Emma's POV The first thing I noticed about the Moreland Apartments was the noise. Someone's bass rattled the thin walls on the third floor, and the elevator smelled faintly of pizza and weed. Welcome to off-campus living, I guess. Dragging my suitcase down the hall, I kept repeating the one rule they'd drilled into my ears at the leasing office: no fighting with your roommate. That was it. No curfew, no quiet hours, no dress code. Just no fighting. Which immediately told me I'd probably get stuck with someone impossible. I was okay with the rule though. My last roommate gave me hell. She kept stealing my food and acted like I was crazy. Anyways, that's in the past. I balanced my boxes on my hip and searched for number 3B. My new home. My fresh start. My- The door opened before I even reached for the key. And there he was. A shirtless man in my apartment. Tattoos are curling over his chest and disappearing down the ridges of his abdomen, like some kind of ad for bad decisions. His light brown hair was messed up like he'd just rolled out of bed, a cocky curve at the corner of his mouth. His dark brown eyes that scanned me up and down like he was already bored. For one very stupid, very embarrassing second, I froze. Because, well, damn. He was hot. The kind of hot you knew was dangerous. The kind you knew came with warning labels. It was not every time that I stood next to ridiculously gorgeous creatures. Except for the dolphin at the museum a few days ago. Then he said, "Not today," and slammed the door in my face. I stood there, blinking at the wood. What. The. Hell. I jiggled the handle. Locked. Seriously? I shoved the key into the lock, twisted, and pushed the door open with my shoulder. "Excuse me. Who the hell do you think you are?" I snapped, hauling my suitcase inside. "But last time I checked, I live here." He was halfway across the living room, tugging on a T-shirt like nothing had happened. "Congratulations," he said flatly, not even looking at me. "Gold star for you." My mouth dropped open. "You just slammed the door in my face!" Finally, he turned. And God help me, the smirk was worse than the tattoos. "Thought you were one of the stalkers." "Stalkers?" I repeated, incredulous. He shrugged, grabbing a set of keys off the counter. "Girls who don't know the meaning of no. You'd be surprised how many think breaking into my apartment is a good idea." I blinked at him. "So your solution was to slam the door on me, your girlfriend's roommate?" He looked confused. "I don't have a girlfriend." "Then what are you doing here?" "This is my apartment." I gasped. What. In. The. Actual. Fuck. "What do you mean? My roommate should be a girl." His face formed that annoying smirk again. "As you can see, I'm all man. You can check to confirm," he teased, wiggling his eyebrows at me. Ewww, yuck. I almost blenched in disgust. "No thank you. Next time you slap the door in my face I would be stroking something heavy at you." That smug grin spread wider. "Are you threatening me?." I smiled sweetly. "It's not a threat," I paused, staring deep into his eyes. "It's a promise." I could have sworn he shivered before he masked it with an indifferent smile. "I know your type." My brain short-circuited. "The type?" "Yeah. The kind who pretends she's not interested, but secretly wants to see me shirtless." He gestured at himself. "Mission accomplished, by the way." Oh, he was insufferable. Absolutely insufferable. "You're unbelievable." I yanked my suitcase toward the hallway. "Stay out of my way." "Don't worry, Professor," he called after me, amusement dripping from every syllable. "The place is big enough for both of us." Professor? What did that even mean? I slammed my new bedroom door behind me, tossed my suitcase on the bed, and muttered, "No fighting, my ass." --- By midnight, the walls were shaking. I had a presentation the next day, so of course I was curled up at my desk with my laptop, notecards, and highlighters. And of course my roommate, the human migraine, decided it was the perfect time to blast music. I shoved my chair back and marched to his door. Knock. Knock. Knock. No answer. I knocked harder. "Hey, you!" The music got louder. I knocked again, ready to break the one apartment rule on day one. Finally, the door cracked open, and Ace leaned against the frame, grinning like he'd been waiting for me. "Enjoying the concert?" he asked over the thump of the bass. "Turn it down!" I shouted. He cupped his ear. "What's that? You like it louder?" My jaw dropped. "Are you kidding me right now?" "Relax, Professor." "My name is not professor," I crossed my hand over my chest. His eyes flickered down to my breast making me painfully aware of my tank top. "Maybe if you tell me your name I will stop." "It's Emma." "Emma," he repeated, my name sounding so silky on his lips. He tapped his finger to his jaw a few times before continuing. "I think I'm going to stick with Professor." "You have got to be kidding me." To think I thought he had something important to say. "Relax, this is college. People play music." "This is college, people study and I have a presentation tomorrow!" His eyes flicked to the stack of notecards in my hand. "Of course you do." He leaned closer, lowering his voice. "Are you always this uptight, or am I just lucky?" I glared. "I'm not uptight. I'm considerate. Something you clearly know nothing about." For a second, something flickered in his eyes, like I'd struck a nerve. But then the smirk returned. "I'll think about it." And he shut the door in my face. Again. I stood there, fists clenched, vibrating with rage. Then I did what any rational adult would do: I stomped through the apartment looking for the circuit breaker. No luck in the kitchen. Nothing in the hall closet. I even checked behind the washing machine. Nada. Defeated, I slumped back to my room. Leaned against the wall. And there it was - a faint red at the top of my desk. I marched straight towards it. The breaker box was in my room. Slowly, I climbed onto my desk chair, popped it open, and found the switch labeled "Bedroom 2." With the most wicked grin, I flipped it off. Instant silence. I hopped down, locked my door, and sat back at my desk, heart racing. For the first time all night, peace. Until the knocking started. "Professor!" His voice boomed from the hall. "Is there a power outage in your room?." I didn't reply, I only smirked at my notecards. "Two can play at that game," I whispered. "Open the door!" "Busy studying!" His laughter echoed through the wall. "Really, Professor." And just like that, I knew living here was going to be hell. And maybe the most fun I ever had.

Chapter Two Emma's POV Living with Ace Fallon was like starring in a prank war I hadn't signed up for. I Finally stumbled on the house lease agreement. Within a week, I'd lost count of how many girls I'd seen stumbling out of his bedroom in the morning. Blond, brunette, redhead-Ace didn't discriminate. They left in wrinkled clothes, barely struggling to pull their heels on, giggling as they squeezed past me on their walk of shame. "Do you mind?" I snapped one morning when a particularly loud blonde tripped over my bag in the living room. Ace leaned against the kitchen counter, sipping orange juice like he owned the place. "Don't look at me. She's clumsy." I slammed the door on my way out. My retaliation started small. I swapped his expensive coffee beans for decaf. Hide batteries from the TV remote. Turned the shower faucet to cold right before his morning rinse. The scream that followed? Best alarm clock of my life. Of course, Ace caught on. He retaliated by stealing my notes and perching them just out of reach on top of the fridge. When I came in late one night, exhausted, he'd swapped all the labels on my spice rack-salt was sugar, sugar was flour, and I learned that the hard way in my midnight tea. "You're insane," I told him. He just grinned. "Takes one to know one, Professor." By the second week, I was convinced the Moreland Apartment rule wasn't "no fighting." It was "don't get caught fighting." Because if the management knew what went down in 3B, we'd both be out. Tuesday morning, I dragged myself into English Literature, clutching a latte like it was holy water. I barely had any sleep last night. The girl Conan brought home kept googling and screaming like a banshee. Sorry to the banshee community, she was worse than that. Professor Henderson was already scribbling something on the board. Every seat was taken except one-the empty chair beside me. And right on cue, Ace strolled in ten minutes late. No book bag, no notebook, just swagger. Professor Henderson was ready to unleash her anger when she saw who it was. The way her face instantly softened was comical. "Mr. Fallon," Professor Henderson said, returning to the board. "Take a seat." Not a hint of annoyance. Not even a raised eyebrow. I blinked in surprise, I looked around to see if anyone was as shocked as I was but it seemed like everyone except for me knew who Ace Fallon was. Ace scanned the room, smirked when his gaze landed on me, and slid into the empty chair beside me. I turned back to my notebook and pretended he didn't exist. "Professor," he whispered. I didn't look at him. "Professor," he tried again, sing-song this time. Nothing. He leaned over until his breath tickled my ear. "Professor, are you ignoring me?" The hairs on my neck stood up. Against my better judgment, I turned my head- And found his face inches from mine. Dark brown eyes, stupid smirk, way too close. I startled so hard I tumbled backward out of my chair, landing flat on the floor with a thud that echoed through the silent room. Every head in the room turned-professor Henderson included. My cheeks burned hotter than the sun as I scrambled up, mumbling something that sounded like "I'm fine." Ace leaned casually against his desk, lips twitching. "Careful, Professor. Gravity's a bitch." Laughter rippled through the class. I wanted to die. Actually, I wanted to murder Ace. By the time the lecture ended, I shot out of my seat like it was on fire. But of course, Ace followed, strolling beside me like we were best friends. "Don't be mad," he teased. "Mad?" I snapped. "You think I'm mad, all I feel is hate for you." "That's a strong word." "Not strong enough." He grinned. "Come on, Professor. Admit it. That was funny." I spun on him in the middle of the hallway. "I nearly broke my back!" "You're fine." He reached out like he was going to tug at my ponytail, and I swatted his hand away. We pushed through the doors into the car park-and nearly collided with Dante Williams. Dante Williams. As in six-foot-four, captain of the basketball team, smile worth a thousand billboards. My stomach did a somersault. "Yo, Fallon," Dante said, clapping Ace on the back as they did the man hug thing. "What's up, man?" "All good," Ace replied easily. Dante turned his attention to me, and my brain stopped working. "And you are...?" His smile was devastating up close. "I-I'm-uh-Emma," I stammered, clutching my books like it was my life support. Dante's eyes crinkled. "Nice to meet you, Emma. Are you coming to my party Friday?" I blinked. "Me?" "Yeah, you. Bring my boy here if you want." He nudged Ace. "Wouldn't miss it," Ace said smoothly, answering for both of us. "Cool." Dante gave me another one of those million-dollar smiles that should've been illegal and sauntered off toward his car. I was still frozen in place when Ace leaned in. "Smooth, Professor. Real smooth. You almost said your own name without choking." My face went up in flames. "Shut up." "Who knew he was going to invite you personally." "He invited you," I muttered. "And you," he shot back. "Which means I'm your plus-one." "Over my dead body." We reached his car, a black Mustang that screamed playboy. Ace dangled his keys. "Need a ride?" I glanced at the darkening clouds. The air smelled like rain. "No thanks." I adjusted my bag. "I'd rather walk." "You sure?" His tone was mock-gentle. "Don't want you catching a cold, Professor." I plastered my brightest fake smile. "Positive." By the time I reached the corner, the sky opened. Sheets of rain drenched me in seconds. I walked faster, hair plastered to my cheeks, sneakers squeaking with every step. Cars splashed by, throwing more water onto my jeans. When I finally stumbled into the apartment, dripping from head to toe, Ace was leaning against the couch, perfectly dry, scrolling on his phone. He looked up, smirked, and drawled, "Told you so." I slammed my door before he could see the steam practically shooting from my ears. Hatred had never burned so hot.

Chapter Three Ace's POV She chose walking in the rain over getting into my car. That alone should've annoyed me, but instead I found myself idling behind her in my car, headlights off, keeping just enough distance so she wouldn't notice. It was late, and Moreland wasn't exactly the safest neighborhood at night. She didn't need to know I was behind her, but the idea of leaving her to stumble back alone in a storm didn't sit right. Emma Kingston. My roommate. The girl who looked at me like I was the plague, and she was conjuring ways to take me out of existence. I hadn't expected a girl when the landlord told me I'd have a new roommate. And definitely not one who had no idea who I was. That first day, when I thought she was just another clinger trying to find her way into my apartment, I slammed the door without a second thought. Now, I kind of wished I hadn't. She was timid in some ways-soft-spoken, all shy smiles when someone like Dante Williams showed up-but damn, she was fierce when it came to me. Every time she snapped back, every glare, every smug little smirk when she thought she'd gotten the upper hand... it did something to me. By the time she reached the apartment, she was drenched, hair sticking to her face, sneakers squelching with each step. She didn't even glance at me when I teased her, she just slammed her bedroom door like I wasn't worth the air she breathed. I stood in the living room for a moment, staring at her closed door. Then I muttered, "Yeah, okay. Fine. Round three goes to you, Professor." But I wasn't about to let it end there. Everyone loves pizza. Everyone loves ice cream. Especially girls. That was universal law. So twenty minutes later, I was standing outside her door, holding a greasy pizza box in one hand and the biggest tub of cookie dough ice cream in the other. When she opened the door, eyebrows raised high. The look she gave me was pure suspicion. "What do you want?" I held the food like a white flag. "Peace offering." Her eyes flicked from the box to the tub. Her lips twitched, just barely. "You brought ice cream for me after I just got beat by rain?" The way she said it made me realize how ridiculous I must've looked-handing her ice-cream instead of coffee, standing there like some kind of desperate delivery boy. Heat crawled up the back of my neck and I almost retracted the box. But then she laughed. Her first genuine laugh since she'd moved in. And God was she beautiful. Her smile hit me like a punch. She leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "You're actually insane." "Insanely charming," I corrected. "And generous. Don't forget generous." Emma shook her head but stepped out walking towards the living room. Like I was compelled, I followed. We sat on the couch, pizza box open between us, ice cream waiting with two spoons sticking out of it. She curled her legs under her, careful not to touch me, and grabbed a slice. "You know," she said between bites, "I'm the one who cut your lights the other night." I raised an eyebrow. "So you basically left me in the Stone Age in my own house?" I had my suspicions but I did exactly think she had it in her. Well, damn. She grinned, almost proud. "Yeah. The switch is in my room. You can turn it back on now, if you want." I walked towards the room, miming like I was about to flick a switch on the wall, then stopped. "What's wrong is it not coming on?" "Nah. Pretty sure it's stuck." I walked back to the living room just in time to see her eyes widened. "Stuck?" "Yeah," I said casually, settling back on the chair, biting into another slice. "Happens sometimes. Don't worry about it. I'll bring someone in to fix it." She immediately started to panic. "Wait-you can't do that. I'll pay for it." I shrugged. "Don't stress.It's no big deal." Her brows furrowed. "I can call the landlord. I'll pay for it." "Relax, Professor." I leaned back, smirking. "I'll survive. Besides, you've got enough guilt in your eyes already. It's kind of entertaining." She huffed, clearly annoyed at herself for admitting it. After a while, the tension eased. We ate in comfortable silence until she finally asked, "So... you going to Dante's party?" "Obviously," I said. "It's Dante. Everyone goes to Dante's." She fiddled with her spoon. "I'm not." "Why not? You were invited." "I've got... things to do." I chuckled. "Things like what? Studying? Alphabetizing your bookshelves? Cleaning the fridge?" Her cheeks burned with embarrassment, because he was right I had nothing else to do. "It's none of your business. And my bookshelf is already organized." "Come on," I pushed, nudging her with my elbow. "If you like a guy, you should show it. Hiding doesn't work." Her head snapped toward me. "I don't like him." "Who said I was talking about Dante?" Her mouth opened, closed, then opened again. "You're impossible." I smirked, letting the silence hang. She stabbed her spoon into the ice cream, muttering under her breath. There was a tiny smear of brown at the corner of her lips. My hand twitched as I stopped myself from reaching for her face." "You've got..." I motioned vaguely. "Right there." She licked her lips, missing it. Still there. My hand twitched with the urge to just wipe it off myself. Instead, I leaned closer. "Here, let me-" The sound of a door bell ringing cut me off. I walked to the door and there she was. Some girl I'd texted earlier in the week, standing in the doorway in a dress that barely qualified as clothing. Low-cut, short enough to be a crime, heels clicking against the floor. "Hey, Ace," she purred, running a hand through her hair. I heard Emma scoff in annoyance behind me. "Wow," Emma muttered, shoving her spoon down and bolting up. "Thank you for the food. Enjoy your... whatever that is." Before I could say a word, she rushed off to her room, door slamming shut. I sat there, pizza slice in hand, staring after her.