Julian Ainsworth had never in his life been this distracted.
Not by equations, not by Shakespearean sonnets, not even by the final exams he normally would've mapped out months in advance. Today, he was in class, notebook open, pen between his fingers—and he hadn't written a single word. The chalk squeaked against the blackboard, students whispered, the teacher droned on, but all Julian could hear was Noah's voice in his head.
Noah laughing.
Noah swearing.
Noah whispering his name, low and raw.
Julian's chest tightened. He pressed his pen harder until it nearly snapped.
Last night—the restaurant, the way Noah had broken down in his arms, the cheek kiss at the car—it had wrecked him. Noah had let him see something no one else saw, and instead of running from it, Julian had craved more. Now he was obsessed. Completely, utterly obsessed.
He was in too deep.
"Mr. Ainsworth?" the teacher's voice snapped like a whip. "Would you care to explain the significance of this passage?"
Julian blinked, heat crawling up his neck as half the class turned toward him. His mind was blank, his throat dry. Normally, he'd deliver a perfect, calm answer, but today his brain supplied only one thing: Noah's face.
"I—uh—" He cleared his throat. "It demonstrates… longing."
A ripple of laughter moved through the class. The teacher narrowed her eyes, clearly unsatisfied, but moved on.
Julian sank lower in his chair, fingers gripping the desk. He swore under his breath.
He had to get it together. He couldn't let Noah Blake ruin him like this. Except… he already had.
The cafeteria buzzed, trays clattering, laughter bouncing off the walls. Julian sat at the end of a table, book open but unread, fork untouched. His gaze flicked—again, again—to where Noah sat with his teammates, surrounded, loud, magnetic as always.
Noah leaned back in his chair, one arm slung lazily across the backrest, grinning at something Tyler said. He looked like he belonged to this world effortlessly. Untouchable. Golden.
Julian hated it.
Julian loved it.
And then, Noah's gaze slid across the cafeteria and landed on him.
Heat shot through Julian's veins. He froze, pen still in hand, breath shallow. Noah's grin tilted—smug, dangerous—and he lifted his cup in mock salute before turning back to his friends.
Julian exhaled shakily, slamming his book shut. He was losing it. Actually losing it.
"Dude," Ethan muttered from across the table. "You're staring again."
Julian's head snapped toward him, scowl sharp. "I am not."
Ethan raised a brow. "You've been staring holes into Blake for, like, five minutes straight. I thought you hated him."
Julian bristled. His mouth opened, ready to deny, but nothing came out. He shut it again and shoved his tray away. "Shut up."
Ethan snorted, shaking his head. "Whatever you say, Jules."
Julian froze. The nickname. Hearing it from Ethan's mouth instead of Noah's felt wrong. Wrong in his bones. His pulse kicked, his hands curling into fists under the table. He hated that too—how Noah had already claimed even his name.
The day blurred until last period, when fate—or maybe cruel irony—forced them side by side. Science lab. Paired partners. Julian sat stiff, scribbling notes furiously to avoid looking at Noah.
But Noah didn't make it easy.
At some point, while reaching across to grab a beaker, Noah's hand brushed Julian's thigh under the table.
Julian jolted like he'd been shocked. His pen skidded, smudging ink across the page. His pulse hammered, breath catching in his throat. It wasn't even a full touch—just fingers grazing—but it was enough. More than enough.
His body betrayed him instantly. Heat flooded through him, sharp and unbearable. His legs tensed, every nerve alight, until—
God. He was hard. In the middle of class.
Julian ducked his head, mortified, pressing his hand flat over his notebook to keep it steady. He tried to breathe, tried to think of equations, Shakespeare, anything else—but all he could feel was Noah's fingers. His laugh. His scent.
Noah leaned back, smirking. "You good, Jules?"
Julian's cheeks burned crimson. "Don't—call me that."
"Why not?" Noah's grin widened. "It suits you."
Julian gritted his teeth, scribbling faster, desperate to distract himself. But his mind betrayed him again, replaying the way Noah had whispered "Jules" last night—gentle, broken, real.
He was spiraling. Drowning. And Noah knew it.
The final bell rang. Students surged out like a wave, but before Julian could escape, Noah's hand wrapped around his wrist.
"C'mon, Jules."
Julian blinked, startled. "What—?"
"Practice. You're coming with me." Noah tugged, already leading him toward the lockers. "You're good luck or something."
Julian stumbled after him, speechless. "I—I never agreed—"
"Too late." Noah flashed a grin over his shoulder, wicked and bright. "You're my bag boy now."
Julian scowled, but his chest ached in the worst way. Noah's grip was warm, firm, familiar now. He didn't want him to let go.
The air smelled of sweat, rubber, and ice from the rink beyond. The locker room was alive with noise—teammates joking, slamming lockers, tossing towels. Noah shoved his hockey bags into Julian's arms like it was second nature, and Julian… took them. No hesitation.
He hated himself for it. He loved it more.
"Thanks, Jules." Noah winked before jogging toward the rink.
Julian clutched the bags tighter, rolling his eyes. But when Noah turned his back, Julian's gaze followed without permission.
And then—practice began.
Julian stood at the edge, watching as Noah transformed. On the ice, he wasn't just Noah Blake, reckless golden boy. He was a leader. Commanding, sharp, focused. His voice carried across the rink as he barked instructions, his movements clean and powerful, every strike of his stick precise. The coach nodded, watching with pride, as Noah gestured to his teammates, correcting stances, pushing them harder.
Julian didn't blink. Couldn't.
He'd never seen Noah like this before—truly in his element. Confident. Brilliant.
His heart thudded painfully, chest tight, as if something was clawing inside him. He wanted him. Wanted him so badly it terrified him.
And then Noah looked up. Right at him.
For a second, their eyes locked. Julian's breath caught, his grip on the bags tightening. Noah's lips curved, slow and smug, as if he knew exactly what Julian was thinking.
Julian's knees nearly buckled.
Practice ended in a blur of shouts and laughter. Teammates clapped Noah on the back, joked loudly, but he barely seemed to notice. Because every time Julian shifted with the bags, Noah's gaze flicked back to him.
By the time they left the gym, the sun had dipped, the air cool and sharp. Julian carried Noah's bags again, trailing beside him down the quiet street.
"You looked like you were about to drool back there," Noah teased suddenly, smirk curling. "Didn't know you were into hockey, Jules."
Julian's ears burned. "I wasn't drooling."
"You didn't blink the whole time." Noah laughed, bumping his shoulder into Julian's. "I thought you were hypnotized."
Julian pressed his lips together, refusing to answer. His chest was a storm, his heart too fast, his mind too loud. He hated Noah's teasing. He hated how much he loved it.
And then headlights flared behind them.
A sleek black car slowed to a stop beside the curb. The tinted window rolled down, revealing a stone-faced man in a suit.
"Noah," the man said, voice clipped. "Your grandparents requested I escort you home."
Julian stiffened, bags heavy in his arms. A bodyguard. Not a friend. Not family. A watchdog.
Noah's jaw clenched, eyes darkening. His fingers twitched at his sides before curling into fists. "Of course they did," he muttered under his breath.
Julian glanced at him, worry pricking sharp. But Noah just forced a smirk, masking the storm in his chest.
"Guess the leash is tight tonight," Noah said lightly. But his voice cracked, just slightly, around the edges.
Julian's heart ached.