I might as well lie.
“You change feelings fast. Guess I wasn’t wrong about you.”
I was still stewing, unable to find the right excuse, so I lifted my chin to retort.
“Ethan, are we even close? Do I need your permission to add someone? Besides, liking him is better than liking a big wooden block like you, right?”
He stared at me for a few seconds, hands on his hips, then suddenly smiled without his usual gentleness. With a sneer, he ground out, “Hm, not close then. Go ahead and add him. I’ll just watch and see how you get played.”
Then he left—walking so fast it was like he took off. His back faded from view.
What did I say to make the atmosphere so explosive? I was baffled.
I didn’t end up swimming that day. I changed and went back to the dorm.
Later I saw he’d actually sent me that guy’s contact info—nice of him, considering he’d lied earlier and said he didn’t have it.
Fine. Since he’d sent it, I might as well add him.
Curiosity pushed me to add the guy. He accepted and started asking me out within a few messages. I politely declined; something felt off.
On the way to the cafeteria, I ran into the boy who’d helped Ethan up the stairs earlier. He said hi and it took me a minute to place him.
After a bit of small talk, an idea struck me and I asked seriously, “Hey, how’s the guy in Ethan’s dorm who plays basketball? A friend of mine likes him and wants to know.”
“Friend? Who?”
“My roommate.”
“Oh. Tell her to give up. Fan Ziyao—he’s not great. He’s had what, ten girlfriends? And his private life’s messy, you know?”
I froze. Wait—so when Ethan stopped me from adding that guy, maybe he was trying to protect me from some jerk?
That made him sound kind of concerned—my focus swerved entirely.
I saved the dorm mate’s contact just in case, partly to maybe help my roommate matchmake.
After I had the info, I opened my chat with Ethan and typed: “Sorry. I misjudged you.”
The message only just sent before a red exclamation mark popped up.
I stared, stunned. Ethan had deleted me—just like that. He was really mad.
Everything went back to square one: that familiar exclamation mark. Why did Ethan act like a teenage lover who loves playing cold? I felt a little guilty—I’d deliberately said we weren’t close to hurt him. I’d been a bit ungrateful to someone who might have had good intentions.
I called the dorm mate for Ethan’s number.
“Hello?” His voice was lazy and slow to answer.
“Ethan, I’m sorry. I was wrong. How about dinner? My treat.”
There was a long pause. “Time and place?”
“Up to you.”
A week later we sat in a tiny, quiet restaurant. The mood was calm.
“You like that other guy, right? Why are you buying me dinner?”
His tone had a hint of sourness.
He stabbed at his steak with his fork and muttered, “No sense.”
I shivered. For a moment I felt like I was the steak under his stare.
I smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry.”
“Didn’t let you add that jerk because I was worried about you… or just because I like helping?” He glanced at his plate, playing with his spoon casually.
“Don’t want to see another innocent girl messed up by a scumbag,” he said.
“No—more like an ignorant girl,” he corrected.
“You—” I felt a little deflated. I couldn’t muster much appetite. After weighing things, I looked at him. “Ethan, would you… reconsider me?”
“No,” he said flatly. “I like gentle girls. I warned you for your own good, and you got all fierce.”
He looked up with a tiny hint of grievance. “We’re not close. I don’t know you at all.” He looked away stubbornly.
I scratched my head awkwardly. “Don’t reject me so fast. Think about it.”
He stared at his plate and fell silent. He set down his knife and fork as if resigned.
“I stopped you from adding that scumbag for your sake. But if you insist on pestering me, I wouldn’t mind being the jerk.”
“I don’t believe that about you,” I blurted. He looked at me dead serious.
“How do you know I’m not?” he asked.
“Because I just know,” I said, certain.
He snorted. “Know what, exactly?”
His eyes drifted to the window. “You really added him because you liked him?”
“No, it was for my roommate.” I gave a little laugh. “Are you… jealous?”
He gave me a plaintive look, finished eating, and stood up to leave. I hurried after him, but he stopped me.
“I gotta go. If you’ve got stuff to do, go back on your own.”
He glanced at me, paused, then said quietly, “I hate you, Shy Claire.”
He said it fast and soft, but I heard it.
I froze in the restaurant doorway, watched him get into a taxi. He shut the door and didn’t look back.
My chest went empty watching the cab disappear.
Why did it feel like he’d played hard to get? The longer he ignored me, the more obsessed I became.
I’m the kind of person who gets more determined when pushed. If I’d confessed for a quick fling before, now my competitive streak and conquest instinct were fired up.
Good—he’s got personality. Man, you’ve got my attention.
I made a silent vow: I’m going after Ethan. He runs, I chase; he won’t escape.
Something felt off—if he said he hated me, why did he care whether I liked Fan Ziyao or not? It didn’t add up.
I decided he was just jealous.
After that day I made my presence felt around Ethan—turning up at the court, “taking care” of a few would-be admirers.
Ethan always looked helpless around me but couldn’t do anything about it.
Oh, and since he said he liked gentle girls, I needed to reshape my image. I put on a playful, coy voice. “Little Ethan, why do you hate me so much?”
He frowned. “Act normal. You scare me.”
“Get used to it. I’ll be at this court every day until you say yes.”
I gave him a flirtatious wink.
At first I kept watching Ethan’s every move and brought him water sometimes, but he wouldn’t accept it. After a few days of being ignored, I lost patience and blatantly started watching other cute guys on the court.
Ethan was playing on the left side; I half-turned to watch the right side where other players were. During halftime he walked over. I was glued to the other match—so intense—and he spoke coldly into my ear.
“Are you watching me, or are you pretending to watch to scope out other guys?”
I snapped back to attention, turned, and realized he was standing incredibly close, his face almost in mine, narrow eyes fixed on me.
“I—watching the game!” I stammered.
“Oh? Are they that good?”
He glanced. “Yeah, really skilled.”
I hurriedly followed the stairs down. “Which number’s the cutest?”
“Number eight!” I reflexively answered. Number eight on the other court was pretty cute. He squinted and didn’t say anything, dribbling the basketball.
He said dryly, “Want me to go ask for his WeChat?”
I looked up and met his cool gaze. Uh-oh—this might be the one thing that ruins my chase.
“No, no. You’re enough. I mostly watch you anyway.” I hastily tried to recover.
“You’re sitting turned that way. How could you see me?” He raised a skeptical eyebrow and hugged the ball to his waist.
I took the opening. “Oh, so you still steal a glance at me when you play? Ethan, do you really hate me or are you just pretending?”
After I said it, his face flushed with two odd patches of red.
“Ah, blushing?” I teased.
He covered his face with one hand and muttered, “No.”
His friends nearby teased him, “She’s been here so many times. Ethan, hurry and say yes—don’t let someone else steal her.”
I laughed along. Ethan glanced at me before he headed back on court and mumbled under his breath, “If only you’d pay more attention to me…”
I couldn’t catch the rest.
In the second half, Ethan suddenly shot like a man possessed—he made several three-pointers. When I cheered, I could have sworn he looked my way. We made eye contact a few times; he would look away first, then sneak glances back, then look away again—like a shy schoolboy.
It made my heart flutter… (not really). But after more than a week staking out the court, my pursuit hadn’t progressed. He neither moved forward nor pushed me away, which drove me crazy.
Lily Park finally couldn’t stand it and gave me advice. “Hey, you can’t chase someone like this. Disappear for a few days and see how he reacts.”
I nodded vaguely and stayed away for two days. Ethan didn’t react at all.
I told Lily how it went.
She shook her head. "No, if he really won't make the first move, it's probably because he's not into you. You should just give up."
She patted my shoulder.
If this had been any other time, I would have given up already. But the moment I thought of Ethan Brooks' face, I couldn't stop feeling resentful.
Besides, I'd actually been busy lately—training for a competition—so I hadn't been at the court for two weeks.
In two days, Ethan's dorm would play a friendly basketball game against the Computer Science dorm.
Ethan had come specially to tell me and asked if I wanted to go.
My heart did a little flip—he was asking me out!
Lily and I analyzed the "battle situation" and both agreed I had a shot.
I jumped up, thrilled, and immediately texted back that I would go, that I'd stand in the front row and cheer him on.
But the day before the game, my club assigned me a task—to help with a publicity event.
The game didn't start until ten, and the publicity shift could be changed at 9:30, so I agreed.
Who would've guessed that just before 9:30, the clear sky turned into heavy rain and the publicity had to be canceled; the club leader ordered us to take down the tents.
There weren't many people at the booth. If I left, the rest of the team probably couldn't finish the job.
I hurried my pace, but by the time I reached the gym, the game was nearly over and the score was basically tied.
I stood in the last row and saw him from a distance—he looked a little off.
I dashed forward to the front row. Ethan's gaze wandered through the stands.
While he was distracted, the opponent snuck the ball past him, turned, dunked—score—swift and clean. The tied game was broken; Ethan's team fell behind by one.
"Ethan, what are you doing?" one of his teammates barked at him.
Only then did he snap back from the stands. His eyes swept across the crowd and landed on me for a beat; I saw him frown.
The whistle blew. The game ended. Ethan's team lost and the crowd started to disperse. I stayed standing in the front row waiting for him.
A teammate looked at him helplessly. "Ethan, what's up with you today? You kept glancing at the stands from the start and when it mattered you were looking again—when the opponent ran right past you and you didn't even try to stop him. Are you watching your girlfriend or what? Can you please separate your life and the game?"
They were standing close enough that I could hear plainly. I felt awkward.
"I'm sorry, that was my mistake," he said quietly, head bowed.
When the players had dispersed, I walked onto the court.
There he was, sitting on the glossy floor with a white towel draped over the back of his neck. He looked a bit dejected—probably because they'd lost.
I went over.
"Eh… Ethan."
He lifted his eyes tiredly to look at me. His legs were stretched out; his voice sounded weary.
"Where'd you go?"
"Sorry. I was held up with a club thing and was late."
He dropped his head again, propping his cheek with one hand like he had something on his mind.
"Sorry," I said. I remembered his teammate's reproach. He lost the game—was it my fault?
"I was late… it didn't affect you, did it?" I asked weakly.
He sighed and stood.
"It's not your fault. Blame me if anything." He forced a half-smile, self-deprecating. "What was I even hoping for?"
He left. I stood there stunned, watching his back, feeling his mood sour.
Later, I messaged him, but he didn't reply for days.
I thought it over and ended up asking his roommate.
His roommate said Ethan had been staying in the dormroom these past few days—he hadn't been going out except for classes.
I asked him to help set up a time to meet Ethan, but he said Ethan wouldn't agree.
So I told him to let me know when Ethan came down to pick up takeout.
Come on—if he wasn't going out, he still had to eat.
At mealtime, his roommate messaged me. I threw on pajamas and slippers and ran downstairs. When I opened the dorm door, cold wind rushed right into my clothes.
At this point I couldn't back down.
So I stood there, hair uncombed, skulking in the space between Building 6 and Building 7.
The dorm manager peeked at me several times—probably thinking I was some lovesick girl waiting in the cold to see her boyfriend. It was early fall and I was noticeable in just thin pajamas; more than a few guys glanced my way.
I fixed my hair and hugged myself tightly. Thank God the pajamas weren't totally hideous.
When Ethan walked out of the dorm I saw him immediately.
He didn't see me. I was about to run to him, but I glanced down at my outfit and froze.
I called out, "Ethan!"
He looked over at the sound, forehead creasing slightly.
"Come here!" I yelled.
Reluctantly, he walked toward me.
"Did you just crawl out of bed?" he sized me up.
"Pretty much… I came out to see you!" I grabbed handfuls of my hair and asked, "Am I ugly?"
"You're okay," he said.
Yeah, I shouldn't have expected a straight guy to be eloquent.
"How did you know I'd come down at this time?"
"I… stood in the cold for half an hour! Betting you'd come down!"
I was full of nonsense.
He glanced at my clothes. "Oh, it's cold outside. You should go back in."
"No—I have something to tell you."
"What?"
"Why have you been avoiding me these past few days? Your roommate said you wouldn't meet up when I asked."
He looked around and took a long time to gather his words, then looked at me and said, "Syra, you're annoying."
That sentence cut colder than the early autumn wind.
I've been chasing him for so long. This was the first time he said something like that out loud, and it really made me want to retreat.
"You're annoyed by me?"
He took a deep breath. "Yeah."
It stung. "Why?"
He sighed. "I heard what you said that day."
I blinked—what had I said?
"The things you and your roommate said on the street that day."
I thought for a moment and remembered: weeks ago I'd muttered something on the road about not even knowing if I liked someone. He was the shadow I'd seen that day. There was no way to explain that away now.
"You didn't like me, but a few days later you confessed to me. Was lying to me fun?"
I was speechless. That silhouette on the road had been him—now I couldn't deny it.
"Then you said you'd come to the court every day to watch me. I stupidly believed you actually liked me. But you can go watch other people, too—fine. Then I asked you out, you said you'd come, and you were late. Your kind of liking is too cheap."
Ethan said it as if it were nothing.
The wind was chilly. I wrapped my jacket tighter, anxious and not sure how to explain.
"I—yeah, I did lie before, but now I really mean it!" I protested, desperate.
His expression softened a little. He lowered his eyes and sighed.
"Do you know what annoys me most?"
I braced myself, almost certain he'd say, "What annoys me most is that you won't give up when I clearly don't like you." But I still held a sliver of hope.
So I cut him off quickly. "Stop. Don't say any more. Fine. I won't chase you anymore, okay?"
I ran—back into the dorm room.
Ethan stared at the empty space, surprised I bolted.
The rest of his sentence—"What annoys me most is me…"—got stuck in his throat.
Then it started to rain. I was glad I'd gotten inside early, but I worried he'd get soaked.
From the balcony I looked toward a direction I hadn't bothered to look in for a long time. A tiny window had a few little potted plants that looked pitiful and helpless in the wind and rain.
I stared blankly. Did he really dislike me? If he truly was annoyed by me… maybe I should just give up. I'm tired of being someone else's problem.
For a few days we had no contact. My chest felt hollow.
A licking dog, licking and licking until there's nothing left. The truth was right in front of me and yet I still had to rub my nose in it.
It seemed I was… heartbroken.
I went down to the cafeteria, ordered two dishes, and ate without appetite.
Suddenly a plate slid down across from me. I looked up slowly. The hand that reached out looked so familiar.
Ethan. My chopsticks clattered from my fingers; my mood plummeted.
"Is this seat taken?" he asked in a tone that made him sound completely unbothered.
Dude, you called me annoying the other day and now you're sitting across from me. Are you worried I won't eat well without you?
"No," I said decisively.
He didn't react—he just sat down.
We ate in silence, heads down.
I felt Ethan's occasional glances at me.
I paused, frowned, and looked at him. "If you have something to say, say it. If not, can you stop staring at me?"
He hesitated, wrestled with himself, then said, "Syra, about what you said—you said you really meant it…"
I didn't have patience to listen and cut him off. "You said you were annoyed with me! So why are you here? You don't like me, so why tempt me? Is this fun to you?"
I scowled, slammed my chopsticks down, glaring.
He blinked, stunned. "I didn't… I—"
He fumbled for words a long while and finally blurted, "You're scary."
"So what if I'm scary? Ethan, I've wanted to yell at you for days. Why do you wear that sour face all the time? If I didn't like you, do you think I'd keep sticking my warm face to a cold—"
He put down his chopsticks and adopted a stern expression, not easy to provoke.
"Done eating?"
"I can't when you're here."
I shot back stubbornly.
He frowned a little. "Then go."
He stood and grabbed my hand, pulling me out.
A breeze rose as we walked, and he kept holding my hand. I squirmed free.
He stopped abruptly and shifted, looking a little awkward.
"Syra… I actually didn't finish what I said that day."
Dammit.
He was still going to say it! Had to he keep cutting me with cruel words?
The breeze moved the leaves. His voice was soft, carried by the wind, but it reached me in pieces.
"What's most annoying to me is that you say you like me but you're not serious about it. You make me guess every day and then make yourself believe I'm the real one."
What did he mean?
My head went blank.
He continued, "Who was it who said they didn't like me then confessed? Who was it who said they'd come to the court every day then disappeared after a couple days?"
"So tell me clearly—who's actually leading who on?"
He suddenly moved closer, his face large inches from mine. My heart started racing.
"That day at the game I was distracted the whole time. You said you'd stand in the front row and cheer me on—I was looking forward to it all evening. But you only showed up right near the end."
"I-I—"
I couldn't get the words out smoothly.
"Did I have a sour face?
Already wanted to yell at me?
Couldn't eat because of me?"
He closed the distance step by step; his six-foot frame felt imposing.
"No, no, no, I was just joking!"
"You only know how to be mean to me."
He looked down at me, eyes suddenly soft and pitiful—like a big house dog wagging its tail and begging. The contrast made him even more endearing.
"When you say you like me, this time is for real, right?"
Before I could answer he went on.
"Do this: give me a kiss and I'll know if you really like me."
He leaned in toward my face. I got scared, my eyes widened, and I stepped back without thinking.
His expression changed—the little curve at his mouth fell away, the light in his eyes vanished.
He nodded. "I get it."
Those three words drifted in the wind as he turned and walked away.
What do you get, huh!
I chased him, whining, "Ethan Brooks, I—I—it was an instinctive reaction! Nobody just barges in and demands a kiss at the start, this whole thing isn't even off the ground yet!"
"When will it get off the ground?"
"When you say you like me."
"I like you. I've liked you for a long time."
Sunlight hit his eyes, making them bright and blinding—incredibly beautiful. Oh my god—I think I actually caught Ethan Brooks.
"Can I kiss you now?"
He curled the corner of his mouth and leaned toward me.
"Wa-wait—wait—"
I stammered, face flushing, eyes shut, feeling like I was bravely surrendering.
He spoke into my ear with a teasing smile, the breeze making it ticklish.
"I can't wait."
Before the words finished, something soft brushed my lips—like a feather, a butterfly kiss that somehow felt even more enticing.
When I opened my eyes I met his shining, smiling gaze. I fell into it, frozen.
On our first weekend together, Ethan Brooks sent me an invite.
"Want to go to a movie?
Pick whatever."
A date!
I got excited, put on a little dress, a dab of lipstick, and went to the theater. Ethan excused himself to the restroom, and I chose a horror film.
We sat in the back row. Ethan settled in nonchalantly as the movie started. After a few minutes he began to feel uneasy.
"Horror film?"
"Yeah."
I leaned in and whispered, "Are you scared?"
"I'm not scared at all."
His eyes flickered away.
The movie built momentum—one frightening image after another. I’d seen plenty of horror, nothing here fazed me.
But Ethan didn't look so calm. He kept his eyes shut, pretending to sleep.
I gently shook him awake and whispered, "Wake up, it's not scary."
He struggled a bit, then resigned and opened his eyes.
The instant he did, a bloody hand flashed on the screen.
Ethan immediately shut his eyes again.
I couldn't resist mischief—slipped my hand on top of his and squeezed his hand hard.
"Aaaaaah!"
He jumped, panic-stricken, trembling.
At that point the film wasn't even that intense, so his solo scream echoed across the whole theater. People turned to stare.
Help—my embarrassment was through the roof.
Ethan regained his composure. In the dark theater I could almost see the cold flash and murderous intent in his eyes.
He muttered, "You're such a dog, Shy Claire."
I beamed. "Don't be scared. If you are, you can hold my arm."
I offered my arm.
He snorted and looked away, but his hand gripped mine tightly. Well, his body sure was honest.
I had a surprise planned. After the movie, while he was in the restroom, I picked up the flowers I’d ordered.
As we walked out, he stared at my hand from a distance, brow furrowed. "Are you hiding something behind your back?"
When he came closer, I thrust the bouquet at him.
"Ethan Brooks, I like you. Isn't it more romantic with a ceremony? Now you have to believe me, right?"
I hopped and shoved the flowers into his arms.
He froze, then his face flushed scarlet in an instant.
He grabbed my hand and tugged me along. "Let's get dinner first."
I planted my feet. "No rush. You just got a gift, so answer one question. Tell me—when did you start liking me?"
"Do you want the truth?"
"Of course."
"The truth is… if I hadn't heard what you said that time, when you first confessed, I would've seriously considered you then."
I punched him. "Great, so you've been dangling me this whole time! You were cold to me before!"
He fought a smile. "I was pretending."
"Who taught you that?"
How did Ethan come up with all this?
He owned up. The timeline rewound to after my first confession.
He said that night after he went back to his dorm he was in a bad mood and had a few drinks.
His roommate asked, "What happened—heartbroken?"
"Sort of."
"Tell me."
"It was that girl who walked me back the other day—you remember? She confessed to me."
"Isn't that a good thing?"
"But a few days earlier I overheard her talking with a friend and she said she wasn't sure if she liked me. Maybe she's playing me."
"You like her?"
"A little."
His roommate thought for a moment, then gave him a plan.
"Then just keep her on the hook. Don't be the one to pursue, but don't reject her either. Wear her down. If she's flaky, she'll get impatient and give up. You won't lose anything. And show off in front of her—make her truly like you."
I listened, stunned. Damn, the enemy has deeper tricks; Lily Park's level wasn't high enough.
Ethan continued, "Then you came to the games for a couple of days and then disappeared for a long time. My roommate said maybe your patience ran out and you moved on to someone else."
What?
That's not fair—my pond only has one fish, and it's you!
Wahhh. My moves collided with his roommate's strategy and my efforts felt wasted—worse, they backfired.
"I felt a little disheartened then. Normally that would have been the end. But I couldn't help myself and made the first move later. Just as I did, you almost stood me up—I felt played."
"But in hindsight, playing hard to get does work."
He smiled smugly at me.
My smile froze.
I had been patting myself on the back thinking I'd chased him down—turns out I fell right into a trap he'd set early on, becoming the prey he was determined to catch.
(The end)
