The Playboy

EPISODE 3: Forced Proximity

Peter DeLuca didn’t believe in coincidence.

Not when it came to you.

The next morning, the campus buzzed like always voices, footsteps, laughter echoing through polished hallways lined with glass and steel. The kind of place built to remind people exactly how much money lived here.

Peter walked through it like he owned it.

Because, in a way, he did.

“Game Friday,” Luca was saying beside him. “Scouts are coming. Coach wants you locked in.”

“I am locked in,” Peter replied lazily, barely listening.

His eyes were already scanning.

Searching.

And then.

There you were.

Down the hallway, standing near the classroom door, flipping through a notebook.

Same calm energy.

Same quiet focus.

Peter slowed.

Not obvious.

Just enough.

“Don’t,” Luca muttered under his breath, already noticing. “You’re still on that?”

Peter ignored him.

Because this wasn’t over.

Not even close.

“Class,” he said simply, changing direction.

Luca sighed. “This is gonna be entertaining.”

Inside the classroom, students filled seats in small clusters—friends sticking together, familiar circles forming without effort.

Peter stepped in like he always did—noticed immediately.

Whispers. Glances. Subtle shifts.

But he didn’t look at them.

His gaze went straight to you.

Second row.

Window side.

Alone.

Of course.

He walked down the aisle without hesitation.

And then

Dropped into the seat right beside you.

You didn’t look up.

Of course you didn’t.

Peter leaned back, stretching slightly, turning his head just enough to watch you from the corner of his eye.

Still nothing.

“Do you ever get tired of that?” he asked quietly.

You turned a page.

“What?”

“Acting like I’m not here.”

Now you looked at him.

Not surprised.

Not impressed.

Just… mildly annoyed.

“I don’t have to act,” you said.

There it was again.

That effortless dismissal.

Peter smiled slightly, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Good. Saves you the effort.”

Before you could respond

The teacher walked in.

“Alright, settle down.”

The room quieted.

“You’ll be working in pairs for the next project. Midterm grade.”

A collective groan.

Peter didn’t care.

Until

“I’ll be assigning partners.”

That got his attention.

The teacher started calling names.

Peter barely listened at first.

Until

“Ava Carter.”

You raised your hand slightly.

“Here.”

Ava.

So that was your name.

Peter repeated it silently.

Let it settle.

Ava Carter.

It fit.

“Peter DeLuca.”

He straightened slightly.

“Yeah.”

A pause.

Then

“You two will be working together.”

Silence.

Then whispers.

“Oh my God”

“No way”

“She’s lucky”

Peter didn’t react.

Because he was already looking at you.

Waiting.

For something.

Anything.

Excitement.

Annoyance.

Reaction.

But you just nodded once.

“Okay.”

And wrote something down.

Like it didn’t matter.

Like he didn’t matter.

Again.

Peter let out a slow breath, leaning back in his chair.

A small smile tugged at his lips.

“Guess you’re stuck with me,” he murmured.

You didn’t even look at him.

“We’ll manage.”

We’ll manage.

Not I’m excited.

Not this is great.

Just

We’ll manage.

Something in him tightened.

“Manage?” he repeated softly.

Now you turned.

Finally.

“Yes,” you said simply. “It’s a project. Not a life sentence.”

A few students nearby tried to hide their laughter.

Peter’s eyes flickered briefly toward them

And just like that, they went quiet.

Then his attention shifted back to you.

“You always this cold?” he asked.

You tilted your head slightly.

“Only when it’s necessary.”

“And I’m necessary?”

Your lips almost curved.

But you caught it.

“Depends,” you said. “Are you planning to actually do the work?”

That caught him off guard.

Peter blinked once.

Then let out a quiet laugh.

“You think I don’t?”

You shrugged.

“I think you’re used to people doing things for you.”

That landed harder than expected.

Because it wasn’t entirely wrong.

Peter leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice.

“You don’t know anything about what I’m used to.”

Your eyes met his.

Steady.

Unshaken.

“Then prove it.”

Silence.

That word

That challenge

It settled between you like something alive.

And Peter felt it.

That shift again.

Not irritation this time.

Something sharper.

Interest.

Real interest.

“Alright,” he said quietly.

You didn’t respond.

Just turned back to your notes.

But something had changed.

He could feel it.

After class

Students spilled into the hallway, conversations picking up where they left off.

Peter waited.

Leaning against the doorframe.

Watching you pack your bag.

Slow.

Unhurried.

Like you knew he was there.

And didn’t care.

Finally, you stood.

Slung your bag over your shoulder.

And walked straight toward him.

Stopping just in front of him.

Close.

Close enough to feel the shift in air again.

“Library,” you said.

Peter raised a brow.

“Project,” you added.

Of course.

No small talk.

No hesitation.

Just straight to it.

He pushed off the doorframe, falling into step beside you.

“You always this direct?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“And here I thought you were trying to avoid me.”

You glanced at him briefly.

“I am,” you said calmly. “This is just necessary.”

He let out a quiet laugh.

“Necessary,” he repeated. “You really know how to make a guy feel special.”

“That’s not my job.”

Damn.

Peter ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head slightly.

“You’re different,” he muttered.

You stopped walking.

Turned to face him fully.

“I’m not,” you said. “You just don’t usually hear ‘no.’”

Silence.

That hit deeper than anything else.

Because again

It wasn’t wrong.

Peter studied you for a long moment.

Then smiled.

Slow.

“Maybe I just haven’t met the right person to say it.”

Your expression didn’t change.

“Or maybe,” you said quietly, “you don’t listen.”

And just like that

You turned.

And kept walking.

Leaving him there.

Again.

But this time

Peter didn’t feel annoyed.

He felt something else.

Something unfamiliar.

Something dangerous.

Because for the first time

Someone wasn’t falling for him.

And instead of walking away

He was stepping closer.