My brother’s best friend sat down across from me in the library without asking and put a handwritten contract on the table.

Obviously I read it.

The deal: I tutor Cole Mercer through Constitutional Law. He plays my devoted boyfriend for four days at Thanksgiving — one grandmother, one ex who married someone else, one hotel room with one bed neither of us mentioned.

No feelings. He initialed the clause himself.

What we didn’t write down: that Cole Mercer is nothing like his reputation. That he carries something real and heavy and private. That four days in close quarters with a man who defends you like it costs him nothing is enough to undo every rule you ever made.

The contract expired.

He didn’t get the memo.

Neither did I.

“Stay away from my teammates.” That was the deal. Cole Mercer was the deal-breaker.