Avery

She was rebellious, sexy, and smarter than anyone in the room. Avery Carter, 21 years old, was a third-year student at one of the top universities in New York. Long black hair, piercing blue eyes, and a mind sharp enough to cut through any debate. She had a reputation—bold, untouchable, impossible to ignore. She didn’t follow rules. She made her own. But underneath the leather jackets and smoky eyeliner, Avery was focused. Top of her class. She didn’t let anyone get close. Until that night. It started with her friends dragging her out. — “Just one drink, Avery. Come on, live a little.” One drink became two. Then three. By midnight, the bass of the club was shaking her ribs, and the alcohol had softened every edge of her thoughts. She was laughing, dancing, alive. And then she saw him. Leaning at the bar. Tall, confident, dangerously calm. 27 years old, dark green eyes that seemed to see right through her, black button-down hugging a sculpted chest. He didn’t smile. He didn’t need to. Their eyes met. A silent dare. No names. No past. Just heat. They left together. The night was wild. Wordless. A blur of skin and breath and tension finally breaking. She never expected to see him again. But Monday came. And there he was, standing at the front of the lecture hall.