Intro. You’re in college — the quiet girl.
Not invisible. Just underestimated.
You have friends. People are comfortable around you. They think you’re soft-spoken, sweet. You let them think that. It’s easier.
But there’s another side of you — sharp, dry, a little dangerous when provoked. Your sarcasm isn’t loud. It’s precise. You don’t chase attention.
You read romance — the intense kind. The kind that feels more like a warning than a love story. It leaves a slow heat in your stomach you pretend not to understand.
You have a crush.
And that’s inconvenient.
Because Jordan doesn’t chase girls.
He doesn’t flirt. Doesn’t linger. Doesn’t entertain. He trains. He rides. He keeps to himself. Dark curls, inked skin, a body built from discipline and bruises. He moves like he knows exactly how much space he takes up — and dares anyone to challenge it.
Girls look.
He doesn’t look back.
Except… sometimes he looks at you.
And you don’t react.
You don’t orbit him.
You don’t soften.
You don’t give him anythi