The Girl in the Hoodie is Mine

Jason POV:

Fuck. I woke up to the piercing sunlight streaming through my window, my body screaming in protest as I tried to move. It felt like I’d been hit by a truck, courtesy of the coach’s "disciplinary" workout yesterday. My muscles were on fire, and every inch of me felt like hell.

Then I checked the time 8:45 a.m., and my brain instantly went into panic mode. Class started at 9 a.m. — and not just any class, but Professor Matthews’ class.

Great. Just my luck.

Professor Matthews was the one professor who couldn’t care less about who you were outside the classroom. The man was as no-nonsense as they came. In his own words, he wouldn’t recognize any of us until we "made it in life"—and not because of our family names, but by proving ourselves.

Honestly, that was one of the reasons I’d decided to start my own company, LBJ. I didn’t want to be seen as just another King, flaunting my surname and coasting off my family’s influence. I wanted to prove him wrong, prove that I wasn’t just some rich kid coasting on my family name. LBJ was my baby, a company I built from the ground up without the King name attached to it. No connections, no shortcuts—just me. That’s why I’d kept my identity as LBJ’s CEO a secret—so no one would throw lucrative deals my way simply because of my last name.

But let’s face it: Today, none of that mattered.

Despite all of that motivation, today? Yeah, screw Matthews and his class.

My body still felt like it had been hit by a freight train. Yesterday’s triple punishment from the coach had left me in shambles. Every muscle ached, and my legs protested as I swung them out of bed. Skipping class was looking like a better idea by the second, but...

Ella.

On a normal day, I might’ve dragged myself there, but let’s be real—I just wanted to see Ella.

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. I wanted to see her. If it weren’t for her, I’d have zero motivation to show up to class today.

A brilliant idea struck me as I tossed my phone on the bed and smirked. Why show up when I could use this as an opportunity? Oh, yeah. Perfect plan.

With that thought, I decided: I was skipping today.

I grabbed my phone to call Max and Dylan. Knowing them, they were probably still knocked out, especially after yesterday’s ordeal. Unsurprisingly, neither of the idiots picked up.

"Stupid jerks," I muttered, tossing my phone aside. If they didn’t want to answer, fine. I’d just assume they were skipping too.

Grabbing my phone again, I quickly typed out a message to Ella.

Me: Hey, Ella. Not feeling too great, so I can’t make it to class today. Could you take some good notes for me? I’d really appreciate it.

I hit send, already feeling a little smug. It wasn’t too pushy, but it was enough to start a conversation—or at least get her thinking about me.

Waiting was absolute torture. Every time my phone buzzed, I’d snatch it up, heart racing, only to realize it was something stupid—a spam email, a weather alert, or Max ranting in our group chat about missing Matthews’ class. Big deal, Max, I thought, ignoring his angry texts about how the professor had assigned some huge project. Dylan wasn’t much better, grumbling about how we were "screwed."

But honestly? I didn’t care. It was Friday, and we didn’t have any other classes. No point in driving to campus just to kill time. My plan for the day was simple: chill until practice at 4 p.m. This time, I wasn’t going to be late. An angry coach meant another round of hell, and my body couldn’t handle that again.

The only thing I was worried about was Ella. I kept checking my phone every ten minutes, waiting for her reply. By the time her message finally came, it was right before practice. My heart leaped as I opened it, already imagining what she might’ve said.

But what I read? Not exactly what I was hoping for.

Ella: "Fuck off. Ask someone else."

I stared at the screen for a moment, trying to decide whether to laugh or groan. Classic Ella. Of course, she’d shoot me down with zero hesitation. She wasn’t the type to sugarcoat things or go easy on anyone—especially not me.

I couldn’t even be mad, though. If anything, I’d didn’t put past her. Most girls would’ve jumped at the chance to help me, but not Ella. She wasn’t impressed by titles, charm, or persistence. If I wanted to win her over, I’d have to play the long game.

With a smirk, I pocketed my phone and grabbed my stuff for practice. Her words echoed in my head as I walked out the door.

"Fuck off."

Nope not goner happen

Practice was brutal as always, but I powered through it, driven by something more than just the coach’s yelling. My body ached like hell, but I didn’t care. I had a plan—a surprise study date with Ella. Okay, so she wasn’t exactly aware of it yet, but that was just a minor detail.

After practice, Max and Dylan were in their usual moods, debating whether to hit the diner. They always dragged me along, and normally, I wouldn’t argue, but not tonight.

"Hey, you coming?" Max asked, tossing his bag over his shoulder.

"Nah," I said, keeping it casual. "Got stuff to do."

"Stuff? What kind of ’stuff’?" Dylan asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Just stuff," I said, not offering more.

They gave me a suspicious look but didn’t press further. As they headed toward their cars, Max muttered something about me being no fun anymore. I smirked, watching them drive off toward the diner like they always did.

With them out of the way, I headed home. I didn’t bother showering at the gym—there wasn’t time. Instead, I raced into my place, took my time in the shower, making sure every trace of sweat from practice was gone. Ella wasn’t the type to miss little details, and there was no way I’d let her complain that I reeked of effort and desperation—not tonight.

Practice had ended late, around 7:30 PM, and I knew her shift at the diner on Fridays usually wrapped up around 9:00 PM. That left me roughly an hour and a half. Just enough time to clean up, prep, and get there before she headed home.

As I rinsed off, I ran through the plan in my head. Play it cool. No pushing, no overwhelming her like I usually did. Just casual—well, as casual as showing up uninvited to her place could be.

I quickly dried off, threw on a clean, dark hoodie, and paired it with some jeans. Simple, but enough to look like I didn’t just stumble off the basketball court. My hair? A quick run-through with my fingers; no need to overdo it.

My phone buzzed on the counter, but I ignored it. Whatever it was, it could wait.

I glanced at the clock. 8:05 PM.

The nerves kicked in. What if she wasn’t in the mood? What if she slammed the door in my face? Or worse—what if she ignored me completely?

I shook it off. Ella was unpredictable, but that only made her more interesting. Besides, I wasn’t about to back down now.

Then came the tricky part: gathering everything for the "study date." I grabbed a textbook, some notebooks, and a couple of pens. Did I know if we had an actual assignment? Nope. But it wasn’t about the studying—it was about spending time with her.

Next, I packed some snacks—nothing too fancy, just enough to make it look like I’d thought this through. And for the final touch, I grabbed my phone and sent her a text:

Me: Hey, mind if I come over? Need to catch up on what I missed in class.

This time, I wasn’t about to wait around for a reply. I already knew how it would go—Ella would outright turn me down with her usual sass, probably tell me to "get lost" or "go bother someone else." So, I decided to skip the whole back-and-forth nonsense.

Now, was I actually behind in class? No. Did I care? Also no. This was about Ella, and I wasn’t going to waste the chance to see her again.

And then I hit send before I could overthink it.

Cheeky? Absolutely. But what could she do? Ignore it? By the time she saw the message, I’d already be outside her place, notebook in hand. Plausible deniability—classic Jason move. If she called me out, I could always say, "But I told you beforehand, didn’t I?"

With everything ready, I hopped into my car, heart pounding. Would she say yes? Probably not. Would I show up anyway? Absolutely.

I smirked to myself as I started the car. A guy’s gotta do what a guy’s gotta do. Ella could be stubborn as hell, but so was I. Besides, she couldn’t avoid me forever... right?

This was going to be the start of something—if I didn’t completely screw it up.