Falling For The Campus Heartbreaker.

ONE

Annabel’s POV

She barely had time to gasp before he backed her into the wall, hands roaming like he’d been starving, and she was the first taste of something real. Their mouths collided desperately in a hot kiss. His fingers found the hem of her shirt and shoved it up without asking, baring skin to cool air before his lips replaced it with fire.

“Baby,” he breathed against her collarbone, voice wrecked and low. “You don’t know what you do to me.”

Her head tipped back, fingers tangled in his hair, nails grazing his scalp just enough to make him groan. That sound made her shiver. Made her legs part without thought.

He lifted her like she weighed nothing, carried her to the bed, and laid her out like something sacred. And then he just stared like he didn’t know whether to worship her or ruin her. Maybe both.

“Touch me,” she whispered, throat dry, aching in places she couldn’t name.

His answer was with a kiss on the nape of her neck. Then another, and another, trailing down her body till he got to her rosy n*****s. Her hips lifted on instinct when his hands gripped her thighs as a loud moan escaped her lips.

She gasped his name again, more plea than command. He growled something in return, something unintelligible and dark, before sliding lower—

“f**k it!” I groaned for the hundredth time today. I ran my fingers through my hair frustratedly, resisting the urge to pull on the strands in annoyance.

Writing my book manuscript was proving to be more difficult than I expected. I kept getting stuck when writing any romantic scene between my main characters. My editor and even a small fraction of my readers had been on my neck about my book being unrealistic and how it was almost impossible for them to connect with the characters or feel the chemistry between the couples.

As an author, the critics had caused a massive dent in my ego, and I was determined to improve my new story. I had opted to write a passionate college love story. But here’s the problem-

College-based story? that I can do. But writing a heart-pounding, passionate love story-

I just can’t.

I don’t know why, but I try so hard but keep getting stuck halfway. I like to blame it on the fact that I haven’t experienced anything close to what would be called a passionate romance in real life.

“Wait,” I muttered. My eyes widened as a new idea went off inside my head. I palmed my laptop shut, pushed it inside my school tote bag, and left my dorm room after a quick glance at the mirror confirmed that I looked alright.

I knew what I was going to do now. I was stuck at writing romantic scenes because I lacked that in my life. Now, that was going to change!

I was going to get a boyfriend.

Well, an experimental boyfriend.

Yes, I know I sound crazy. Heck, I wasn’t even sure how I was supposed to find someone to date, let alone one who would agree to be my experimental muse. But desperate times called for emotionally questionable decisions.

And I was officially desperate.

I walked briskly through campus, ideas churned in my head faster than my sneakers hit the pavement. Should I make a flyer? No, that’s insane. A dating profile? That might take too long. Maybe I could casually flirt with someone in my Creative Writing class? There was that one guy who always wore mismatched socks and wrote poetry about heartbreak like he’d been left at the altar twice. But he didn’t scream “passionate inspiration.” He screamed, “Therapy.”

I needed someone hot—not just physically, though that wouldn’t hurt. I needed charisma, an edge, someone a little similar to the male lead in my book.

I sighed. “Where the hell do you find a man like that on a Tuesday afternoon?”

Like the universe had heard my question and thought to help, a loud, deep, and masculine laughter echoed from behind me, immediately grabbing my attention. I turned instinctively, and there they were: a group of guys from the college basketball team, walking a few steps away from me on the other side of the sidewalk, all grinning at some inside joke.

But my eyes didn’t scan the group.

They locked on him.

In the middle, towering over the rest, was Justin Goldberg. Our campus royalty. A celebrity-level athlete with a highlight reel longer than my reading list. Captain of the basketball team, poster boy for campus sports.

And God, he was fine.

Golden-brown skin kissed by the sun, a sharp jawline that looked like God himself sculpted it, and dark curls that flopped rebelliously over his forehead. His hoodie hugged his broad chest in ways that made me want to thank whatever brand made it, and the sleeves were pushed up just enough to reveal strong forearms.

I think I had just found my muse-

Besides being the college's best basketball player, Justin was famously known for being a notorious playboy. He had a new girlfriend every other month, dating no longer than a complete month. This made him a perfect muse because it wouldn’t hurt both parties, considering Justin wasn’t capable of having real feelings for any of the girls he had dated. He sure knew how to make a girl feel special and could give me the romantic experience I needed.

I hadn’t realized I had been staring all along as they walked past until a voice snapped me out of my trance.

“They’re hot, huh?” A feminine voice sounded from beside me. I glanced beside me in alarm to see an unfamiliar girl staring at me from where she sat on a wooden bench I hadn’t realized was next to where I stood.

“Sorry, what?” I sputtered, flustered when I realized she was talking to me.

“The basketball team. Well, Justin specifically- I saw you staring,” she grinned. “Oh, and don’t be embarrassed, I feel you. I’d kill to be his next girlfriend, even if it’s only for a week and a half.”

I blinked, trying to gather my dignity from where it had scattered all over the pavement. “I wasn’t— I mean, I just happened to look in that direction.”

She snorted. “Sure. And I just happen to ‘accidentally’ sit on this exact bench every day around the same time the team leaves practice.” She waved her hand like she was dusting off my flimsy excuse. “You don’t have to lie to me, girl. We’re sisters in thirst.”

Okay, that made me laugh.

She leaned back, stretching her legs out, and that’s when I noticed her oversized navy blue shirt had Justin’s last name plastered across the back in big, bold white letters. Goldberg. Number 7. The material was faded from way too many washes, and the sleeves were cut off like she’d DIY’d it into a sporty crop top. It's a fan shirt—a very devoted one.

“You’re a fan?” I asked, nodding toward the shirt.

She looked down and smirked like I’d just asked if the water was wet. “Duh. Leader of Justin fan club. Yes, it's an actual club. He’s the entire reason I even understand how basketball works. You going to the game tomorrow night?”

I blinked. “Game?”

“Yeah, girl! Home opener. It’s a huge deal. Everyone’s gonna be there: students, local press, thirsty freshmen trying to shoot their shot. Literally.” She winked.

“I’ll be there,” I replied, my lips lifting in a lopsided smile. “Actually, any chance I could join Justin’s fan club?” I asked hopefully.

If I wanted my plan to work, I’d need to learn more about him to sneak my way into his life, and if that meant pretending to be his fan, I was all in.

She grinned like I was now speaking her language before answering. “Sure…” she drawled.

“Anna,” I filled in for her.

“Welcome to the club, Anna; I’m Kate,” she answered.

𓆩♡𓆪

It had been a week and a half since I joined Justin’s fan club and a week of attending the two games that the team had. In these past few days, I had learned a lot about Justin, but what was yet to happen was a real one-on-one encounter with him.

Cheers echoed around the basketball court, and I shifted to my bench next to a very excited Kate to get a clearer view of the men on the court. Our college team, Hawkings State College, was playing against a neighboring college. It was ten minutes till the game ended, and my eyes had been glued on Justin all through. To say he was a magnificent player would be an understatement, and I couldn’t help but admire how his muscles flexed when he handled the ball and how effortlessly attractive he looked on the court.

No, Anna- that isn’t why we’re here! Focus on the task and not his hotness! I reminded myself.

The whistle blew, announcing the end of the game. Hawkings State had won, and the student section exploded with cheers, chants, and the wild banging of anything remotely noise-producing. Kate jumped up beside me, shaking my arm.

“We won! He never misses that final shot. Oh my God! Did you see that?”

I nodded, even though I hadn’t really seen anything except how sweat glistened on Justin’s neck under the harsh gym lights. He pulled off his jersey and wiped his face with it, revealing a sculpted torso that looked like it was cut straight out of a Calvin Klein ad.

Realizing this was my chance to talk to him, I muttered a quick excuse to Kate and began speed-walking my way through the crowd pouring down the bleachers. My eyes locked on Justin as he high-fived teammates and posed for a few post-game pics.

I was two steps away from the court’s edge when it happened.

They swarmed him.

Girls in crop tops and glittery face paint, guys from the sports media club, and even a few underclassmen holding up handmade signs with his name and jersey number. He was surrounded like royalty, smiling politely, letting someone hang a plastic flower necklace around his neck while another girl tugged at his arm for a selfie.

I stood frozen, knowing that my hope of talking to him in the midst of all his fans was gone.