Chapter Two

Emma’s POV

Living with Ace Fallon was like starring in a prank war I hadn’t signed up for.

I Finally stumbled on the house lease agreement.

Within a week, I’d lost count of how many girls I’d seen stumbling out of his bedroom in the morning.

Blond, brunette, redhead—Ace didn’t discriminate. They left in wrinkled clothes, barely struggling to pull their heels on, giggling as they squeezed past me on their walk of shame.

“Do you mind?” I snapped one morning when a particularly loud blonde tripped over my bag in the living room.

Ace leaned against the kitchen counter, sipping orange juice like he owned the place. “Don’t look at me. She’s clumsy.”

I slammed the door on my way out.

My retaliation started small. I swapped his expensive coffee beans for decaf. Hide batteries from the TV remote. Turned the shower faucet to cold right before his morning rinse.

The scream that followed? Best alarm clock of my life.

Of course, Ace caught on. He retaliated by stealing my notes and perching them just out of reach on top of the fridge.

When I came in late one night, exhausted, he’d swapped all the labels on my spice rack—salt was sugar, sugar was flour, and I learned that the hard way in my midnight tea.

“You’re insane,” I told him.

He just grinned. “Takes one to know one, Professor.”

By the second week, I was convinced the Moreland Apartment rule wasn’t “no fighting.” It was “don’t get caught fighting.” Because if the management knew what went down in 3B, we’d both be out.

Tuesday morning, I dragged myself into English Literature, clutching a latte like it was holy water.

I barely had any sleep last night. The girl Conan brought home kept googling and screaming like a banshee. Sorry to the banshee community, she was worse than that.

Professor Henderson was already scribbling something on the board. Every seat was taken except one—the empty chair beside me.

And right on cue, Ace strolled in ten minutes late. No book bag, no notebook, just swagger.

Professor Henderson was ready to unleash her anger when she saw who it was.

The way her face instantly softened was comical.

“Mr. Fallon,” Professor Henderson said, returning to the board. “Take a seat.”

Not a hint of annoyance. Not even a raised eyebrow.

I blinked in surprise, I looked around to see if anyone was as shocked as I was but it seemed like everyone except for me knew who Ace Fallon was.

Ace scanned the room, smirked when his gaze landed on me, and slid into the empty chair beside me.

I turned back to my notebook and pretended he didn’t exist.

“Professor,” he whispered.

I didn’t look at him.

“Professor,” he tried again, sing-song this time.

Nothing.

He leaned over until his breath tickled my ear. “Professor, are you ignoring me?”

The hairs on my neck stood up. Against my better judgment, I turned my head—

And found his face inches from mine.

Dark brown eyes, stupid smirk, way too close.

I startled so hard I tumbled backward out of my chair, landing flat on the floor with a thud that echoed through the silent room.

Every head in the room turned—professor Henderson included.

My cheeks burned hotter than the sun as I scrambled up, mumbling something that sounded like “I’m fine.”

Ace leaned casually against his desk, lips twitching. “Careful, Professor. Gravity’s a bitch.”

Laughter rippled through the class.

I wanted to die.

Actually, I wanted to murder Ace.

By the time the lecture ended, I shot out of my seat like it was on fire. But of course, Ace followed, strolling beside me like we were best friends.

“Don’t be mad,” he teased.

“Mad?” I snapped. “You think I’m mad, all I feel is hate for you.”

“That’s a strong word.”

“Not strong enough.”

He grinned. “Come on, Professor. Admit it. That was funny.”

I spun on him in the middle of the hallway. “I nearly broke my back!”

“You’re fine.” He reached out like he was going to tug at my ponytail, and I swatted his hand away.

We pushed through the doors into the car park—and nearly collided with Dante Williams.

Dante Williams. As in six-foot-four, captain of the basketball team, smile worth a thousand billboards.

My stomach did a somersault.

“Yo, Fallon,” Dante said, clapping Ace on the back as they did the man hug thing. “What’s up, man?”

“All good,” Ace replied easily.

Dante turned his attention to me, and my brain stopped working.

“And you are…?” His smile was devastating up close.

“I—I’m—uh—Emma,” I stammered, clutching my books like it was my life support.

Dante’s eyes crinkled. “Nice to meet you, Emma. Are you coming to my party Friday?”

I blinked. “Me?”

“Yeah, you. Bring my boy here if you want.” He nudged Ace.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Ace said smoothly, answering for both of us.

“Cool.” Dante gave me another one of those million-dollar smiles that should’ve been illegal and sauntered off toward his car.

I was still frozen in place when Ace leaned in. “Smooth, Professor. Real smooth. You almost said your own name without choking.”

My face went up in flames. “Shut up.”

“Who knew he was going to invite you personally.”

“He invited you,” I muttered.

“And you,” he shot back. “Which means I’m your plus-one.”

“Over my dead body.”

We reached his car, a black Mustang that screamed playboy. Ace dangled his keys. “Need a ride?”

I glanced at the darkening clouds. The air smelled like rain.

“No thanks.” I adjusted my bag. “I’d rather walk.”

“You sure?” His tone was mock-gentle. “Don’t want you catching a cold, Professor.”

I plastered my brightest fake smile. “Positive.”

By the time I reached the corner, the sky opened. Sheets of rain drenched me in seconds.

I walked faster, hair plastered to my cheeks, sneakers squeaking with every step. Cars splashed by, throwing more water onto my jeans.

When I finally stumbled into the apartment, dripping from head to toe, Ace was leaning against the couch, perfectly dry, scrolling on his phone.

He looked up, smirked, and drawled, “Told you so.”

I slammed my door before he could see the steam practically shooting from my ears.

Hatred had never burned so hot.