Sold to the Germaphobe Captain

"Whoever left that wild strawberry scent on my bed is dead," the severely germaphobic captain posted.

I froze. It was me.

Now, my idiot brother just locked me in Ronan's room to pay off a debt. Ronan ignored my boyish disguise. Leaning in, his nose brushed my hood.

"Wild strawberry," he whispered, a dangerous smirk forming. "It WAS you."

——

"Listen, Maeve, just drop this playbook on Ronan's desk. Don't touch his bed, don't touch his water bottle, and honestly, try not to even breathe!"

Jaxon was gripping my sleeve for dear life at the top of the stairs.

"He's a massive germaphobe! The last guy who dropped a pizza crumb on his rug is still in the campus hospital!"

"If you're so terrified of him, why did you steal his playbook to copy in the first place?" I scoffed, yanking my arm out of my idiot twin brother's grip and pulling the hood of his oversized sweatshirt over my head.

Right now, to avoid being recognized, I basically looked like a scrawny skater kid.

"I was borrowing it! Look, please, if you don't help me, I'm getting kicked out of the frat, and I won't even be able to make next month's rent!"

I rolled my eyes and turned toward the door at the end of the hall.

Ronan. Captain of the Eastwood University Crew Team.

Rumor had it he wasn't just a severe neat freak, but also a chronic insomniac with a temper like a Siberian wolf ready to rip someone's throat out at any moment.

Pushing the door open, I was hit by a blast of crisp cedarwood mixed with the sterile scent of disinfectant.

The room was ridiculously huge and clean as an O.R.

Holding my breath, I tossed the report onto his desk. I was just about to bolt when my eyes locked onto the king-size bed draped in Egyptian cotton sheets.

I was dead on my feet.

I had worked three night shifts in a row just to cover the hole Jaxon blew in his bank account with his sports betting last month.

That bed looked like it was literally glowing.

"Just for one minute," I told myself.

I didn't even dare take my shoes off, just gingerly perched on the very edge of the mattress.

But when I jolted awake, the sky outside the window was already getting light.

I had actually slept in Ronan's bed for four straight hours!

Panicking, I leaped up, snatched my dropped hoodie off the floor, and bolted.

A few hours later, I was sitting in the dining hall, chewing on a stale bagel, when Jaxon suddenly shoved his phone in my face like he'd seen a ghost.

"What the hell did you do?!" he hissed.

On the screen was the top trending post on YikYak. The poster was Ronan's exact account, which literally never posted anything personal:

[Who was in my room last night? That damn wild strawberry scent. Find them, or I'm tearing the entire Alpha house down.]

The comments underneath were going insane.

[Holy shit, doesn't Ronan literally spray Lysol if anyone gets within three feet of him?]

[Wild strawberry? Sounds like a girl. Did the Captain finally get laid?]

I froze like a statue, my brain practically short-circuiting.

I ducked my head and sniffed my hair. It was the exact scent of the cheap body lotion I’d been using for three years.

"Didn't you say you just dropped the report and left?" Jaxon's voice was shaking.

I swallowed hard. Before I could even open my mouth, a collective gasp ripped through the entrance of the dining hall.

Ronan strode in, looking absolutely murderous in a navy blue Varsity windbreaker.

His eyes swept across the room, and wherever his gaze landed, people instinctively stopped chewing.