Beneath the Lone Star Heat

The Texas sun was unrelenting, pouring molten gold onto the concrete sidewalks of the University of Texas campus. Savannah Reed adjusted her grip on the duffel bag hanging from her shoulder, the wheels of her suitcase clacking behind her as she crossed the quad. Her jeans clung to her legs, her white blouse already sticking to her back, and she was certain her face was glistening with sweat. Not exactly the grand entrance she'd imagined when she received her acceptance letter six months ago.

"Welcome to Austin, y'all," she muttered under her breath, glancing up at the clock tower.

Savannah wasn't here to blend in. She was here to rewrite her life.

Two years at community college back in Lubbock had been tolerable at best. The professors had been fine, the work easy enough-but the stares, the whispers, and the suffocating small-town expectations had worn her down like desert wind on sandstone. She was the girl who never went out, who stayed home with her books and kept her head down after the accident-the one everyone whispered about but never dared to say aloud.

But here, at UT Austin, no one knew her. No one would ask about her mom's drinking. Or the fire. Or how a seventeen-year-old girl ended up practically raising her little brother.

Here, she could start over. As someone bright. Someone focused. Someone not broken.

Her dorm, tucked between a tower of ivy-covered brick and a building that looked like it hadn't been updated since the 70s, was a modest but welcome sight. Room 204.

She hesitated at the door before pushing it open.

Inside was a flurry of color and chaos. Posters were already pinned up, and a pile of throw pillows in every possible shade of pink and purple covered the bed by the window.

The girl unpacking lip gloss and curling irons turned with a squeal. "You must be my roomie! Oh my God, I was starting to think you bailed!"

Savannah blinked. "Uh, hi. I'm Savannah."

"I'm Bianca!" Her roommate bounded over and engulfed her in a perfumed hug. "I cannot wait to make memories with you. You're gonna love it here-except, heads up, steer clear of frat row on Thursdays unless you want to end up on someone's Snap story doing body shots."

Savannah blinked again. "Noted."

She was still digesting the whirlwind that was Bianca when her phone buzzed.

Assignment alert from The Hornet-the campus's top digital magazine and student-run news site. Savannah had scored a coveted spot as a junior contributor after sending in a five-part investigative series on local corruption back in Lubbock. She'd checked the news site every morning since move-in day, waiting for her first real piece.

She opened the message.

> Welcome aboard, Reed. Your first assignment: Jace Callahan, motocross legend, bad boy, and the university's most controversial legacy student. Interview him. Cover the tournament. Try not to get burned.

Savannah scowled.

She tapped the name into her search bar. Within seconds, a cascade of images flooded the screen.

Jace Callahan. Dark-haired. Smirking. Shirtless in half of the shots, tattooed in the rest. Headlines like "Oil Heir Gone Wild" and "Scandal in the Saddle" dominated the results. One article mentioned how he wrecked a $50,000 bike doing a backflip during last spring's charity ride. Another linked him to two different girls in one weekend.

She sighed and closed the tab.

So this was college. Assignment one? Cover the spoiled rich kid with too many fans and not enough supervision. Fantastic.

---

Later that evening, Savannah sat alone on a bench near the motocross arena, her notebook on her lap.

She could hear the engines even from here. Roaring like caged beasts. The crowd beyond the bleachers was already thick-sorority girls in cutoffs, guys in jerseys, faculty pretending they weren't annoyed to be there. A typical Texas scene-beer, bravado, and boys on bikes.

And at the center of it all?

Him.

She didn't have to see his face to know it was him. The way the crowd shifted when he walked by. The way the other riders looked at him-not with camaraderie but with the wary respect reserved for a king everyone hated but dared not cross.

He was tall, lean, cocky.

As if summoned by her doubt, he stepped off his bike and sauntered toward her, helmet under one arm.

"You stalking me already?" His voice was like molasses and gasoline-smooth with an undercurrent of danger.

Savannah stood. "I'm with The Hornet. I'm supposed to interview you."

"Right. Another fluff piece? Or are you one of the serious ones?" He smirked and sat down beside her without waiting for an invitation. "You look too buttoned-up to be the usual fan type."

"I'm not a fan," she said, her voice flat.

"Good. They're exhausting."

She opened her notebook. "Jace Callahan, sophomore, undeclared major, motocross star, heir to Callahan Oil. Let's start with this: Why do you race?"

He tilted his head, considering.

"No one's ever asked me that without already assuming the answer. You know-'Daddy's money', 'rich boy needs a thrill', all that garbage."

Savannah met his gaze. "Is it true?"

His eyes flashed something unreadable. "Maybe. Or maybe I just like the speed. The noise. The fact that it's the only place I can be in control."

That was more honest than she expected.

She jotted it down.

"Savannah, right?" he asked, leaning a little closer. "Where you from?"

"Lubbock."

He grinned. "Country girl. Explains the boots."

She tucked her foot under the bench.

"They're practical."

"So am I."

She turned to face him. "Are you always like this?"

"Charming?"

"Unbearable."

He laughed, and it startled her. Not because it was loud, but because it was real. For a moment, she saw the boy under the bravado.

And for a moment, that terrified her.

She closed her notebook. "I've got enough. Thanks."

"You're not staying to watch?"

"I've got homework."

He stood, stretching his arms behind his head. "Well, I'll be sure to dedicate my win to the girl who didn't bother to stay."

She walked away before he could see her smile.

---