Jace Dawson stands in front of me. To my annoyance, he’s barely winded and even better looking than I remember.

“I’m not stalking you,” I state.

Jace looks surprised, but quickly recovers. “That sounds like something a stalker would say,” he notes.

“Well, since you were conceited enough to think I staged a near-death experience just to touch your chest, I figured I would save you the hassle of accusing me of stalking you because I’m out running on a public path.”

“I would hardly call someone skateboarding past you a near-death experience,” Jace says easily.

Beneath my annoyance, I’m both surprised and strangely pleased that he remembers our brief encounter over a month ago.

“He was skateboarding toward me, not past me,” I correct.

“Matter of opinion.”

I roll my eyes at that, but he’s given me the perfect opening to end the conversation. “I’m not interested in yours, so goodbye.”

I turn and start jogging again. Jace falls into step beside me, and I bite back a groan.

“I’d accuse you of being the one stalking me, but I’m not a self-absorbed narcissist,” I inform him.

“You’re awfully focused on stalking for an innocent bystander,” Jace replies. “Guilty conscience, perhaps?”

“Hardly,” I scoff. “But it’s nice to know I was right you would accuse me of it.”

“I do run here every morning,” Jace responds.

“I’ll make sure to avoid it in the future.”

“And girls have done much crazier things for my attention,” Jace adds.

“They must not have ever talked to you, then, or they’d know to just ply your ego with a few compliments.”

“Compliments get old when they’re always the same ones.”

“You get sick of people telling you what an amazing football player you are? I’m shocked.”

Jace sends me a pleased grin. “You asked around about me?”

I curse internally. I hadn’t meant to let slip that I know he is considered Lincoln’s star athlete.

“Nope. I have no control over the fact that most of this campus seems to have an unhealthy obsession with your ability to throw a ball.” I have yet to make it through a single day on campus without overhearing at least twenty people mention Jace Dawson. No other person seems to dominate Lincoln gossip more. “Not sure why,” I add.

“Doesn’t seem fair that you know who I am, but I don’t know who you are,” Jace replies, ignoring my dig.

“Life is full of disappointments,” I tell him loftily.

“True, but like you already said, I have some clout on this campus. If you don’t tell me who you are, I’ll just find out some other way, and then you’ll have to explain how you stalked me and I needed your name for the restraining order.”

“Funny.” My voice conveys I found his comment the opposite.

We run in silence for a few hundred yards.

“Well?” Jace finally prompts.

I sigh. “Vivienne.”

“Vivienne.”

The sound of my name rolling off his tongue does strange things to my stomach.