Between Hate and Heat (A Sweet & Steamy Campus Romance)

Between Hate and Heat A Sweet & Steamy Campus Romance by Ink_by_gift

Chapter 1: The Enemy Next Door

Maya Collins knew Brookfield University was supposed to feel like a fresh start, but the second she dragged her suitcase up the steps of Maple House on the first morning of junior year, fresh was the last word on her mind. Her little brother Noah had cried when she left home in Cleveland, her mom Elena had pressed a Tupperware of empanadas into her hands like armor, and Maya had promised them both she would make this year count. Then a black Jeep stole her move-in parking spot, blasted bass through the open windows, and a guy with too-blue eyes and too-perfect hair leaned out and said, Move it, freshman, with a grin that made her want to throw her suitcase at him. He was not sorry. He was Jace Carter, and she hated him in exactly four seconds. She had known the name Jace Carter long before she saw the Jeep. Everyone at Brookfield knew it. He was the senior architecture star, the debate champion who had beaten her in the freshman showcase final by turning her own argument against her, the boy whose fraternity parties always ended up on someone's Instagram story. Priya, her best friend and roommate, took one look at him carrying a mini-fridge up the stairs like it weighed nothing and whispered, Oh no, he's hot-hot. Maya elbowed her hard. He was the enemy, capital E, and enemies did not get to have dimples and forearms like that. Unfortunately, fate had a cruel sense of humor, because when Maya unlocked Room 302, the balcony next door slid open and there he was again, shirtless, holding a drill, saying, Hey, neighbor. The first war started over noise. Jace and his roommate Liam blasted music while building loft beds, and Maya was trying to arrange her desk the way her dad used to like it before he passed — neat, pens in a row, photo of the four of them at Cedar Point taped to the lamp. When the bass rattled her photo frame off the shelf, something snapped. She marched onto the shared balcony in her paint-stained overalls, hair in a messy bun, and yelled over the music. Jace turned, looked her slowly up and down in a way that made her skin prickle, and turned the music down one single notch. Better? he asked, all innocence. No, she said. Off is better. He laughed, low and warm, and said, You must be the debate girl. I like a girl who argues. Maya felt her cheeks burn. I am not a girl who argues, she said. I am a girl who wins. Someday, maybe. That night Priya made them both instant ramen and listened to Maya rant while unpacking fairy lights. You have to admit, Priya said, enemies-to-lovers is your favorite trope. You annotate those books like a maniac. This is real life, Maya said, slurping noodles. He is arrogant, loud, and parked like a raccoon. Priya grinned. And you memorized his license plate. That is love behavior. Maya threw a pillow at her, but she was laughing for the first time since leaving home, and when she called her mom to say goodnight, Elena said, Mija, be kind to new people. You never know who will matter. Noah stole the phone to tell her about his soccer tryouts, and Maya promised to come home for his first game. After she hung up, the balcony door rattled, and a folded note slid under it. Sorry about the photo frame. — J. P.S. You argue cute. She should have thrown the note away. Instead she kept it, tucked into her desk mirror, and told herself it was evidence for future war crimes. At 2 a.m., when the dorm finally went quiet, she stepped onto the balcony for air and found Jace there too, elbows on the railing, looking at the bell tower lit gold against the black sky. For a moment he was not smirking. He

looked almost soft. Couldn't sleep? he asked quietly. First-night jitters, she admitted before she could stop herself. Me too, he said, surprising her. Senior year is a lot. They stood there in the cool September air, not fighting, just breathing the same quiet. Then Liam shouted his name from inside, Jace winked and disappeared, and Maya went back to bed with her heart beating too fast. Enemy, she reminded herself firmly, staring at the ceiling. Definitely an enemy.

Chapter 2: War Over Ink

The Brookfield Review office smelled like old coffee and printer ink, and Maya loved it more than any lecture hall on campus. She had worked two years as a staff writer, covering dining-hall scandals and lonely library cats, all to earn one thing: editor-in-chief for junior and senior year. Professor Alvarez, the faculty advisor with silver hoops and a no-nonsense bun, pinned the application list to the corkboard on Tuesday, and Maya's stomach dropped straight through the floor. There were only two names on it. Maya Collins. Jace Carter. Priya, who had come for moral support, actually gasped out loud. He doesn't even write, Maya hissed. He builds models and breaks hearts. Alvarez heard her and smiled tightly. Then prove you want it more. Both of you will co-run the fall issue as a trial. The board will choose in December. Jace arrived ten minutes late to the first editorial meeting, carrying two coffees, and set one down in front of Maya without asking. Oat-milk latte, right? he said. You order it loud enough on the balcony every morning. The whole staff watched them like a tennis match. Maya pushed the coffee back. I don't take bribes from the competition, she said. It's not a bribe, he said, sitting too close in the cramped conference room so his knee brushed hers under the table. It's reconnaissance. Keep your enemies caffeinated. She moved her knee away, but the warmth lingered, annoying and electric. Alvarez assigned them joint duty: a campus housing exposé, co-bylined, due in three weeks. That means interviews, late nights, shared docs, Alvarez said. If you can survive each other, you can run this paper. Their first interview was a disaster that was almost fun. The dorm manager, Mrs. Kowalski, loved Jace because he fixed her wobbly bookshelf on the spot, and Maya had to admit his charm was a reporting superpower. But back in the office, they fought over every sentence. That lede is soft, Jace said, leaning over her laptop, his shoulder pressing into hers. Your lede is a pickup line, she shot back. That lede got you to look at me twice. The room went quiet, two freshmen interns suddenly fascinated by their keyboards. Maya's ears burned. She hated that he could fluster her with one sentence. She hated more that his edit was actually good — tighter, funnier, more alive. She accepted it with a tight nod, and he looked genuinely surprised. See? he murmured. We make a good team. Don't get used to it, she said. After the meeting Priya dragged her to the dining hall for emergency fries. Okay, Priya said, stealing half of them, he brings you coffee, remembers your order, edits like a dream, and looks at you like you're a plot twist. What exactly is the problem? The problem, Maya said, is that guys like him always win. Debate final, housing lottery, now this. My scholarship needs this title. I can't afford to be cute and lose. Priya's face softened. She knew about the scholarship, about Elena working double shifts at the clinic, about Noah needing braces. Hey, Priya said, squeezing her hand. You're the hardest worker here. But maybe he isn't the villain. Maybe he's just a boy. Maya thought of the note in her mirror, the quiet moment on the balcony. Maybe, she said. But I'm not betting my future on maybe. That night Maya stayed late to rewrite the draft alone, determined to prove she didn't need him. Rain hammered the office windows, and she was deep in a paragraph about mold in Whitaker Hall when the door opened and Jace came in, soaked, holding a bag of dining-hall cookies. Alvarez gave me a key too, he said, shaking water from his hair. Co-captains,

remember? He didn't tease her. He just sat down across from her, rolled up his sleeves, and started fact-checking footnotes without being asked. They worked in silence for an hour, the rain softening, the cookies disappearing between them. When Maya finally stretched and yawned, Jace looked up and said, You're good, Collins. Really good. I voted for you in the freshman debate, you know. You should have won. Her chest tightened. Then why did you take it? she whispered. Because I wanted you to remember me, he said. And left her staring after him as he walked into the rain.

Chapter 3: Forced Proximity

Professor Alvarez did not believe in coincidences. She believed in seating charts. So when Media Ethics assigned a semester-long paired project — podcast, five episodes, on a topic that matters — and Maya saw her name next to Jace Carter on the projector, she knew the universe was conspiring. A few classmates snickered. Liam, Jace's broad-shouldered roommate with a kind smile, mouthed sorry from two rows back. Jace just turned around in his seat, grinned, and said loud enough for everyone to hear, Don't worry, Collins. I'll carry the audio equipment. You carry the attitude. Maya wanted to sink through the floor. After class he caught up to her in the hallway, backpack slung low. Look, he said, more serious than usual, I know you think I signed up to torture you. I didn't. Let's pick something real. Brookfield rent hikes? Scholarship gaps? That matters to you. That matters to me too. They agreed to meet in the library's basement studio, a glass-walled room that smelled like dust and old headphones. Their topic: Who Gets to Belong at Brookfield? — stories of scholarship kids, first-gen students, dorm workers, the invisible campus. Maya brought outlines and color-coded questions. Jace brought a professional mic he had borrowed from the architecture lab and a bag of sour gummy bears. You plan like a general, he said, watching her arrange index cards. You improvise like a golden retriever, she said, but she took a gummy bear. Their first test recording was all bickering and laughter, and when Maya played it back, she was shocked at how good they sounded together — her low, steady voice, his warm, quick one, overlapping like music. We sound... real, she said quietly. Yeah, he said, watching her mouth. Real good. The forced hours piled up. Tuesday studio, Thursday interviews, Sunday editing. They learned each other's rhythms. Maya…