A pearl-white Ferrari Roma sat idling at the curb outside Meridian Hall, its engine a low, impatient purr.

Students paused on the walkway, sneaking glances at the car, at the driver.

A figure emerged from the glass doors of the athletic complex across the quad. Broad-shouldered, walking with that confident, almost arrogant stride that parted the crowd like a knife through water.

Jax.

He was in his practice jersey, sleeves cut off, showing off arms that had no business being that defined. His duffel was slung over one shoulder, and he was laughing at something Tank said behind him.

Then his gaze cut across the lawn.

Found her.

Then Jax changed direction. Strolling toward the Ferrari like he had all the time in the world.

The passenger door opened.