Great Oaks College didn't have the best facilities. Their main dormitories were pretty shabby, which is why I had asked my father to set me up with a single room. Just because I didn't want him watching over me didn't mean I was prepared to live in poverty!

The single rooms were tucked away around the back of the dorm building. There were two wings, for male and female students. Supposedly, the dorms were reserved for students on scholarships, or with "special considerations", whatever that was. Luckily, a small donation in my name was enough to put me on the special considerations list.

I decided to get acquainted with my room before I tried to make any friends. I had gotten a few weird looks as Harry dropped me off, and I really didn't want to start a reputation as some rich brat. I steered away from the crowds and headed for the dorms' back entrance.

The path to the back entrance wound through some of the old oak trees that gave the college its name. The slabs of concrete were cracked and tipped at weird angles from the roots growing underneath them. I wrinkled my nose. You wouldn't see this kind of thing back in Lakeview, or even at our country house. If I wasn't careful, I was going to twist an ankle, and then my father would probably insisting on suing and transferring me to his old school. I watched my feet carefully.

Then I heard a gruff voice mutter, "Fuck."

I looked up. The back entrance was at the end of a tight little alleyway, enclosed by the walls of the dorm building. Right now the door was blocked by someone. From this distance, all I could see was that he was wearing a grey hoodie, and he was tall. Really tall. I had always been pretty short for my age, but I barely would've come up to his shoulder.

He hadn't actually done anything except swear. He hadn't even noticed me approaching. But he was so... tall...

I slowed my pace, scoping him out. He really was very tall, tall enough to be a basketball player even, which would explain what he was doing at the single dorms. He had a beaten-up duffel bag over his shoulder, and a bunch of random tote bags hanging off his elbow. The grey hoodie he was wearing looked kinda worn out, and so did his gym shorts and sneakers. I tried to get a closer look, to tell if they were intentionally distressed, but it didn't seem like it. Maybe he thrifted them? I had a couple of friends in private school who wore intentionally cheap-looking clothes as a stylistic choice.

My eyes drifted from his ratty gym shorts down to his calves. His legs were darkly tanned, lean and muscular like a sprinter. My pulse quickened and I glanced up to make sure he hadn't noticed me staring at him as I approached. He hadn't, but by now I could see his face. He had dark hair and brown skin, sharp features, and a large, crooked nose. His thick eyebrows were furrowed, and as I watched he bit his lip in grumpy concentration.

I felt a stirring feeling in my tummy and tried to ignore it. Unsuccessfully.

The tall guy was hot.

From an objective standpoint, anyway. I mean, anyone could tell that he was hot. He was tall, and in shape, and he had a sharp jawline. Even the straightest man alive could recognise that he was good-looking, so the fact that I thought he was attractive didn't really mean anything.

Unless it did.

College is the time to make a man of yourself.

The tall guy held his student card up to the reader, and there was a buzz as the door unlocked. He quickly whipped his hand away from the reader and lunged for the door handle, but when he tried to turn it, it just rattled pointlessly.

"Fuck!" he said again, "God damn it."

I smirked. I was very used to dealing with keycard-operated doors — they're pretty common in hotels and resorts. I had actually experienced the same problem in Aspen when I was about six years old, and I had ended up crying outside my parents' suite for twenty minutes before a maid found me and explained that you have to hold the card to the reader and turn the door handle at the same time. It didn't seem like the tall guy had been to the same ski lodge.

So... he needed my help.

Wow. That was kind of exciting. My whole life I had been used to other people being there to help me out — Harry and Luisa, my various tutors and coaches. But I had only been at college for five minutes, and the tables had already turned. Now it was my turn to help a lost kid get through a door. It was my turn to be the maid.

I kinda liked that.

The tall guy sighed and started rearranging his bags. He was moving kind of awkwardly, and I realised that as well as having his duffle bag and tote bags hanging off him, he had his wallet wedged into the crook of his right elbow. Weird. His left hand was holding his student card, and I couldn't see his right hand from this angle, but why wasn't he just holding it normally? Whatever the reason, it was a bad decision, because as he tried to shift a tote bag from one arm to the other, his wallet slipped out and fell to the ground.

I stepped forward and picked it up for him.

"I think you need to turn the handle—"

Before I knew it, the tall guy dropped the bag, whirled around, and grabbed my wrist. He yanked it up. I gasped.

"Drop it!" he snarled.

His dark eyes were gleaming with anger. I withered under his intense glare. I tried to move my hand but he was too strong. I felt like I was caught in a vice. He yanked my hand up again and I stumbled forward, almost falling against him.

I tried to yank my arm away but he barely budged. I reached up with my other hand to try and pry his fingers free, but I couldn't do it. He was too strong.

For a second I wondered why he didn't just take his wallet from me with his other hand, then he tightened his grip and I gasped with pain. I scrabbled at his vice-like fingers desperately, then looked up at him.

He glared back at me imperiously.

For some insane reason, I felt butterflies in my stomach.

"Drop it, bitch," he said.

The butterflies in my stomach turned to ice

"Fuck you!" I spat, "I was just picking it up for you, idiot!"

He blinked, then gasped and let go of my hand. He stepped away from me and a mortified look came over his face.

"Oh fuck," he said, "My bad."

I glared up at him. My fingers felt tingly as the blood rushed back into them. The tall guy did look genuinely contrite, but he also hadn't taken his eyes off his wallet in my hand. I scanned him up and down.

He still looked ready to fight. He was turned towards me at an angle. His left hand flexed nervously, ready to grab me again, but his right hand was tucked behind his back, almost like a fencer.

I realised he was looking me up and down too, checking that I wasn't a threat. I had turned away when he let me go, bent over, rubbing my sore wrist. As his eyes flickered across my body, for a moment I could swear they paused on my ass.

I straightened up abruptly.

"Say sorry," I said.

His dark eyes narrowed, "What?"

"Say sorry," I repeated, "Bitch."

The word felt clumsy on my lips. I never swore at home. My parents thought it was undignified, at least from a child, and didn't want me to embarrass them in front of any of their friends or contacts. I hoped the tall guy couldn't tell.

Maybe he could though. He smirked, and I felt the butterflies return to my stomach.

"Sorry, bitch," he said.

Despite myself, I giggled. I tossed him his wallet and he snatched it out of the air, then shook his head ruefully. He stuffed it into his back pocket.

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it," I smiled, "As I was saying..."

I pulled out my student ID, which I wore on a lanyard around my neck, and pressed it against the card reader. I could feel his eyes boring into me from behind. I felt something pulling at me -- maybe it was instinct -- and as I leant forward to grab the door handle, I let my back arch just a little more than I needed to. I looked back over my shoulder as I opened the door. and again I thought I saw his eyes dart up.

"See? Not that hard," I smirked.

The tall guy laughed, then started gathering up his fallen possessions. I held the door open for him, like a good little maid. Or like a mother waiting for a naughty kid. One of the two.

He only used his left hand to pick up his stuff, and I realised he must have injured his right arm somehow. Probably a sports injury. He definitely looked like an athlete.

"Do you want a hand with that?" I asked.

He looked up at me, and for a second he looked pissed. But then his sharp features softened. After a moment he nodded, and I grabbed one of his tote bags and hoisted it over my shoulder. It was surprisingly heavy, but I tried not to show it.

"Thanks," he said gruffly, "Sorry I freaked out before."

I shrugged, "It's okay. Sorry I grabbed your wallet."

He smiled, and I smiled back. he really was very good-looking. But there was no chance he was actually into me. Not that I would even be interested if he was.

"Do you know where you're rooming?" he asked.

"Oh!" I said, "Yeah. I'm actually in one of the single rooms."

"Nice," he said, "Me too."

"No way!" I smiled, "Let me guess. Your dad bought a new library?"

He laughed, "I wish. Nah. Scholarship. Uh. Athletic scholarship."

We walked down the hallway together, heading towards the male dorm wing. I couldn't help but notice how closely together he was walking. Sometimes our bags almost brushed against each other. My pulse picked up a little.

"That's so cool," I gushed. I realised my voice had gotten a little higher, a little breathier. Just nerves, maybe. But it felt kinda... natural, "What sport do you play? Basketball, right?"

"Ha. Not really my thing," he smirked, "Track and field. How about you? Weightlifting?"

I blushed. My already petite body felt even smaller next to him.

"Actually," I hesitated. I had made a decision to try and hide my rich upbringing, but something about this guy made me want to open up to him somehow, "My dad kind of did buy a new library."

"Oh," he said. He stiffened a little, and some of that glower returned to his face, "That's cool. Must be loaded, right?"

"My parents are loaded," I said quickly, "I am... waiting on a trust fund. Which is great, obviously. But it also means I can't really do anything to... disappoint them. It's a lot of pressure. You know?"

He stopped walking for a second, and sighed.

"Yeah, I get that," he said. "I really need to keep this scholarship. Or I'm probably gonna have to move back home."

I looked up at him. His dark eyes looked clouded for a moment. Then he shook himself out of it and started walking again. I followed him quickly.

I pulled out my phone to check the dorm map. My room, room 108, was right at the end of a corridor the tall guy had headed down. Maybe we were gonna be neighbors. That would be awesome. We could hang out together between classes. Maybe hang out at night, too...

He glanced over his shoulder and slowed down a bit to make sure I didn't fall behind. I smiled gratefully and he grinned back.

"Thanks for taking my bag, man," he said.

"No problem!" I said, "It's a good way to make friends, right?"

He laughed, "Oh, so you think we're friends now?"

I shrugged, "I mean, I assumed that's what you wanted. Since you grabbed onto me so desperately. Unless that's your way of flirting."

His eyes narrowed, and for a second my heart stopped. What if I had totally misjudged things? What if he suddenly started beating the shit out of me?

He smirked, "And what if it is?"

Blood rushed to my cheeks, and I giggled, high and breathy, like a girl. We had just made it to the last dorm room, right at the end of the corridor. He put down his bags and reached for the handle. I giggled again.

"Little forward, don't you think?" I said.

He laughed, "What's up?"

"It's a single room," I said.

"Oh, yeah," he said, "I was just gonna unpack. But you can swing by later?"

"Um..." my smile wavered, "It's my room."

"Oh, shit, sorry," he said. He pulled out his phone, some kind of old model Android, and checked the screen, "No, wait. This is my room. See? Room 108. Dominic Lane."

"Yeah," I said, tilting my head, "I'm Dominic Lane."

He stared at me, "I'm Dominic Lane."

His eyes flickered down to my student ID, hanging on my custom lanyard. They widened. I lifted my satchel, showing him my name embroidered on the side.

"No shit," he breathed. He put his phone in his front pocket, then reached into his back pocket and pulled out his beaten up vinyl wallet. He flipped it open, showing me his driver's license.

Instinctively my eyes flickered to his address. It was some Nowheresville town I had never heard of in my life. Then I actually saw his name, and gasped again.

Dominic Lane.

"Holy crap," I said.

"So..." the other Dominic Lane tilted his head, "Which one of us gets the room?"