Aubrey Lane wasn’t looking for anyone when she ran straight into Noah—literally. He knocked her to the ground, coffee spilled, sketchbooks everywhere. Tall, tattooed, smirking like sin, he offered her a name and a coffee she didn’t take. But she remembered him. He kept showing up—outside her classes, across parties, in the places she should’ve avoided. And when they finally danced? It wasn’t dancing. It was gravity. Heat. Mouths close. Hands barely not touching. Then came the kiss. Up against a wall, her body grinding against his, moans muffled in his mouth. And then the words: “I don’t want sweet,” he said. “But I’ll try. For you.” Aubrey didn’t fall that night. But she started to lean.