Knox’s black SUV idled smoothly against the curb in front of my off-campus apartment. The low rumble of the engine vibrated through the floorboards, filling the slightly awkward silence that had settled between us since we left the compliance office.
I reached for my canvas tote bag on the floor, then hesitated, my hand rising to the collar of the thick black hoodie.
"I should probably give this back to you," I said, looking over at him. My fingers gripped the hem, preparing to pull it over my head.
"Keep it," Knox said, not looking at me as he kept one hand on the steering wheel. The corner of his mouth twitched. "You look like you’ll freeze to death in that thin knit sweater before Friday. I need my tutor alive, Bennett."
"I have other sweaters, Sheridan," I deadpanned, letting my hand fall back into my lap.
"Doubt any of them look as good as mine," Knox smirked, finally turning his head to look at me.
His eyes trailed slowly over the oversized hood pooling around my shoulders, his expression softening for a fraction of a second before he masked it with his signature cocky look. "Go on, Bookworm. Get some sleep."
"Don’t start," I muttered, but I didn’t take the hoodie off.
I grabbed my tote bag, pushed the passenger door open, and stepped out.
The wind hit me immediately, whipping my curls across my face. I pulled the oversized hood over my head, feeling the thick, warm fabric shield me from the cold.
I jogged in without looking back until I pushed the doors open.
When I glanced toward the street, Knox’s SUV was already pulling away from the curb.
The warm smell of toasted bagels and Priya’s expensive vanilla candles hit me the second I walked into my apartment.
Priya was sitting at the kitchen island, a pink highlighter clamped between her teeth and a massive constitutional law textbook spread open in front of her. She was double-fisting a mug of coffee, her eyes scanning a paragraph.
She didn’t look up immediately. "You’re alive. I was about to call the campus police and report a kidnapping at the SinBin."
"I’m alive," I said, closing the door behind me.
Priya tossed her highlighter onto the counter and looked up.
The second her eyes landed on me, she froze. Her mug stopped halfway to her mouth. She stared at the gold Briar Hockey emblem stretched across my chest, then at the oversized fit, and finally at the bold number 19 printed on the sleeve.
Slowly, she set her mug down on the marble counter.
"Nora Bennett," Priya said, her voice dropping into a dangerous, law-student-cross-examination whisper. "What in the name of con-law are you wearing?"
"It’s a hoodie," I said, trying to sound casual as I dropped my canvas tote bag by the door.
"That is not just a hoodie," Priya gasped, sliding off her barstool and marching over to me.
She grabbed a handful of the black fabric, inspecting it as if she were looking for forensic evidence. "This is a varsity team captain’s hoodie. It’s Knox’s hoodie. Nora, didn’t you sleep at the hockey house?"
"No! Yes. But not like that," I stammered, raising my hands to stop her before her mind ran wild. "We had to pull an all-nighter to complete his entire economics workbook. It was a disaster, Priya. Garrison Sheridan scheduled the audit himself to try and fail us. Knox’s book was completely blank."
Priya crossed her arms, narrowing her sharp hazel eyes. "Okay, so you stayed up all night drawing graphs. That explains the coffee bags under your eyes. It doesn’t explain why you’re wearing his clothes."
"It was freezing in his room, and my sweater was wrinkled," I explained, walking past her to the kitchen to pour myself a glass of water. My throat felt dry and parched. "He threw it to me and told me to wear it. He called me a raccoon."
"He called you a raccoon, and then he let you borrow his favorite team hoodie?" Priya followed me, leaning against the counter. "The captain’s gear is practically sacred, Nora. Those guys don’t just hand those out to anyone. And where did you sleep? You texted me at midnight saying you were staying there."
I took a long sip of water, trying to keep my expression flat, but I could feel the telltale heat rising in my cheeks. "He... he carried me to his bed at five in the morning because I fell asleep at the desk. I woke up in his bed under his duvet."
Priya’s jaw dropped. "He what?"
"He slept in his desk chair," I added quickly, desperate to shut down whatever romantic fantasy she was building. "He gave up his bed so I could sleep, and he finished the remaining graphs in the leather chair. He didn’t touch me, Priya. It was completely respectful."
Priya stared at me for a long, quiet ten seconds. The teasing smirk vanished from her face, replaced by a soft, genuinely concerned expression.
"Nora," she said quietly. "He’s an arrogant playboy who has half the campus chasing him, yes. But a guy who does that... that’s way more dangerous."
"What do you mean?" I asked, putting my glass down.
"A guy who is just a selfish jerk is easy to handle. You write up a contract, you collect your check, and you walk away," Priya said, wrapping her hands around her coffee mug.
"But a guy who carries you to his bed, and sleeps in a chair so you can rest? That guy has a heart, Nora. And a guy with a heart is the kind of guy who can make you forget that this whole thing is fake. Don’t fall for the contract."
"I’m not falling for anything," I said firmly, though my chest tightened slightly at her words. "It’s strictly business. He paid off my mom’s bank penalty, and I kept him eligible today. That’s all this is."
Before Priya could reply, my phone began to buzz violently on the kitchen island.
I reached over and picked it up. The caller ID read Mom.
My stomach did a nervous flutter. My mother rarely called me during the middle of a school day unless something was wrong. I swiped the screen and pressed the phone to my ear.
"Mom? Is everything okay?"
"Nora..." my mother’s voice was a weak, breathless whisper. I could hear the faint, sharp intake of air as she groaned in pain. "I’m sorry to call you at school, sweetheart..."
"Mom, what’s wrong?" I demanded, my hand tightening on the phone. Priya stood up straight, watching my face lock into panic.
"My back," she gasped out, a small sob escaping her lips. "I was trying to haul the fifty-pound sack of flour from the delivery bay to the mixer... and something just snapped. I can’t move, Nora. I’m lying on the bakery floor, and I can’t get up."