CHAPTER ONE — "THE WRONG MORNING TO RUN INTO HIM"
I knew the morning would be bad the second I opened my eyes and my alarm clock said 8:12 a.m.
My first class was at 8:30.
My dorm was a ten-minute walk from the journalism building.
And I was… a mess.
I jumped out of bed so fast that my blanket tangled around my ankle, and I nearly crashed into my desk. My roommate, Jada, didn't even look up from where she sat cross-legged on her bed, blending her foundation like nothing dramatic was happening.
"You're late," she said, voice calm, eyes fixed on her mirror.
"Thank you for the groundbreaking update," I snapped, dragging on a hoodie that definitely wasn't washed recently.
She shrugged. "Just saying. Also, you look like someone who lost a fight with her pillow."
"It was a fair fight," I muttered, grabbing my backpack and almost forgetting my laptop.
Jada finally looked up. "Girl, breathe."
"I can't breathe, I have a class," I said, throwing my hair into a half-bun that looked more like a half-accident.
"Harper, you're dramatic."
"No, I'm punctual. Or at least I was, until my alarm decided to commit treason."
She laughed softly, the calm to my chaos, like always. "Text me when you've survived."
I didn't answer—I was already sprinting down the hallway, praying I wouldn't run into anyone who liked to talk in the mornings.
The campus was semi-alive—students dragging themselves around half-conscious, coffee cups everywhere, the air still cold from last night's rain. Blackwood University had a way of looking pretty even when everything inside it was stressful: old brick buildings, big trees, bikes everywhere, the vague scent of burnt espresso from the student center.
I ran down the path… and that's when I saw him.
Of course.
OF COURSE.
My morning was already falling apart; the universe clearly decided to add spice.
Jaxon Reid stood beside his motorcycle, helmet in one hand, scrolling through his phone like the world owed him silence. Hoodie, ripped jeans, tattoos showing, the usual vibe of "don't talk to me unless you want problems."
He looked up at the exact moment I tried to pass, eyes narrowing like he'd been personally offended by my existence.
Perfect.
"Lane," he said, arms crossing. "Why are you running like someone's chasing you?"
"I'm late," I breathed, trying to keep walking.
"Obviously." He tilted his head. "You look like a traffic accident."
"Good morning to you too," I said, already annoyed.
He smirked. "Wasn't saying it as an insult. More like an observation."
"Your face is an observation."
"That's not even a comeback." He pocketed his phone. "Where's your class?"
"Journalism building."
"You'll never make it running like that."
Before I could ask why he cared—or pretend I didn't want to—my bag strap hooked itself on his motorcycle handlebar.
I swear I did not touch the bike.
It touched me.
I jerked backward so hard I almost fell on my ass. "Oh my God—why is your bike grabbing me?!"
He lifted a brow, leaning closer to unhook my bag. "Maybe it likes you."
"Kill me."
"Nah. Too early." He hopped onto his bike. "Get on."
I blinked. "Get what?"
"On the bike. You'll be on time, unless you prefer sprinting across campus looking like… that."
"My pride refuses."
"Your GPA should override your pride."
He wasn't wrong—but I wasn't about to admit that to him.
"It's not safe," I argued weakly.
He smirked. "I drive like an angel."
"You fight campus security every other week, Jaxon."
"Unrelated."
I stared.
He stared back.
Annoyed.
Expectant.
Amused.
All the things that made me want to throw a shoe at him.
Finally, I sighed. "Fine. But if I die—"
"I'll send flowers to your dads."
"You don't even know their taste."
"I'll ask."
God, he was insufferable.
I climbed onto the bike, gripping the back edge because there was no way I was touching him. The last thing I needed was emotional confusion at 8:20 a.m.
"Hold on," he said.
"I am."
"Harper, you're holding the bike like it's poisonous."
"Maybe it is."
He reached back, grabbed my wrists, and pulled my arms around his waist.
I froze.
Fully froze.
Hard reboot.
"Nope," I said immediately, trying to pull away.
"Do you want to fall off?"
"Is that a trick question?"
He sighed, adjusting my hands again. "Just stay still."
Then the bike rumbled under us, and we were speeding across campus. The wind whipped my hair into my face, and I pressed my forehead against his back because if I didn't, I'd fly off like a loose paper bag.
He yelled over the wind, "Still alive?"
"Unfortunately!"
I felt him laugh. Actually laugh. And God help me, the sound was unfairly nice.
We screeched to a stop in front of the journalism building at 8:28 a.m. I practically fell off the bike, legs shaking.
"You okay?" he asked.
"No."
"Yes."
"Maybe."
He smirked. "You're welcome."
"I didn't say thank you."
"Your face said it."
"I hope your helmet breaks."
"Love you too."
I stomped away, refusing to give him the satisfaction of looking back.
My professor, an older woman with no patience for lateness, eyed me as I slipped inside and took a seat beside Liam.
"You look like you survived a kidnapping," Liam whispered.
"Worse," I whispered back. "Jaxon."
His eyes widened. "And you're alive? Damn."
I shoved his arm. "Not helpful."
He grinned. "Did he threaten your existence or compliment your hair in a rude way?"
"Neither. He gave me a ride."
"WHAT?"
"Shh!"
My professor glared again.
Liam leaned in. "Harper, that boy is obsessed with you."
"He hates me!"
Liam scoffed. "There's hating someone. And then there's… whatever he does around you."
I wanted to argue. Really, I did.
But my brain replayed the moment his hands wrapped around my wrists to fix my grip, and I had to mentally slap myself back to reality.
After class, I headed out quickly, hoping to avoid human interaction—but as usual, fate hates me. Because someone tackled my waist.
"Harper!" a high, excited voice shrieked.
I laughed immediately. "Sadie!"
Jaxon's ten-year-old sister clung to me like a hyper koala, wearing her glittery backpack and lopsided ponytail.
"Why are you here?" I asked, hugging her tightly.
"Mom forgot her lunch shift snacks," she said proudly, holding up a little paper bag she'd decorated with stickers. "Jax brought me."
Oh.
So he was nearby.
Of course.
And when I looked up, there he was—leaning against a bench, arms crossed, pretending he wasn't watching me interact with his sister like it was the sunlight he never admitted he liked.
"Hi," he said when I walked over, Sadie holding my hand.
"You again," I said.
"You're welcome again."
"Thank you, fine, whatever."
Sadie gasped dramatically. "Harper said thank you! Jax, that means you're friends!"
"We are NOT—"
"We're not—"
We said it together.
Sadie giggled like it was the funniest thing she'd ever heard. "You guys sound like a divorced couple."
I choked. Jaxon coughed violently.
"Sadie," he muttered, rubbing his forehead.
"What?" she asked innocently. "You argue like Mom and Dad did before Dad left."
It was meant as a child's casual observation—but I saw the flicker in Jaxon's eyes, the one he always covered with jokes and irritation.
I softened. "Hey," I said quietly to him. "Ignore her. Kids say everything that jumps into their heads."
"I'm used to it," he said, but his voice had a small crack in it. Barely there—but I caught it.
Because for all our bickering, Jaxon was easy to read if you knew where to look.
"Sadie," I said, crouching to her level. "What's your next class? Art?"
"Yeah!"
"And you brought snacks for your mom?"
"Uh-huh!"
"You're the sweetest person on this whole campus."
She beamed so hard she looked like a tiny sun.
Jaxon watched us.
And something in his expression softened—something unguarded, vulnerable, almost… grateful.
But then he ruined it.
Of course.
"Don't fill her head with compliments," he said. "Her ego doesn't need help."
Sadie stuck out her tongue. "Your ego is bigger."
"True," I muttered.
He glared at me, but there was no heat behind it.
"I have to take her to class," he said.
"Go," I replied. "She's gonna be late."
"And you?" he asked slowly, eyes scanning my face like he was trying to read something I hadn't said.
"I… have lunch break."
"Don't fall somewhere," he said.
"Don't get arrested."
He smirked. "No promises."
They walked away—Sadie skipping, Jaxon pretending he wasn't watching me from the corner of his eye.
When they disappeared into the art building, I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.
My phone buzzed.
A message from Dad #1: Good morning, star. Remember to eat.
Then from Dad #2: Your hair looked cute in the picture I found on your Instagram this morning :)
Then from Noah: You left your charger at home again, genius.
I smiled despite myself.
My chaotic family.
My chaotic life.
And the chaotic boy who kept appearing in all of it like he was written into the background.
I should've hated it.
But I didn't.
Not really.
I just didn't know what it meant yet.
That was the problem.
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