The Playboy

EPISODE 2: Unfinished Business

Peter DeLuca did not get ignored.

Not twice.

The hallway should’ve swallowed the moment.

That’s how things usually worked.

Something weird happens unexpectedly, annoying, slightly interesting and then it disappears into the noise of everything else.

Out of sight. Out of mind.

Done.

Except this wasn’t going away.

Peter leaned back against his locker, jaw tight, eyes scanning the crowd like he could somehow find you again just by looking hard enough.

He didn’t even know your name.

And that

That irritated him more than it should.

“Yo, what’s got you looking like that?”

Luca’s voice cut through his thoughts.

Peter didn’t answer immediately.

“She doesn’t know who I am.”

Silence.

Then

A laugh.

Loud. Unfiltered.

“Wait what?” Luca straightened, staring at him. “You’re joking.”

Peter pushed off the locker, running a hand through his hair, frustration flickering beneath his usual calm.

“I walked up to her. Said hey.” He paused. “Twice.”

Luca’s grin widened. “And?”

“She asked if I needed something.”

Another pause.

Then Luca laughed again, shaking his head.

“That’s not real.”

Peter didn’t smile.

“It is.”

Now that got Luca’s attention.

“Who is she?”

“I don’t know.”

“You didn’t ask?”

“I did.”

“And?”

Peter’s eyes darkened slightly.

“She said I’d survive without it.”

That earned a low whistle.

“Damn.”

Peter looked down the hallway again, like he expected you to just appear.

Like this unfinished moment was still waiting to be… fixed.

“Leave it,” Luca said, still amused. “Probably just some scholarship girl trying to act different.”

That should’ve been enough.

Explanation given. Situation dismissed.

But Peter didn’t move.

Didn’t let it go.

Because it didn’t feel like an act.

It felt real.

And that made it worse.

“I’m not leaving it,” Peter said quietly.

Luca smirked. “Oh, this I gotta see.”

Later that day

The library was the last place Peter DeLuca ever willingly went.

Too quiet.

Too still.

Too… controlled.

But today?

He walked in like he had a reason.

Because you were there.

Sitting by the window, sunlight falling across your desk, books spread out in front of you.

Focused.

Completely in your own world.

And just like before

You didn’t notice him.

Peter stopped a few steps away.

Watching.

There it was again.

That strange pull.

That irritation mixed with something sharper.

Something almost… addictive.

He walked over.

Slow.

Deliberate.

Pulled out the chair across from you.

Sat down.

Still nothing.

No glance.

No reaction.

His fingers tapped once against the table.

“Do you ever look up,” he asked, voice low, “or is ignoring people just your thing?”

You sighed softly.

Closed your book.

Then finally

Looked at him.

And there it was again.

That same calm expression.

Like he was just… another person.

“Yes?” you said.

Peter leaned back slightly, studying you.

“You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?”

“Acting like I don’t exist.”

You tilted your head, considering that.

“I don’t know you.”

Simple.

Direct.

Unbothered.

Peter let out a quiet breath through his nose.

“That’s never stopped anyone before.”

You didn’t smile.

Didn’t react.

Just watched him for a second longer than necessary.

“Maybe that’s the problem.”

That landed.

His eyes narrowed slightly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

You leaned back in your chair now, finally giving him your full attention.

“It means,” you said calmly, “you’re used to people caring before they have a reason to.”

Silence.

Peter wasn’t used to being analyzed.

Especially not this quickly.

“And you don’t?” he asked.

You shrugged lightly.

“Should I?”

There it was again.

That same question.

That same effortless dismissal.

Something in his chest tightened.

“Most people do,” he said.

You held his gaze.

“Then maybe you should ask yourself why that matters so much to you.”

That

That hit deeper than anything else.

For a second

Just a second

Peter didn’t have a response.

So instead

He leaned forward.

Closer.

Close enough to shift the air between you.

“Or maybe,” he said quietly, voice dropping, “you’re just trying really hard to be different.”

Your eyes didn’t flicker.

Didn’t move.

“Or maybe,” you replied just as softly, “you’re trying really hard to make this a game.”

The tension snapped tight.

Neither of you moved.

Neither of you looked away.

And for the first time

It didn’t feel like flirting.

It felt like something else.

Something real.

Peter’s gaze dropped

Just for a second

To your lips.

Then back up.

And that moment?

That tiny shift?

You noticed.

You leaned back first.

Breaking it.

“I have work to do,” you said, reaching for your book again. “If you don’t need anything…”

Dismissal.

Again.

Peter exhaled slowly, leaning back in his chair, watching you like he was trying to figure something out.

“You’re really not going to tell me your name?”

You flipped a page.

“No.”

A pause.

Then:

“Not yet.”

That caught him off guard.

His brow lifted slightly.

“Not yet?” he repeated.

You glanced up briefly, just enough for your eyes to meet his.

“When you stop treating this like a challenge,” you said, “maybe.”

Then you looked back down.

And just like that

He understood.

This wasn’t random.

You saw right through him.

Through the charm.

Through the confidence.

Through the act.

And instead of being impressed

You refused to play along.

Peter sat there for a moment longer.

Quiet.

Still.

Then slowly

A smile spread across his face.

Not the usual one.

This one was sharper.

More real.

“Alright,” he said under his breath.

You didn’t respond.

But he stood up anyway.

Pushed the chair back.

And as he walked away

He glanced back once.

You were already focused again.

Like he had never been there.

And somehow

That made it worse.

Or better.

He wasn’t sure yet.

But one thing was clear

This wasn’t over.

Not even close.

Peter DeLuca didn’t like unfinished business.

And you?

You were starting to feel exactly like that.