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“I think we’re good to go,” I say, smoothing my skirt and assessing the room. We’re in the basement of Allerson Hall, which houses the Social Work department. Ms.Alice, the department receptionist, opens this part of the hall up for us twice a month so we can host these meetings since Asheford hasn’t officially recognized the Community Action Committee asa school-approved organization—which is needed to access all the resources available to the other school orgs on campus.

“I’m gonna stand outside and usher people in,” I say, picking up a few flyers from the snack table to hold as a prop. If anyone looks hesitant, I’ll reel them in with my bestyou-don’t-want-to-miss-thissmile.

“Recruiting mode activated,” Yenn teases, giving me a thumbs-up before heading to stand with Alicia.

I push open the heavy basement door and step into the hallway, my heels clicking faintly on the tiled floor. I stop at the top of the short set of stairs, clutching the papers in my arms.

Smile, Shae. Get people to spend thirty minutes in the meeting.

I’ll need a minimum of ten established members to get the organization approved by the school, and for the last few sessions, I’ve only been able to get six people to attend, including Ez, Yenn, and myself.

I pulled out all the stops for this meeting: I flyered the campus and asked a few of my professors to allow me to announce the upcoming meeting in my classes.

I put on my Sasha Fierce and went up to people in the cafeteria and on the quad to personally invite them to attend.

…and I asked Storm Sandoval to come.

Flutters bloom in my stomach at the memory of his eyes and how he stared at me, seeming to look into my soul. We were having a moment.

At least, I felt it.

But then his delicate-looking girlfriend showed up next to him, grabbing onto him as if she had every right to. And maybe she does.

It’s clear that Storm Sandoval is spoken for—or at least has a significant…situation with his dark-haired companion.

Which means that I’ve got no business fantasizing about him.

So I won’t. Again. Anymore.

“Is the Community Action Committee down this way?” A deep, unfamiliar voice startles me from my thoughts, and I whip to my right to see an unfortunately familiar face.

Eyes narrowing, I look him up and down. “Why do you want to know?”

Kurt—I don’t know his last name—smiles, and it’s a gross look on his face. He’s glossy, as if dipped in a glaze of wealth and pretentiousness.

Like a fancy doughnut.

“I’d like to help,” he says, “In the community.” His smile widens.

“You know the community in this case doesnotinclude Hyde Park, right?” I add, my voice sharp as it echoes off the worn linoleum.

He keeps smiling, nodding for too long.

Sucking in a stabilizing breath, I turn from him and say, “Down the stairs and to the left. Look for the open door.”

“Thanks, babe,” he says, and the look I shoot him would have sliced anyone else in two, but he just grins more.

The thought crosses my mind to kick him out, but I’m distracted when a group of students comes closer, and one holds up their flyer.

“Hey! Thanks for coming,” I say warmly, waving them down the stairs. They shuffle past me with polite nods, and Yenn shouts inside the room, already hyping up the meeting with her usual energy.

Kurt’s loud voice reverberates over the T-Pain Yenn or Ezra put on to loosen the mood.

The hallway empties, and I’m about to head back inside when I hear footsteps—steady, deliberate, and closer than I expect. Turning, I feel my chest tighten when I see him.

Storm.

He wears dark jeans and a plain white shirt, looking both out of place and perfectly at ease in the slightly dingy corridor. He draws closer, and the hallway shrinks, narrowing down to just the two of us.