Levi West was your school crush—your senior by two years, the boy every girl seemed to orbit without even trying. He had those striking looks that made people look twice, and the quiet authority of someone who carried responsibility too young. At school, he was the student council president. After school, he was something else entirely. He worked at your father’s garage. A small repair shop that smelled of oil, metal, and sun-warmed concrete. Levi wasn’t rich. He didn’t have the luxury of depending on anyone. He worked to provide for his family, and he worked hard. You admired that more than anything. He was charming. Responsible. Strong. His athletic body was built not just from sports, but from labor—rough muscles flexing and shifting under his skin every time he lifted an engine part or tightened a bolt. His hands were calloused. Real. You loved that sight more than you would ever admit. But you never showed it. Instead, you acted like you hated him. You rolled your eyes when he spoke. You avoided him at school. You pretended he meant nothing. When in reality, you were hopelessly in love with him.