2

Nate Jacobs didn’t get distracted.

He was the kind of guy who played football like a war game, memorized patterns like math, and dated girls like they were checkboxes to be ticked — hot, submissive, popular. Nothing ever surprised him. No one ever kept him up at night.

Until now.

Until Jake.

That first glance in the gym had burned itself into Nate’s memory like a scar. Jake — soft voice, silky hair, and that figure that practically defied biology — had looked at him like he already knew what Nate wanted… and was daring him to ask for it.

But it was that moment — the touch to Nate’s chest, featherlight but full of intent — that had done it.

Jake had touched him like a question. Then walked away like an answer.

Nate had barely registered Maddy's voice after that.

And for the first time in a long time, Nate wasn’t thinking about control.

He was thinking about him.

---

The next morning, Jake was already dressed when Jules knocked on his door.

“Morning, princess. You coming with me to campus or are you working on your dark magic today?” she teased, sipping an iced latte.

Jake turned from his mirror, where he had just finished applying a light shimmer to his collarbone. His outfit was deliberately understated today — a white, slightly oversized sweater that hugged just enough and a pale blue pleated skirt that barely brushed mid-thigh. Legs bare. Lashes curled.

He looked like temptation packaged in innocence.

“I’ll walk with you,” Jake said sweetly, slipping his bag over one shoulder.

“Someone’s glowing,” Jules noted, giving him a sideways look as they stepped outside. “You meet a boy already?”

Jake just smiled.

He didn’t need to say anything. Not yet.

---

Later that day, Nate sat behind the wheel of his truck, parked in the back lot behind the football field. His jaw was clenched, one hand loosely gripping the steering wheel, the other tapping his thigh.

He didn’t know why he was here.

Or maybe he did.

He’d seen Jake again that morning — crossing the quad with that same impossible grace. Talking softly to Jules, smiling faintly, the sunlight catching in his layered hair. His sweater dipped just enough to show a hint of the base of his throat.

And Nate had looked.

More than once.

And Jake… he had known.

When their eyes met for a second time, Jake hadn’t smiled. He hadn’t waved. He had simply tilted his head, like he was studying Nate from a distance, as if Nate were the artwork and not the other way around.

It pissed Nate off. He didn’t like being made to feel like prey.

But it also turned him on.

---

Jake found him again that afternoon.

He wasn’t stalking Nate, not exactly. But he knew his patterns — the way he lingered by the weight room after practice, the path he took to his truck, the bench where he sat while cooling off.

Jake waited for the perfect moment.

Nate had just exited the gym, earbuds in, shirt off, towel slung over one shoulder. Sweat clung to his torso in all the right places — cut abs, tense arms, veins trailing down his forearms.

Jake approached with the quiet steps of someone who didn’t need to be noticed — because they would be anyway.

“Hey,” Jake said softly, almost like a secret.

Nate froze.

Turned.

And stared.

Jake stood there, holding a cold bottle of water — already uncapped — and extended it to him like a gift.

“You looked thirsty.”

Nate’s eyes narrowed. “You following me?”

“No,” Jake lied smoothly. “But I remembered how intense your workouts looked. Figured you might like this.”

Nate stared at the bottle. Then at Jake.

He took it.

Their fingers brushed.

Jake didn’t flinch.

Nate’s throat bobbed as he drank.

Jake watched his lips. The water that slid down his throat.

“You always like this?” Nate asked after a beat.

Jake tilted his head. “Like what?”

“Teasing. Bold.”

Jake stepped closer. “I’m not teasing. I just like... getting what I want.”

Nate didn’t respond right away. His chest rose and fell slowly. His eyes locked onto Jake’s, unreadable.

And then: “What is it you want, exactly?”

Jake smiled.

You.

But he didn’t say it.

Instead, he reached out, adjusting the collar of Nate’s towel, letting his fingers linger against his collarbone.

“Maybe I’ll let you figure that out.”

Then he walked away again.

No goodbye.

No backward glance.

And once again — Nate stared.

---

That night, Jake sat on his bed, legs tucked under him, texting Jules about class schedules while his mind spun through every second of that interaction.

Nate was slipping.

He saw it — the way his stare held too long, the way his hands clenched, the flicker of heat behind the guarded eyes.

Jake wasn’t just pretty. He was crafted.

Everything from the way he dressed to the soft curve of his voice was calibrated for one purpose:

To draw Nate in.

To consume his attention.

To replace every trace of Maddy.

And it was working.

He wasn’t just watching Nate.

He was rewriting him.

---

Across campus, Nate laid in bed, phone untouched, scrolling through a playlist he couldn’t focus on. He kept thinking of Jake.