Lily stood outside the married student housing complex at 8:55 a.m. on Monday, clutching a cardboard box of her belongings like it was a shield. The building was a squat, red-brick rectangle with ivy creeping up the walls, looking more like a budget motel than a home for newlyweds. Her stomach churned as she glanced at her phone. There was no sign of Jaxon.

She shifted the box, her arms aching. Inside were her essentials: clothes, a few books, her favorite mug with a cartoon cat on it. Mia had promised to help her move, but she’d bailed at the last minute, citing a “wedding emergency” that sounded suspiciously like brunch with Ryan. Lily was on her own; well, almost. She was married now, technically. To Jaxon Wolfe. The thought made her want to laugh, cry, or possibly both.

The rumble of an engine snapped her out of her spiral. A beat-up black pickup truck pulled into the lot, and Jaxon climbed out, his hockey duffel slung over one shoulder and a single cardboard box under his arm. He wore a gray hoodie and jeans, his dark hair mussed like he’d just rolled out of bed. His blue eyes found her immediately, and a slow smirk spread across his face.

“You’re early, Lily,” he said, slamming the truck door. “Didn’t think you’d beat me here.”

Lily bristled, adjusting her glasses. “It’s Mrs. Wolfe to you,” she shot back, then cringed. Why did I say that? “I mean, not really. Just—don’t be late next time.”

Jaxon’s smirk widened, and he sauntered over, his long strides eating up the distance. “Relax, wife. I’m here now. Ready to play house?”

She glared, her cheeks heating. “This isn’t playing house. This is surviving six months without killing each other.”

“Challenge accepted.” He stopped in front of her, close enough that she caught the faint scent of his cologne; cedar and something sharp, like winter air. He glanced at her box. “That all you got? Thought girls packed their whole lives for stuff like this.”

“It’s just the basics,” she said defensively. “Unlike you, I don’t need a gym’s worth of hockey gear to function.”

He chuckled, low and rough, and hoisted his duffel higher. “Let’s go, then. Sooner we get this over with, the better.”

They trudged up the stairs to Apartment 3B, the key from the housing office heavy in Lily’s pocket. The hallway smelled faintly of mildew and instant noodles, which was a painful reminder that this wasn’t exactly a fairy-tale penthouse. She unlocked the door and pushed it open, revealing a small living room with a sagging couch, a coffee table with a chipped corner, and a kitchenette that looked like it hadn’t been updated since the ‘90s.

“Home sweet home,” Jaxon muttered, dropping his box on the floor with a thud. “This place is a dump.”

“It’s temporary,” Lily said, setting her box on the counter. “And it’s free. So, you know, stop complaining.”

He raised an eyebrow, leaning against the wall. “You always this cheerful, or is it just for me?”

She ignored him, peering down the short hallway. Two doors led to bedrooms, one slightly larger than the other, and a single bathroom sat between them. One bathroom. For six months. She suppressed a groan.

“So,” Jaxon said, following her gaze, “how we doing this? You want the big room, or you gonna fight me for it?”

Lily turned, hands on her hips. “You’re the one who’s been couch-surfing. You take the small one. I deserve something for putting up with this mess.”

His lips twitched, like he was fighting a smile. “Fair enough. But I get first dibs on the shower schedule. I’ve got practice at 6 a.m. most days.”

“Six a.m.?” Lily’s voice rose. “Who showers at six a.m.?”

“Hockey players,” he said, like it was obvious. “You got a problem with that, take it up with the team.”

She opened her mouth to argue, then snapped it shut. Arguing with Jaxon was like arguing with a brick wall—one that smirked and had annoyingly perfect cheekbones. “Fine,” she said. “But I get the bathroom from 7 to 8 p.m. No interruptions.”

“Deal.” He stepped closer, his voice dropping. “Anything else, Mrs. Wolfe?”

Her pulse skipped, and she took a step back, bumping into the counter. “Stop calling me that,” she said, but her voice lacked conviction.

He grinned, clearly enjoying her discomfort. “Gonna take some getting used to, huh?”

Before she could retort, her phone buzzed. A text from Mia: How’s move-in day with your hubby?

Lily typed back furiously: You’re dead to me. Again.

“Trouble in paradise already?” Jaxon asked, peering over her shoulder. She yelped, nearly dropping her phone.

“Personal space!” she snapped, shoving it into her pocket. “Ever heard of it?”

“Not really,” he said, unfazed. “We’re married now. Space is overrated.”

She glared, but her traitorous stomach fluttered. Get it together, Lily. She turned away, busying herself with unpacking her box. “We need ground rules,” she said, pulling out her cat mug and setting it on the counter. “No snooping, no stealing my food, and no… weird husband stuff.”

“Weird husband stuff?” Jaxon leaned against the fridge, crossing his arms. “Like what? Leaving my socks on the floor? Or are you worried I’ll try to cuddle?”

Her face flamed. “Cuddle? In your dreams, Wolfe.”

He laughed, a real laugh this time, deep and warm. “You’re fun when you’re flustered, Evans. Gotta say, this might not be so bad.”

She shot him a look. “Don’t get used to it. Six months, then we’re done.”

“Sure,” he said, but his eyes held hers a beat too long, like he was sizing her up for more than just a roommate.

They spent the next hour unpacking in tense silence, the apartment filling with the clatter of dishes and the rustle of clothes. Lily claimed the larger bedroom, which had a twin bed and a desk barely big enough for her laptop. Jaxon took the smaller one, his hockey gear spilling out of his duffel like it was staging a takeover. Every time they passed in the hallway, Lily felt his presence like a static charge, making her hyper-aware of every move she made.

As she hung her clothes in the closet, a knock at the door startled her. She opened it to find a woman in her fifties, wearing a floral cardigan and holding a clipboard. “Hi there!” the woman said, her smile too bright. “I’m Mrs. Delaney, the housing coordinator. Just checking in on our new married couple!”

Lily’s stomach dropped. “Oh, uh, hi,” she said, forcing a smile. “We’re just… settling in.”

Jaxon appeared behind her, his shoulder brushing hers as he leaned against the doorframe. “Hey, Mrs. Delaney,” he said, his voice smooth as ice. “Nice to meet you.”

Mrs. Delaney’s eyes lit up. “Oh, you must be Jaxon! And you’re Lily, right? You two make such a cute couple. How’s married life treating you so far?”

Lily choked on air, but Jaxon’s arm slid around her waist, pulling her close. “It’s great,” he said, his tone so convincing she almost believed him. “Right, babe?”

Her brain short-circuited at “babe.” She managed a nod, her face burning. “Y-yeah. Great.”

Mrs. Delaney beamed. “Wonderful! Just a heads-up, we do random check-ins to ensure couples are, you know, actually living together. The grant’s strict about that. But I’m sure you two won’t have any issues.” She winked, and Lily wanted to sink through the floor.

“No issues at all,” Jaxon said, his fingers tightening slightly on her waist. “We’re good, aren’t we, babe?”

“Peachy,” she muttered, shooting him a sideways glare.

Mrs. Delaney handed them a pamphlet. “This has all the rules and schedules. Let me know if you need anything!” She waved and bustled off, leaving Lily trapped in Jaxon’s half-embrace.

She shoved his arm away the second the door closed. “What was that?” she hissed. “Babe? Really?”

He shrugged, unfazed. “Had to sell it. You want that grant money to stick, don’t you?”

She crossed her arms. “You didn’t have to enjoy it so much.”

“Who says I was enjoying it?” he shot back, but his smirk said otherwise. He grabbed a water bottle from the fridge and headed for his room. “Get some sleep, Lily. We’ve got a long six months ahead.”

Lily watched him go, her heart racing for reasons she didn’t want to unpack. She sank onto the couch, staring at the pamphlet in her hands. Married Student Housing Guidelines. Rule #1: Couples must reside together for the duration of the grant. Rule #2: No subletting or unauthorized occupants.

She groaned, dropping her head into her hands. Six months of Jaxon Wolfe calling her “babe,” smirking like he knew her secrets, and filling their tiny apartment with his stupidly magnetic presence. This wasn’t just surviving. This was war.

Lily retreated to her room, gently closing the door behind her like it might insulate her from the chaos of the day. The small bedroom was barely wide enough to stretch in, but it was hers now; or at least for the next six months. She slipped off her shoes, placed her cat mug on the nightstand, and settled onto the twin bed with her legs curled beneath her.

She reached into the box she'd brought in the morning and pulled out a half-finished novel with a worn spine and folded pages. A bag of sour gummies and a pack of crackers sat beside her, her only comfort snacks in a place that didn’t feel like home yet. She tore open the gummies and popped one into her mouth, the tart sugar jolting her tastebuds awake. It didn’t erase the strangeness of living with Jaxon, but it helped.

As the afternoon drifted on, she lost herself in the story; at least for a while. The plot was just getting good, the characters tangled in some steamy love triangle, when a sudden blast of bass-heavy music shattered her concentration. The walls vibrated, the beat thumping like someone was slamming a hammer against her brain. She blinked, pulled out her earbuds, and stared at her door in disbelief.

There was no question who the culprit was.

Jaxon.

Of course.

At first, she tried to ignore it. She turned the page, then another. She read the same paragraph three times, trying to stay focused, but the music only got louder, the lyrics pounding into her skull. Her jaw clenched. Her fingers curled around the edge of the book.

Ten minutes. That’s how long she lasted.

With a groan, she snapped her book shut, tossed it onto the bed, and swung her legs over the side. “I swear to God,” she muttered, rising to her feet.

She stormed out of her room, her socks making soft thuds on the worn floorboards. She crossed the living room and stopped in front of Jaxon’s door. The music was even louder now, shaking the air around her. Her teeth buzzed from the vibrations.

She raised her fist to knock—then hesitated. What if he got mad? What if he thought she was being a nag?

She scowled. Nope. Doesn’t matter. He started this.

She knocked. Once. Twice.

No response.

She knew he was inside. The volume alone proved that. She knocked again, harder this time, then cupped her hand against the door and yelled, “Jaxon!”

Still nothing.

Fuming now, Lily reached for the doorknob. It turned easily beneath her fingers. She pushed the door open.

The music hit her like a physical wave; so loud it nearly knocked her backward. She stepped inside, squinting against the flashing lights of a mini speaker pulsing on the nightstand.

And there he was.

Jaxon.

On the floor.

Doing push-ups.

His body moved with smooth, practiced power; back muscles shifting beneath glistening skin, every motion fluid and effortless. He hadn’t noticed her yet, not over the blaring music and the steady rhythm of his own workout. Sweat rolled down his spine, trailing over dark tattoos inked across his shoulder blades. She couldn’t look away.

She stood frozen in the doorway, eyes locked on the broad, muscular form in front of her. Her heart thudded. She didn’t even realize she was holding her breath until he reached his last rep and slowly rose to his feet, his back still turned to her.

Then he turned.

Lily's breath caught.

His chest was bare; broad, sculpted, slick with sweat. A single bead of sweat ran from his collarbone, down over his firm pecs, and disappeared between the ridges of his abs.

God…

She hated to admit it, but—

He looked breathtaking.

Just then, the music stopped. Everywhere became silent.

She blinked, jolted back to herself like someone had yanked her out of a dream. Jaxon was facing her now, remote in hand, a teasing smirk curving on his lips.

Her eyes widened in horror as she realized.

He’d caught her staring.

Admiring him.

Drooling over him.

“Enjoying the view, wifey?” he said, voice low and amused.

Her face turned bright red. “What? No! I—” She flailed, her words collapsing in on themselves. “I knocked! You didn’t hear me!”

He chuckled, wiping sweat off his brow with the hem of a towel. “Yeah, the music kind of makes knocking useless. What brings you into my room, Mrs. Wolfe? Finally giving in to temptation?”

She opened her mouth, then closed it.

Wait—what had she come in here for again?

She blinked hard.

Right. The music.

“I came to tell you to turn the music down,” she snapped. “It's disturbing me, and I can't concentrate on the novel I'm reading.”

Jaxon smirked, “I thought you'd like the song.”

“It’s not the song, Jaxon,” she replied, getting frustrated already. “It’s the volume of the song. It’s way too loud.”

He tilted his head like he was thinking it over. “So it’s not the song itself?”

She crossed her arms. “No! It’s not the song. It’s just too loud.”

To her shock, he shrugged. “Alright. I won’t play it so loud next time.”

She blinked again. “That’s it?”

“Sure," he nodded with a smile. "You asked nicely. I can be reasonable.”

She stared at him a moment, unsure what surprised her more—that he agreed or that he hadn’t turned it into a five-minute argument. She lingered a moment too long before turning away and stepping out of the room.

Just as she crossed the threshold, the door slammed shut behind her, and she heard the locks clicking.

Then... BOOM!

The music exploded through the walls again, ten times louder than before.

Lily froze, and her eyes widened with shock.

Her hand shot to the knob, but the door was locked from inside.

She pounded on the door with her fist. “Jaxon!”

But as expected, she got no answer. The bass roared back at her like an insult. Her head throbbed with every beat.

“Are you kidding me?” she shouted, banging harder. “Open the stupid door!”

Still nothing.

She glared at the doorknob like she could melt it with sheer rage. But the music continued, loud and relentless.

She stomped back to her room, fuming. “I’m going to kill him,” she muttered, yanking her door open and slamming it behind her.