The doors of the lecture hall swung shut, releasing a flood of students into the sun-drenched courtyard. Frank stepped out, his mind a chaotic mess of chemical equations and the lingering, terrifying memory of Drake's morning kiss. He felt like he was walking through a dream—or a nightmare—that everyone else was watching from the sidelines.
"Frank! Wait up!"
The voice was light, musical, and unmistakably feminine. Frank turned to see Hannah jogging toward him. She was the kind of girl who seemed to radiate wholesome energy—bright eyes, a warm smile, and a persistent kindness that Frank had spent the last two semesters politely dodging. Beside her, Damian gave Frank a heavy, conspiratorial wink and a nudge that nearly knocked him off balance.
"I've got a lab to prep for," Damian announced loudly, his grin widening as he looked between Frank and Hannah. "You've been a hermit for way too long, Frank. Make a move for once! You're single, she's gorgeous—don't be an idiot."
With a final, encouraging thumbs-up, Damian disappeared into the crowd, leaving Frank standing awkwardly in front of Hannah.
"He's a bit much, isn't he?" Hannah laughed, her cheeks tinged with a faint pink. She looked at Frank, her expression softening into something hopeful. "I heard the rumors, Frank. About the... situation with Drake Hollander. It sounds awful, being forced to be someone's house help. I figured you could use a break from the 'punishment.' Would you want to grab lunch at the cafe? My treat?"
Usually, Frank would have stuttered out an excuse about library hours or missed assignments. But today, the weight of Drake's obsession felt like a physical shackle. He looked at Hannah—at her normal, uncomplicated life—and felt a desperate, clawing need to be a normal man again. He wanted to sit across from a pretty girl, talk about mundane things, and pretend that he wasn't owned by a predatory athlete.
"I'd love to, Hannah," Frank said, a small, genuine smile flickering on his lips. "Actually, let's go right now."
Hannah's eyes widened in genuine surprise. "Really? Wow. Okay! Let's go before you change your mind."
The University Cafe was a cacophony of clattering trays and student gossip. For the first twenty minutes, it was perfect. Frank sat tucked away in a corner booth with Hannah, the steam from their pasta dishes rising between them. He forced himself to listen to her talk about her weekend plans and her stress over the upcoming finals.
He was doing it. He was being a normal 20-year-old guy on a date. He was just Frank.
"You seem different today, Frank," Hannah said, leaning forward, her chin resting on her hand. "More... present. I'm really glad you said yes."
Frank opened his mouth to reply, to tell her he was glad too, but the words died in his throat. The temperature in the cafe seemed to drop ten degrees. The loud chatter of the students near the entrance suddenly dipped into a hushed, reverent silence.
Frank didn't have to look up to know who had entered the building. He could feel that familiar, magnetic pull—the heavy, dark gravity of Drake Hollander.
Drake's eyes swept the room with the precision of a heat-seeking missile, locking onto the corner booth. He began to walk, his stride slow and deliberate, his broad shoulders cutting through the crowd like the prow of a ship. Every eye in the cafe followed him as he reached their table.
Without an invitation, Drake pulled out a chair and sat down at the head of the small table, his massive presence instantly making the booth feel like a cage.
Hannah gasped, her fork suspended in mid-air. "Oh! Drake! Hi. I'm Hannah... we're just, uh, having lunch. Would you like to join us? We can get another chair or—"
Drake didn't even acknowledge her existence. He didn't turn his head. His cold, piercing blue eyes were fixed entirely on Frank, who had frozen with a piece of bread halfway to his mouth. Drake leaned back, crossing his arms over his bare, muscular chest—visible beneath a tight-fitting team jacket—and watched Frank eat. The silence was agonizing.
"Drake, she was just being nice," Frank whispered, his heart beginning that frantic, familiar thudding against his ribs.
"Is that right?" Drake's voice was a low, dangerous rumble that seemed to vibrate the very table. He finally spared a glance at Hannah, but it was a look of such icy indifference that she visibly flinched. He looked back at Frank, his gaze dropping to the student's lips before moving back to his eyes.
"I'm surprised you have time for a social life, Frank," Drake said, his tone dripping with a sarcasm that felt like a whip crack. "Given the amount of work waiting for you. By my count, you should be halfway through my laundry by now. The place is a mess, and I don't pay for silence so you can sit here and play boyfriend."
"Drake, please," Frank pleaded, his face burning with a mix of shame and terror. "I was just finished. I was coming right after this."
"You're coming now," Drake commanded. He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a level that was barely audible to Hannah but sounded like thunder to Frank. "Your girlfriend can wait. My needs, however, cannot. You know what happens when I'm kept waiting, don't you?"
The threat was clear. The "sex partner" contract was being invoked in front of the world, hidden behind the thin veil of "house help." Drake's hand moved under the table, gripping Frank's knee with a strength that was both a claim and a warning.
"I... I have to go, Hannah," Frank stammered, his hands shaking as he dropped his napkin onto his half-finished plate. "I'm so sorry. I forgot... I have a lot of chores to finish. Drake's right, I'm behind."
Hannah looked between them, her face a mask of confusion and hurt. "But Frank, we were just—"
"I'll make it up to you! I promise!" Frank blurted out, sliding out of the booth as if the seat were on fire.
Drake stood up slowly, his height looming over both of them. He didn't say goodbye to Hannah. He simply turned and headed toward the exit, knowing with absolute certainty that Frank would follow.
Frank cast one last, longing look at the "normal" life he was leaving behind at the table, then lowered his head and followed the broad, retreating back of the Captain. As they stepped out into the afternoon air, Drake slowed down just enough to let Frank catch up, his hand hovering near Frank's lower back in a possessive gesture that told the entire campus exactly who Frank Heifer belonged to.