It was almost midnight when the knock came.
Soft. Hesitant. But firm enough to jolt me out of my sketching haze.
I stared at my dorm door like it had personally offended me.
Everyone knew I hated unannounced visitors. I lived on the third floor, far from the main staircase, and only a masochist or someone with a death wish would dare knock on my door this late, especially when I was designing.
I padded across the room in my oversized socks, heart thumping a little harder than I wanted to admit.
When I opened it and saw Ryans Maddox standing there, bruised and sweaty and scowling like the universe had personally wronged him, my stomach dropped.
His right cheekbone was swelling. His bottom lip had a thin cut. His hoodie—black and damp—clung to his chest like he’d just showered and not
