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Rilee

Nursing school might actually kill me.

Not metaphorically. Not “haha, I’m so tired I could die,” either. I mean it literally. One of these days, I’m going to go into clinicals, trip over an IV pole, and flatline from pure emotional combustion.

“I’m not saying I want to drop out,” I say, swirling what’s left of my cheap whiskey sour. “But if I got hit by a car on the way to class, I wouldn’t be mad about the break.”

Lexi cackles, tossing her hair over one shoulder. “You need sex. And sleep. And maybe something stronger than Midol for that rage spiral you’re living in.”

“I need to pass dosage calculations,” I mutter.

She softens—just a little.

“Look, I know you’re carrying a lot. But you know you don’t have to do it all, right?” she says. “You don’t have to prove you’re worthy by burning yourself out.”

I snort. “Tell that to the crushing mountain of student loans and the broken healthcare system.”

“I’m serious, Ri.” She nudges my shoulder. “You’re already enough. Even on your worst days. You don’t have to earn your place in the world.”

I look away because if I let myself believe her, I might fall apart.

We’re tucked into a corner booth at Woody’s, the off-campus bar that smells like cheap beer and regret. Lexi’s tipsy enough to flirt with the bartender every time he passes, and I’m one drink away from texting my old anatomy tutor just to scream.

I lean back, exhaling. Then I see them.

Across the bar, in a booth crowded with empty pint glasses and oversized egos, sit three guys wearing enough smugness to power a small city.

Lexi follows my stare. “Isn’t that your brother’s old hockey team?”

They’re huddled around a table, drinking, laughing, and oblivious to anyone else—the kind of easy camaraderie that makes my chest tighten. My brother used to be one of them before everything went sideways.

There’s Grayson Cole—the brooding goalie, completely unreadable. Hunter Maddox—my brother’s ex-best friend turned walking eye roll. And Caleb Ward—the golden retriever in skates who is currently looking at me like he knows what color my panties are.

I swallow the lump in my throat and turn back to Lexi. “Yeah.”

Hunter spots me first. His mouth curls into a smirk that does unspeakable things to my blood pressure.

I scowl and flip him off under the table.

Lexi sips her drink. “Didn’t you used to have a thing for that one?”

“Unfortunately. Before he turned into a complete dick when my brother got hurt.”

“Shame. He’s still hot.”

“Don’t encourage me.”

Movement catches my eye—Caleb standing, weaving through the crowd. My stomach does something very uncool as he approaches.

He stops at our table, bracing a hand on the edge. “Hey,” he says, his smile easy and eyes bright. “Rilee, right?”

Lexi grins. “She answers to ‘Your Highness’ too.”

I kick her under the table.

Caleb Ward is absurdly good-looking. Soft brown hair curling slightly at the ends, as if it can’t decide whether to behave.

He has warm, golden skin and dimples for days.

He’s wearing a worn gray hoodie and jeans that hug in all the right places—like he just rolled out of bed and still somehow looks like a walking thirst trap.

Caleb chuckles. “I thought that was you. You look… different.”

“Probably because I’m not covered in someone else’s bodily fluids today.”

He blinks, his eyes impossibly blue. “I’m sorry?”

“Remember, nursing student?” I say, and he nods. “You’d be surprised how often I come home with someone’s vomit on my shoes.”

His eyebrows lift. “Charming.”

“I aim to please.”

He pauses, then asks, “How’s Fletch doing?”

The question throws me for a second. Most of the guys act like my brother disappeared off the face of the earth once he got hurt. But not Caleb.

“Fletcher is well, Fletcher . He’s doing okay,” I say, surprised by how much that answer catches in my throat. “In rehab. Still trying to boss me around from two hundred miles away.”

Caleb’s smile softens. “That sounds like him.”

He steps back, tipping an invisible hat. “Well, good to see you.” Then he’s gone, disappearing back into the hockey-guy booth.

Lexi fans herself. “That boy was looking at you like you were dessert and he skipped dinner.”

I shrug, trying to ignore the way my skin still tingles where his voice touched it.

Lexi stands, checking her phone. “Hey—I’m catching a ride with Maddie. You good to walk?”

“It’s two blocks. I’ll survive.”

She kisses my cheek and disappears.

I toss back the last of my drink, grab my bag, and step out into the night air.

The sidewalk is cold and quiet, the late October wind biting through my coat. I’m halfway down the block when I hear footsteps behind me.

“Hey.”

I turn.

It’s Caleb.

He jogs up beside me. “Are you headed out?”

I nod once.

“Let me walk you.” His voice is low, sending a shock of warmth through me.

“I’m not helpless, you know.” I raise an eyebrow.

His expression is amused. “I didn’t say you were. But it’s dark. And you’ve had whiskey.”

I sigh. “Fine. But only because I’m tired and you’re pretty.”

He laughs, and damn if it isn’t warm, low, and dangerous .

The silence stretches comfortably as we walk. He doesn’t crowd me. Doesn’t push. Just exists beside me in this weird, gentle way that makes me feel seen and unsettled.

And also possibly a little horny, which is deeply inconvenient. But it’s not like I have time to date with my schedule.

“So…” he says, hands tucked in his jacket pockets. “Bodily fluids, huh? Is that your usual small talk opener?”

I snort. “Only on first dates.”

“This is a date?”

I glance at him. “You insisted on walking me home.”

He shrugs. “Maybe I just didn’t want you to fall into a manhole.”

“Chivalry’s not dead, apparently.”

“Only mostly dead,” he says with a grin. “For you, it came back to life.”

Damn, he’s cute. Like annoyingly, dangerously cute.

And I haven’t had sex in… oh God. Between nursing school and keeping my life from imploding, dating hasn’t exactly been a priority.

My cheeks flush. “Do you flirt with everyone this much?”

“Nope,” he replies easily. “Just girls who talk about vomit and look like trouble.”

He has no idea.

“Ah. So you have a type.”

“Messy, mouthy, and beautiful? Yeah, I guess I do.”

My heart stutters, then sprints.

I try to sound unimpressed. “You practiced that line?”

“Not once.” He glances down at me. “Are you always this hard to read?”

“Only when I don’t know what I want.”

“You sure?” he asks, his voice lower now.

Nope. Not sure of anything. Except maybe how much I want him to kiss me. Or press me against that brick wall. Or—

The answer’s yes. It’s dangerously yes. But I say nothing.

Because the heat between us is saying it for me.

I still remember the first time I met Caleb.

I’d seen him at Fletcher’s games and in group pictures on his Instagram—always laughing, always with that easy smile, like nothing ever rattled him.

But the first time we actually talked was during finals last year. I was parked on a bench outside the science building, trying to will my brain cells to process pharmacology flashcards.

He sat down beside me as if we’d planned it.

No hello. No awkward small talk. He just pointed to one of the flashcards in my lap and said, “You spelled hydrochlorothiazide wrong.”

I blinked at him.

“Want me to quiz you?” he asked, as if we’d known each other for years.

I was too tired to argue. “You a nursing major?”

He shook his head. “Psych. But I dated someone who carried that exact set of flashcards. Different color. Same panic.”

Then he smiled—full wattage, all dimples and warmth—and my stomach did a thing.

That was the first moment I really noticed him. Noticed the way he carried himself: relaxed, but not lazy; present, but not overbearing. I noticed how tall he was and how his voice dipped low when he said my name a few minutes later.

There was no instant swoon. No thunderclap.

Just… curiosity.

And a tug in my chest that said, Pay attention to this one.

By the time we reach my building, my cheeks are flushed for reasons that have nothing to do with the cold.

“Well,” I say, stopping at the stoop. “This is me.”

Caleb doesn’t move. He just stands there, tall and solid in the glow of the streetlight, hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie like he has all the time in the world. He’s got this calm, unbothered, hot guy energy that’s making it really hard to think.

Instead, he says, “You okay?”

I blink. “What?”

“You looked… tired. Like more than just school tired.”

I let out a slow breath. “Yeah. It’s been a week. Month. Year. Pick your timeline.”

He nods once, like he gets it. And maybe he does. Student athletes are well-versed in exhausting schedules. “Want company?” His voice is low, warm.

My brain short-circuits.

But my body answers for me.

I nod.

Inside, the apartment is dim and smells faintly like mildew. My bathroom ceiling’s been dripping since Tuesday, and the maintenance request form is probably being used as a coaster in someone’s office.

I kick off my boots, set my purse down, and turn to say something—what, I have no idea—when Caleb shuts the door and steps into my space.

His eyes search mine like he’s checking for signs of hesitation. But all he finds is heat.

I close the distance first.

We crash together in the dark—mouths hot, hands fast. He kisses like he’s been waiting all night, like he meant it when he said I was beautiful.

I gasp as he lifts me onto the arm of the couch, his hands gripping my thighs. My fingers sink beneath the hem of his hoodie, finding warm skin underneath.

“You sure?” he murmurs against my neck.

“God, yes.”

He smiles and tucks one strand of dark hair behind my ear. And then, we’re moving.

He carries me to the bedroom, and I’m already losing articles of clothing along the way. My sweater hits the floor. His hoodie follows. It’s messy, breathless, and long overdue.

He lays me back on the bed like I’m made of something breakable and precious—then immediately slides down, his lips on my stomach, his eyes locked on mine. He pulls my leggings and panties down and gazes up at me as if to check in. I bite my lip and nod.

His mouth is warm, patient. My hands find the back of his neck, fingers threading into his hair. Every nerve in my body is tuned to him, the heat building so fast it feels almost unbearable.

And for the first time in… I don’t even know how long, I let myself have this. A hot, stolen moment. No pressure, no expectations. Just a damn good thing that feels so good.

I deserve this.

I deserve the way he touches me like I’m a secret he wants to memorize.

I deserve the way he looks at me like I’m the whole damn sky.

And holy hell, the erection pressing against my thigh? Ridiculously unfair.

I press up against it, and a needy grunt punches out of him.

I raise an eyebrow at him. “That is … a whole lot of situation right there…”

He laughs—low and unguarded—and presses a kiss just above my hip. “He’s very ambitious.”

I’m still laughing when his hand slides up my inner thigh, his mouth following, and damn, he can kiss.

And just when I think, finally—

“Rilee!” a voice shrieks from the living room. “The fucking ceiling just caved in out here!”

Caleb freezes, his forehead resting on my ribs.

I groan. “You have got to be kidding me.”

He presses a kiss just below my navel. “You okay?”

“I was. Ten seconds ago.”

I yank a blanket over myself just as my roommate storms in, suitcase in hand and mascara smudged.

“You’re gonna want to check the bathroom,” she says dramatically. “It’s raining plaster. I’m staying at Dylan’s.”

And just like that, she’s gone.

The door slams.

The moment shatters.

Caleb sits up, running a hand through his hair.

I sit up too, my pulse still racing.

“Well,” I say. “That happened.”

He smiles, crooked and a little uncertain. “I should go.”

“Yeah.” I bite my lip. “Probably.”

He stands, leans down, and brushes a slow kiss to my temple. “Rain check?”

I nod, trying not to look like I just got emotionally drop-kicked.

Once he’s gone, I flop back onto the mattress and stare at the cracked ceiling overhead.

Perfect.

Now I’m turned on, half-naked, and my apartment is turning into a swamp.

Next stop: complete collapse.