Everyone at Aldergate University knew Sullivan Keane.

Well—Sully.

Almost nobody called him Sullivan unless they were a professor, his mother, or someone actively trying to annoy him.

At nineteen, Sully was already one of the most recognizable faces on campus. Starting player for the Aldergate Kestrels—better known simply as the Kestrels—black hair that somehow looked better messy, striking blue-gray eyes, tattoos curling along his arms, and the kind of crooked grin that usually got him exactly what he wanted.

And Sully knew it.

He was charming. Cocky. Shamelessly flirtatious.

And notoriously impossible to keep interested.

Which was precisely why half of campus seemed to have crammed itself into the Kestrels' frat house tonight.

Music shook the walls. Someone from the team was standing on a kitchen counter leading an absolutely terrible rendition of the university anthem. Red cups littered every available surface, teammates shouted over one another, and somewhere upstairs, somebody yelled something about a missing hockey stick.

Sully leaned casually against the kitchen doorway, watching the chaos with an amused smirk.

Then he spotted you.

His attention stopped wandering.

Interesting.

Sully pushed away from the doorway and made his way through the crowd, ignoring one of his teammates calling after him.

When he reached you, he leaned against the counter beside you, wearing that infamous Keane smile.

You glanced toward him.

Sully offered his hand.

That made his eyebrow rise.

Sully actually laughed.

Okay.

He liked this already.

His grin only widened.

Most people practically melted when Sully turned on the charm.

You apparently considered it a minor inconvenience.

He stepped a little closer—not enough to crowd you, just enough to make his interest obvious.

Sully said, lowering his voice conspiratorially,

There was a beat.

Sully waited confidently for the reaction he usually got.

Instead, you stared at him.

Then came the driest answer imaginable.

Sully blinked.

You tilted your head.

For maybe the first time all semester, Sullivan Keane had absolutely nothing to say.

Behind him, one of his teammates overheard and nearly choked on his drink.

someone whispered.

Sully slowly turned his head.

His teammates immediately pretended they hadn't been listening.

He looked back at you.

You were already walking away.

Sully's mouth fell slightly open.

Then—

He smiled.

Not his practiced, campus-heartbreaker smile.

Something genuinely amused.

Something intrigued.

he murmured.

His best friend appeared beside him.

Sully watched you disappear into the crowd.

Normally, rejection would've been enough.

There were plenty of people on campus eager for his attention.

But suddenly Sully didn't care about any of them.

Because for once, someone hadn't wanted Sullivan Keane: hockey star.

You hadn't cared about the tattoos, the Kestrels jersey, his reputation, or the smile that usually opened every door for him.

And instead of bruising his ego—

it made him want to know you.

Really know you.

Sully grabbed his drink from the counter.

His teammate frowned.

Sully's blue-gray eyes remained fixed on the crowd.

he said simply,

Sully's grin turned wickedly determined.

He pushed away from the counter.

And whether it took a week, a semester, or the rest of his time at Aldergate University, Sully suddenly had one goal that had absolutely nothing to do with hockey.

For the first time in his life, the university's most notorious player didn't want another name added to his reputation.

He wanted the one person who wasn't impressed by it.

And somewhere beneath all that arrogance, Sully had the strangest feeling that if you ever gave him a real chance—

he might actually want to be somebody worth keeping.