The Proximity Problem.

I could handle this.

I could sit in the same room as him, breathe the same air, and pretend that I didn't feel my entire body heat up at the memory of his hands on me, his lips moving against mine, the way I let him take whatever he wanted.

I could do this.

I had to.

Unfortunately, the universe? Had other plans.

"Welcome to the Elite Schools Collaboration Project," one of the faculty members announced, standing in front of a massive conference room, filled with some of the top students from different academies across the country.

I sat at a long mahogany table, back straight, hands folded on my lap, eyes locked on the folder in front of me.

And beside me?

Zayne McCall.

Cool. Collected. Unbothered.

Like we hadn't shattered the unspoken war between us with one reckless kiss.

I exhaled slowly, staring at the project description sheet, trying to focus on anything but him.

The collaboration required each team to develop a global impact initiative-something that could influence education, sustainability, or technological advancements.

Which meant countless meetings, hours of research, late nights, and worst of all?

Zayne.

The chair beside me creaked as he shifted, stretching slightly, his broad shoulders brushing against mine for half a second.

I flinched.

His head tilted slightly, like he'd caught that.

Bastard.

The professor continued, assigning responsibilities.

"McCall, Thompson, you'll be leading your team, handling the research structure, final execution, and presentation."

I swallowed hard.

Of course. Of fucking course.

I chanced a glance at him.

Zayne's expression didn't change.

But his fingers tapped lazily against the table, a slow rhythm, like he was enjoying this.

Like he already knew how much this was going to destroy me.

I forced my voice steady. "Fine."

His lips curved-slightly, barely noticeable.

But I saw it.

And suddenly, I knew.

He was going to make this a game.

And I was already losing.

The moment the professor left, I expected him to say something.

A teasing remark. A cocky jab. Some kind of reaction.

But there was nothing.

Zayne McCall, the same guy who had kissed me like he was starving, like he wanted to consume me whole, just sat there. Unbothered. Silent. Pretending I didn't exist.

I told myself I didn't care.

I told myself this was what I wanted.

After all, I'd started it-the avoidance, the refusal to acknowledge what happened in the library.

So why did it feel like he was better at pretending than I was?

I exhaled, fingers gripping the edge of my notebook, about to clear the air-say something, anything to cut through the thick tension.

Then-

A group of students from another academy flocked to our table.

Mostly girls.

They barely glanced at me.

Because of course they didn't.

Their attention was entirely on him.

"Zayne McCall, right?" A brunette with glossy lips and wide, adoring eyes leaned forward, her voice dripping with sugar and interest.

"You were insane at the debate," another girl added, tucking a strand of perfectly styled hair behind her ear. "That rebuttal? Literal perfection."

Someone else giggled. "And your dad was there? That must've been a huge deal."

I forced my face blank, reminding myself this had nothing to do with me.

This was normal.

This was his life.

Being the center of attention. Having people flock to him effortlessly-not just because he was brilliant but because he was Zayne.

Debate prodigy. Basketball star. Son of a political powerhouse.

People didn't just like him.

They wanted to impress him.

He didn't react much, just leaned back in his chair, responding with short answers, letting them talk, letting them bask in his presence.

I told myself I didn't care.

I told myself it didn't bother me.

But I still found myself grabbing my phone and walking toward another table, putting space between us, focusing on anything but the way he was surrounded.

Because it didn't matter.

And I didn't care.

I really, really didn't.

Then-

A shadow fell over my table.

"Mind if I join you?"

I looked up.

And immediately wished I hadn't.

The guy standing in front of me was tall-taller than Zayne, broad-shouldered, and built like he knew exactly how to make a girl scream his name in the dark.

His dark curls were slightly tousled, framing a chiseled jawline and sharp green eyes that held something undeniably dangerous.

The kind of guy who knew exactly what he was doing.

I'd noticed him earlier-glancing at me when the professor had been talking, studying me like he was already intrigued.

Now, he was here.

And he was smiling.

"Figured I'd introduce myself, since we'll be working together," he said, voice smooth, deep. "I'm Andre."

He extended a hand.

I hesitated.

Not because I was nervous.

Not because he wasn't ridiculously attractive.

But because across the room, Zayne was staring.

Watching.

His jaw set tight, expression unreadable, like he wasn't happy about what he was seeing.

Not saying a word.

Not intervening.

Just waiting.

I looked at Andre's outstretched hand.

Paused.

Then, without breaking eye contact with Zayne, I reached forward and shook it.

I didn't miss the way Zayne was staring.

Didn't miss the way his fingers tightened against the table, the slow, deliberate way he rolled his pen between them like he was suppressing the urge to throw it.

But if he could pretend the kiss never happened, I could pretend that his attention didn't affect me.

So I focused on Andre.

The guy was smooth, leaning in just enough to command attention, but not too much to be overwhelming.

"You looked bored over there," he said, nodding toward Zayne's table. "Figured I'd come rescue you."

I huffed a laugh, tilting my head. "And what makes you think I needed rescuing?"

Andre grinned, lazy and confident. "Because I would. Those girls were looking at him like they wanted to bottle up his sweat and sell it on eBay."

I choked on my drink.

He was not wrong.

I shot a glance back at Zayne's table. The girls were practically draped over him, giggling, whispering, flipping their hair too much for it to be natural.

The Zayne Effect.

I rolled my eyes and turned back to Andre. "Yeah, well, he's used to it."

Andre smirked. "And you're not impressed?"

I shrugged. "I've seen worse."

Liar.

Zayne was the worst.

And the best.

And a whole fucking problem I didn't want to deal with.

Andre watched me carefully, his green eyes sharp with interest. "So you don't get the appeal? Or you just don't care?"

I lifted my drink to my lips. Didn't answer.

Because I didn't know how to.

Andre's gaze flickered past me, something amused flashing across his face.

Before I could turn around-

A shadow loomed over the table.

The air shifted.

A chair scraped against the floor.

Then-

He sat down.

Zayne McCall.

I blinked. What the fuck?

Of all the places, of all the tables, of all the ways he could have ignored me like he had been doing since that damn kiss-why the hell was he here?

Andre raised a brow. "Something you need, McCall?"

Zayne ignored him.

Ignored me.

Just sat there, stretching out like he owned the damn place, one arm resting against the back of my chair, the other tapping against the table.

Cool. Composed. Like he hadn't just abandoned his fan club to come sit with me.

I frowned. Confused. Suspicious.

"What are you doing?" I asked slowly.

Zayne turned his head, looking at me for the first time in days.

Golden-brown eyes steady, unreadable.

Then-

He smiled.

And I felt it.

That dangerous pull, that magnetic tension he never should have had over me.

And then he opened his mouth.

And I instantly regretted everything.

Zayne's POV

I didn't plan on walking over there.

Didn't plan on leaving my table, abandoning the doe-eyed girls clinging to every word I wasn't saying, and crossing the room just to plant myself beside her.

But I did.

Because the moment I saw him sitting with her-leaning in, making her laugh, soaking up the attention I'd gotten used to stealing-

Something ugly settled in my chest.

A slow, simmering annoyance.

I told myself it didn't matter.

I told myself it was nothing.

The way her fingers brushed his sent something sharp down my spine. A slow, unwelcome heat settled in my chest. I had no right to care. No reason to react. But the next thing I knew? I was already standing.

Before I could second-guess it, I dropped into the chair beside her, intruding on whatever the hell this was supposed to be.

Andre wasn't an idiot.

He glanced at me, reading the situation too easily, too fast.

And he smirked.

"So," he said, stretching his arms behind his head, not threatened at all. "What brings you here?"

I leaned back, tapping my fingers against the table, gaze flicking toward Jasmine-who looked like she was half a second away from setting me on fire with her mind.

Then, finally, I spoke.

"I'm Jasmine's project partner."

I let it settle.

Let them think that was the end of it.

Then I smirked.

"And her future lover."

Jasmine choked.

Andre blinked, before letting out a slow, amused chuckle. "Oh yeah?"

Jasmine's voice snapped through the moment. "He's lying."

I didn't even look at her.

Just tilted my head. "Am I?"

Her jaw clenched. Murderous.

Andre watched us both, something knowing and entertained flashing across his expression.

Then he turned back to her, ignoring me completely.

"So, Jasmine," he mused, a smirk playing at his lips, "are we still good for later?"

I stilled.

The fuck?

Jasmine blinked. "Later?"

Andre grinned. "You did say you wanted to brainstorm ideas with someone who wouldn't drive you insane."

I arched a brow. Interesting.

Jasmine hesitated. "I-"

Nope.

Not happening.

I pushed my chair back, stood up, then-before she could react, before Andre could say anything else-I grabbed her hand.

Her head snapped toward me. "What the-"

I turned to Andre, expression calm, unbothered. "Sorry, but we've got work to do."

Jasmine tried to pull away.

My grip tightened.

I looked down at her, voice low, quiet enough for only her to hear.

"Don't try it."

Her breath hitched.

She didn't move.

Didn't fight.

And that?

That told me everything.

I tugged her forward, leading her away, leaving Andre watching, amused but unmoving.

Jasmine was tense, her fingers twitching in my hold, but she didn't pull away again.

I felt the weight of her stare burning into my side.

She was angry.

Confused.

And maybe, just maybe...

A little too willing to let me take her away.

Jasmine's POV.

Zayne dragged me out of the classroom, his grip firm but not rough, long strides forcing me to keep up.

I should have pulled away. Should have yanked my hand back and told him to go to hell.

But I didn't.

Because the moment we stepped into the hallway, I felt it.

Eyes. Watching.

The girls from his table.

The students lingering nearby.

And worst of all?

Andre.

His gaze was steady, unreadable, lips curved just enough to tell me he wasn't surprised by this.

Zayne didn't glance back. Didn't acknowledge the stares, the unspoken questions, the fact that this looked like something it wasn't.

He just kept walking.

And before I knew it-

We were alone.

A side corridor. Less foot traffic. Tucked behind the stairwell that led to the staff offices, where no one had a reason to be.

Zayne finally stopped.

Didn't let go.

Just turned, slowly, like he had all the time in the world.

I didn't let him speak first.

"What the hell was that?"

He tilted his head, like he genuinely had no idea what I was talking about. "Which part?"

I scowled. "The part where you claimed me in front of Andre like a territorial caveman."

His lips twitched. "Did I?"

I shoved his shoulder. "Yes, you did, you arrogant, possessive-"

"I said I was your future lover, not your owner."

I groaned, pressing my fingers against my temples. "You're impossible."

He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. "You're dramatic."

"You're avoidant."

His brows lifted. "Excuse me?"

I exhaled sharply, folding my arms. "You've been ignoring me ever since-" I cut myself off, throat tightening.

His eyes glinted with amusement. "Ever since...?"

I gritted my teeth. "You know exactly what I mean."

Zayne shrugged. "I was just following your lead, Thompson. You walked away first."

I faltered.

Because, technically, he wasn't wrong.

But that didn't make this any less frustrating.

"So what?" I huffed. "This was your way of... what? Annoying me? Marking territory that doesn't exist?"

He exhaled a soft laugh, gaze flicking over my face, like he was enjoying this.

I glared. "You didn't answer my question."

"Which one?"

"Why you care."

His jaw ticked slightly. "I don't."

"Then why pull me away?"

"Because I can."

I stared at him, stunned into silence.

His expression was calm, smooth, unreadable.

And yet-

Something sharp flickered behind his eyes. Something he refused to say out loud.

I shook my head, irritated. "Fine. Let's change the subject. What's your deal with Andre?"

His brows lifted. "I don't have a deal."

I scoffed. "Bullshit."

Zayne exhaled slowly, like I was exhausting him. "Do whatever you want, Thompson."

I blinked. "Excuse me?"

He met my gaze, too steady, too cool. "If you're interested in him, go for it. It's none of my business."

I narrowed my eyes. "Then why did you interrupt?"

He said nothing.

Just watched me.

Not reacting. Not giving anything away.

And suddenly, I hated that he was so good at this.

Hated that he could bury his emotions so deep that I couldn't even tell if he had any.

I stepped closer, tilting my head. "Why does it bother you?"

"It doesn't."

I searched his face. "Liar."

He pushed off the wall, closing the gap between us. "Say I was jealous." His voice was low, smooth, testing. "What would you do about it?"

The space between us shrunk.

I inhaled sharply, heart hammering against my ribs.

Because this was dangerous.

Because this was familiar.

The last time we got this close, I didn't stop it.

His fingers brushed my wrist, just barely, but enough to send a jolt through my spine.

I swallowed. "I'd tell you to get over it."

His lips curved slightly, but there was something else now.

Something darker.

He stepped closer.

I didn't move.

Didn't breathe.

His fingers lifted, trailing along the edge of my sleeve, dragging the fabric down just slightly, exposing the sliver of skin along my wrist.

My pulse jumped.

His gaze flicked down. He noticed.

Not a word.

Not a single reaction.

But the shift in the air was undeniable.

I clenched my fists, trying to ignore the slow, unbearable heat pooling in my stomach.

I needed to stop this.

I needed to end whatever game we were playing.

I needed to-

I pulled back. Quick, abrupt.

Zayne didn't stop me.

Just exhaled slowly, eyes still locked onto mine, something unreadable flashing across them.

My breathing was too fast.

My skin felt too hot.

I swallowed. "This-" I cleared my throat. "This is stupid."

He studied me for a second longer.

Then-

He nodded once, stepping back. "If you say so."

And just like that-

The moment was gone.