Frank's POV
Early February.
Valentine's Day meant roses, Mother's Day meant carnations, and on Children's Day, I'd get a bag full of candy.
It didn't have to be expensive—just something that made the day feel different.
But all of that was before my parents got divorced.
"I'm back."
I pulled out my key, tossed my backpack onto the floor, and collapsed onto the couch.
Nataly handed me a glass of water, her usual thoughtful self.
The cold water ran down my throat and instantly cleared my head. I untied my hairband, letting my messy but clean hair fall loose around my face.
"I'm so dead… Tuesdays are the worst."
"Tuesdays are the worst," Nataly echoed, curling up beside me with a cream-colored throw pillow.
"You had dinner yet?"
"Nope."
My eyes drifted to the empty dining table, and my stomach let out an audible growl. I could hear myself swallow.
Nataly squished up against me, and in that soft moment of exhaustion, I couldn't help but laugh.
"What are you giggling about? Why're you back so late? It's already past eight."
"I went off-campus to chase a story."
"You're insane. Of all days, you chose Death Tuesday?"
"News doesn't wait. Nancy got a tip this morning—some Chinese grocery store got robbed. We rushed over, but the owner refused to talk."
Most of our campus paper stories were local—campus life, neighborhood events.
When we arrived, the owner was eating dinner behind the cramped register.
Tomato and scrambled eggs. My favorite dish.
We pleaded with him, tried everything, but he wouldn't budge.
Then I realized something: the store was still open.
Even after getting robbed, he couldn't afford to close, not even for a day.
He probably didn't want to lose a single customer.
Once I figured that out, I dragged Nancy out of there.
I sighed, the disappointment washing over me.
But then I remembered something and couldn't help but smile.
"It's fine. Last Saturday, Nancy and I emailed the White Wolves, asked for an interview. We'll probably hear back before Friday."
"What?"
Nataly perked up immediately, dropping her pillow and leaning in, eyes wide.
"Did I hear that right? You actually contacted the White Wolves?"
Her makeup was flawless, cat-eye sharp, lashes thick and fluttering.
That gleam in her eyes—pure football fever.
God, look what this country's turned me into.
"Yup. We're aiming for an exclusive."
I couldn't hide my grin—this insane idea was mine, and I was proud of it.
"Cool, right?"
"Who do you even plan to interview?"
"Not just one. Ideally, the coach, a few key players, maybe an analyst. Word count's limited anyway."
"boy, you're dreaming. You'd be lucky to get one player to agree."
I sat up. "Okay, then who do you think people would want to hear from the most?"
She gave me a look like I was an idiot. "Seriously? William. Duh."
I nodded. "Makes sense."
She rolled her eyes. Definitely thought I was delusional.
"Honestly, you're probably getting rejected."
"Hey—"
"Didn't you watch the finals? All the national media were swarming them afterward. What makes you think they'd bother with a college paper?"
"I watched it. Kind of. You posted a recap, remember? I was back home then."
Those few days, every time I opened social media, it was flooded with clips and reposts of the White Wolves' victory.
There was no escaping it.
I was mid-sentence when Nataly grabbed my face and squinted at me.
"Wait a second… You just got back two weeks ago and you've already lost the weight you gained over break? Your face looks way thinner."
She paused, then sighed, half envious.
"Still pretty though. Makes me jealous."
Nataly was a year above me, a sophomore, totally at ease in the States.
Blunt, honest, and never stingy with compliments.
We got along well—not just because our personalities balanced each other out, but maybe also because I looked a bit like her younger sister, Gloria.
She liked me from the moment we met.
Also, she never cared that I was a guy.
The truth? I'd lost weight from stress.
School was intense, and I worked out regularly.
I'd invited her to the gym once, but she just said she had her own "methods."
I swatted her hand away. "Why are you wearing makeup? Going out this late?"
She shrugged. "Yep. That annoying guy's pestering me again."
By "annoying guy," she meant Henry—her boyfriend.
He lived in a swanky off-campus apartment with another guy who was even worse—a serial hook-up king.
But the place was soundproof and massive.
I watched her lips curl into a smile and thought, Yeah, right. Annoying.
"Coming back tonight? You've got class tomorrow."
She fanned her fingers in front of my face and laughed.
"Don't worry about me. That guy always finds 180 excuses to keep me over. Boys are like furnaces—clingy and waytoo warm."
"Then just come back. I'll leave the door unlocked for you."
She wrinkled her nose.
"You don't get it. Hearing those ridiculous reasons he makes up just to hold onto me? That's the best part."
We locked eyes.
I swear she was trying to zap me with those lashes.
Too bad for her, it just gave me goosebumps.
"Cut it out. Save the flirting for Henry."
I turned my head, but she pulled me back, serious now.
"So? It's been half a year since that jerk of a boyfriend. You over it yet?"
I hesitated. "I guess I'm not really looking for love right now."
"Men suck."
She wasn't wrong…
Except I'm a guy too, you know?
"Last time I tried setting you up, you said you wanted to find someone on your own. That just an excuse?"
After Alex, I did swear off dating.
But I still had needs—pressure, loneliness, the constant grind of journalism school…
Things were different here.
The atmosphere was looser, more open.
Totally different from back in Australia.
"I'm not lying. I am looking."
But it's not that easy, is it?
Cupid's not going to shoot his arrow on demand.
The next guy I date has to make me believe in love again.
Has to undo everything my dad and Alex did to me.
Does someone like that even exist?
Nataly grabbed her pale yellow purse and flipped her curls back with a wink.
"Library's not the place, Frank. Everyone's too busy studying to even look at each other, let alone flirt."
Translation: I don't go to parties, so I've got zero game.
I watched the door close behind her and sighed.
Well, what can I do?
My dream boyfriend is the kind of guy who spends every night in the library.
First requirement? Clean.
I'm not getting burned by another player like Alex.
Then, he'd better be a straight-up nerd—no parties, totally focused.
Someone who's mature and emotionally stable.
No jealousy, no drama, no cheating.
Because let's be real—guys who party every weekend?
They don't even know what loyalty means.