Offside Hearts

Kelsey’s POV

If I could delete one thing from the universe, it wouldn’t be spiders or pineapple on pizza. It would be Monday mornings in the second semester.

The campus was a literal zoo. You had the freshmen wandering around like lost puppies, the seniors acting like they discovered fire, and the professors already giving us enough homework to sink a ship. I was power-walking to Hall C for my combined engineering lecture, trying to protect my sanity and—more importantly—my brand-new white sneakers.

I was five minutes early. In engineering time, that means I was basically late.

I rounded the corner of the main hallway, ready to slide into my favorite seat, when I saw him.

Imagine a guy who looks like he’s lived his entire life in a gym, but currently has the brain cell of a goldfish. He was tall—like, "blocking the sun" tall—with a grey hoodie and shoulders so broad he probably had to walk through doors sideways.

This was Marcus Halverin.

If you don't know who Marcus is, you clearly don't have a phone. He’s the star athlete everyone obsessed over last semester. He’s the guy who wins the games, breaks the hearts, and probably thinks "Physics" is a type of protein shake.

Right now, he was standing in the middle of the hallway with a mop.

A mop. He wasn’t a janitor. He was just... mopping. His own expensive shoes were covered in thick, brown mud, and he was scrubbing the floor like it was his personal mission to make the hallway a slip-and-slide.

I tried to be a nice person. I tried to give him space. I stepped to the far left, hugging the wall so I wouldn't ruin my shoes in his swamp water.

Squelch.

I stopped. I looked down.

The mop was sitting directly on top of my right sneaker. A huge, grey streak of dirty water was soaking into the white fabric.

I looked up. Marcus was leaning on the mop handle. He wasn't saying "sorry." He wasn't looking horrified. He was smirking.

"Did you just mop my shoes?" I asked. My voice was that low, scary calm that usually means someone is about to get yelled at.

He shrugged, totally unbothered. "Floor’s dirty, Kelsey."

Wait. How did he know my name?

"My shoes are not the floor, Marcus."

"They’re touching the floor," he said, deadpan. "Therefore, they are part of the floor. Logic."

I felt a vein in my forehead start to throb. I took a deep breath, stepped to the side to escape, and—

SPLAT.

He swung the mop again. This time, he got both shoes. It wasn't an accident. It was a targeted strike.

He actually laughed. A deep, rich, "I’m-the-king-of-this-school" kind of laugh.

"Oops," he teased. "Missed a spot."

That was it. The "Polite Kelsey" part of my brain officially left the building. I looked at the yellow bucket next to him. It was filled with the grossest, greyest, most chemical-smelling water I’d ever seen.

I looked at Marcus. He saw the look in my eyes. His grin faltered for a micro-second.

"Don't," he said, but he was still chuckling, thinking I was too "good" to do anything. "Kelsey, don't you dare—"

I didn't say a word. I grabbed the handle of that bucket and swung it with the strength of a girl who stayed up all night studying for midterms.

WHOOSH.

Ten gallons of dirty mop water hit Marcus Halverin squarely in the chest.

It was glorious. It soaked his hoodie. It got in his hair. It dripped off his nose. The entire hallway went silent. Someone in the back dropped their phone. A group of theater kids actually clutched their chests like they were watching a movie.

Marcus stood there, blinking, looking like a very wet, very angry golden retriever.

"What the heck?" he sputtered, wiping water from his eyes.

I crossed my arms and gave him my best "I don't care" stare. "Preventive measures," I said, throwing his own words back at him. "You looked like you were about to overheat. I helped you out."

Someone behind us let out a loud snort, and then the whole hallway started whispering.

"You just soaked me," Marcus said, sounding like he couldn't believe a "nerd" had actually fought back.

"And you drowned my Nikes. We’re even."

I didn't wait for him to come up with a comeback. I turned on my heel and marched into the lecture hall, feeling like a total boss—even if my feet were squelching with every step.

The lecture hall was packed. I found a seat in the middle, opened my laptop, and tried to ignore the fact that I was still shaking from the adrenaline.

Then, the seat next to me creaked.

A shadow fell over my desk. A very wet shadow.

I didn't even have to look. I could smell the floor cleaner.

Marcus dropped into the seat, now wearing a dry University jersey. He looked like he’d run a marathon in the five minutes it took him to change. He leaned back, taking up way too much space, and looked at me.

"You're insane," he whispered.

"And you're a bully," I whispered back, staring straight at the board.

"I prefer the term 'entertainer,'" he said. "And honestly? That was a solid 8 out of 10 on the splash. Your form was excellent."

"Go away, Marcus."

"Can't," he grinned, showing off a dimple that he definitely used to get out of trouble. "I like the view from here."

Before I could tell him to shove his dimple where the sun doesn't shine, the professor stood up.

"Welcome to Engineering 101," the professor said, his voice booming. "This semester, your grade isn't just about your brain. It’s about teamwork. You will be paired up for a design project that counts for thirty percent of your final mark."

My heart sank. I hate group projects. People are unreliable. People are lazy. People are...

"I have pre-assigned the partners to ensure a mix of 'talents,'" the professor continued.

He started reading the list. I sat there, praying for someone—anyone—who knew how to use a calculator.

"Kelsey Vale," the professor called out.

I raised my hand.

"You’ll be working with... Marcus Halverin."

The entire room turned to look at us. Marcus didn't even flinch. He just leaned closer to me, his shoulder brushing mine, a slow, triumphant smile spreading across his face.

"Well, well, partner," he murmured, his voice low and vibrating with mischief. "Looks like you’re stuck with me. Hope you’re ready to do some work."

I stared at him in horror. This wasn't just a bad day. This was a nightmare. I was paired with a guy who thought mopping shoes was funny, who probably thought "Mechanical Engineering" was a brand of LEGOs, and who I had just publicly humiliated in front of half the school.

"I'm going to fail," I whispered to myself.

"Nah," Marcus said, leaning in so close I could see the gold flecks in his eyes. "You’re going to be fine. But first... you're going to apologize for my hoodie."

"In your dreams," I snapped.

"We'll see, Kelsey," he said, clicking his pen. "The semester is long. And I’m very, very good at getting what I want."

I was officially stuck with the most annoying person I had ever met…

for the entire semester.