The Rogue Next Door

Maya

“Mmm… come here, you perfect, cheesy masterpiece,” I murmur as I flip open the lid of the pizza box like it’s a sacred offering.

Steam rises immediately, carrying the smell of garlic, pepperoni, and comfort straight into my soul.

This is exactly what I need before I ruin my night with my Moral Philosophy essay.

I’m sitting in the living room of the little rental house I share just off campus, legs tucked beneath me on the couch, laptop open but ignored. Technically, it’s student housing.

Realistically, it’s a glorified stress box with creaky floors, thin walls, and neighbors who treat quiet hours like a personal insult.

I lift my first slice, ready to take a bite—

THUD.

I freeze.

The sound comes again, like something bouncing off wood.

“What the hell…?”

I set the slice down slowly, irritation already blooming in my chest. If this is my neighbors again, I swear—

I march toward the front window and peer outside.

And there it is.

A football.

Sitting right on my porch like it belongs there.

Of course.

Because I live next door to that house.

The football house.

When I first signed the lease, I thought I’d hit the jackpot. The place was weirdly affordable for being so close to campus, especially in the middle of Greek Row.

Turns out, the house belongs to an elderly woman whose family moved her into assisted living. Instead of selling the property—since anything near campus is basically worthless unless it comes with a built-in keg stand—they decided to rent the bedrooms out to students.

Three rooms.

Cheap rent.

Perfect for someone like me.

What I didn’t realize?

The university expanded over the years, and now my “quiet little rental” sits directly beside the most infamous house on campus.

The football team house.

During football season, it’s tolerable. Curfews, strict training schedules, coaches breathing down their necks.

But the second the season ends?

It becomes party apocalypse.

Everyone worships those guys. Girls, alumni, even professors pretend not to notice when players stroll into class late looking like walking cologne ads.

Me?

I don’t have time for that.

I’m on scholarship.

One mistake, one stupid party photo, one bad grade—

I’m done.

My roommates don’t help.

One of them, Tessa, is basically a sorority girl in training, constantly hoping someone from Delta Chi will finally acknowledge her existence.

The other is Bree—my best friend and chaos incarnate. Bree thrives on drama the way plants thrive on sunlight.

And then there’s me.

The responsible one.

The misfit with a GPA and a permanent stress knot between my shoulders.

I sigh, grab the football, and step onto the porch.

Before I can even turn back—

A voice calls out, smug and amused.

“Right there, sweetheart.”

I know that voice.

Unfortunately.

Leaning against the fence like he belongs in a commercial is none other than—

Cole Ryder.

Captain of the football team.

Campus legend.

Certified menace.

Six feet of muscle and ego, with dark blond hair and sharp blue eyes that always look like they’re laughing at some private joke.

They call him Ryder the Rogue.

Not because it’s clever.

Because he’s reckless on the field…

And worse off it.

Cole Ryder is the kind of guy who thinks boundaries are optional.

I narrow my eyes and toss the football up once before punting it back toward him.

It lands perfectly.

His eyebrows lift.

“Well damn,” he says, catching it easily. “Didn’t know you had legs like that, sweetheart. And they kick real nice too.”

I cross my arms.

“Cole. I’m trying to eat dinner and write an essay. Can you please keep your balls in your own yard?”

His grin turns downright sinful.

“Oh, my balls are definitely in my yard. If you mean the football though… I’ll try, sweetie.”

I groan.

He is impossible.

I spin back inside, determined to salvage my evening.

Pizza first.

Essay second.

Peace at last.

I sit down, lift a slice—

And suddenly, a hand enters my field of vision and steals it right out of the box.

I whip around.

“What the—Cole! Why are you in my house?”

He’s standing there like he pays rent, chewing like he’s doing me a favor.

“You said you were eating,” he says easily. “I assumed that was an invitation. And I love meat lovers.”

“You broke into my house!”

“I prefer ‘walked in confidently.’”

“Take the slice,” I snap, shoving him toward the door, “and get out before I call someone.”

He steps backward onto the porch, holding the pizza up in victory.

“Thanks, sweetheart!”

The door slams.

I glare after him, pulse racing with pure fury.

“He is such an asshole.”

“Who’s an asshole?” Bree asks, wandering in from the kitchen with a bottle of water and her hair thrown into a messy bun. “And more importantly… is he hot?”

I sigh.

“Cole Ryder. The oaf next door.”

Bree’s eyes widen immediately.

“Oh my God. Rogue Ryder stole your pizza?”

“It wasn’t romantic,” I snap. “It was criminal.”

Bree presses a hand to her chest like she’s personally offended.

“Babe… that is literally football-boy flirting. They don’t know how to function like normal humans.”

“I do not like him,” I say sharply.

Bree raises a brow, smirking.

“Funny. I don’t see him breaking into the Delta girls’ houses for snacks. Those girls would hand him pizza and their dignity on a silver platter.”

Before I can respond—

Bass-heavy music shakes the walls.

The football house has officially come alive.

I stare at the ceiling.

“It’s Wednesday!”

Bree grins like she’s been waiting for this moment all semester.

“It’s their off week. Which means party time.”

I groan.

“No.”

“Oh yes,” she says, already plotting. “We crash it.”

“Why would we do that?”

“For revenge,” Bree says, leaning in conspiratorially. “I give you a makeover. You wear that little red dress you pretend you don’t own. We walk in, you do one lap, make Rogue Ryder lose his mind…”

She pauses dramatically.

“And then we leave.”

I blink.

“You’ve thought about this.”

“A lot,” she admits, completely unapologetic.

“I have an essay.”

She waves a hand.

“That essay is due in two weeks and you know it. Come on. Two hours. Torture the Rogue. Live a little.”

I hesitate.

Then I glance at the empty pizza box.

Cole Ryder started this war.

And maybe…

Just maybe…

I want to win.

“…Fine,” I mutter.

Bree claps like she just won the lottery.

“Lady in red it is.”

And somewhere next door, the Rogue is about to have no idea what hit him.