Chapter 7 - The Almost kiss

NYU - Freshman Year

Winter Formal

The campus ballroom was too fancy for what it was—a glorified mixer with overpriced tickets and a DJ who had apparently been living under a rock since 2005. Still, everyone showed up because that's what you did. You put on a too-tight dress or an awkward tie and pretended college wasn't already crushing you under deadlines and existential dread.

Sophia stood by the refreshment table, nursing a warm soda, trying to ignore how the strap of her thrifted dress kept slipping off her shoulder. Priya was somewhere on the dance floor, grinding against a poor finance major who looked two songs away from passing out.

Sophia wasn't sure why she came. Except maybe she did.

Across the room, Bobby Knight was holding court. Hair perfectly messy, suit just wrinkled enough to look like he hadn't tried, flashing that smile that made half the room giggle and the other half glare.

She was in the second half. Definitely.

And yet… her eyes kept drifting back to him.

It was infuriating.

They'd been in the same classes since September—both loud-mouthed, ambitious, allergic to losing. He was entitled and cocky and absolutely insufferable, but somehow every debate, every presentation, felt sharper when he was there. Like they were both waiting for the other to slip up, to show a crack.

Sophia wasn't about to crack first.

Except then Bobby saw her.

Their eyes locked across the room, and his grin widened—like he could feel her glaring at him. And to her absolute horror, he started walking toward her.

Sophia turned sharply, knocking over a plastic cup of punch, which sloshed down her dress in a sticky red streak.

"Perfect," she muttered.

"Nice reflexes, Reyes."

His voice was right behind her.

Sophia closed her eyes for a second, summoned patience from somewhere deep, and turned. "What do you want, Knight?"

Bobby leaned against the table, too close, too casual. "One dance."

She blinked. "Are you drunk?"

"Only a little." He grinned. "Come on. One dance. Call it a truce."

She knew she should say she wanted to say no. But she ended up taking his hand.

"Fine."

The way his brow lifted like he couldn't believe she agreed only made her more determined not to let him get under her skin.

They stepped onto the dance floor, the music changing into a slow song. Before Sophia could change her mind, Bobby slid his hand to her waist, and her heart was beating so fast it felt like it was going to jump out of her chest.

"You're stiff," he said.

"Because I don't trust you."

He laughed and it wasn't sharp or cocky, But It was warm.

"You really think I'm that bad?"

"Yes."

"Harsh."

They started to move, and somehow, they fit together perfectly. His hand at her waist, hers on his shoulder, and the air between them so thick with tension she could barely breathe.

"I don't get you," she admitted quietly.

"What's there to get?"

"You're smart," she said. "You don't have to try so hard to be… this."

"This?" His brow quirked. "What am I?"

"Rich. Cocky. Full of yourself."

He leaned in just a little, his breath warm near her ear. "Maybe that's just what you see."

"What should I see?"

"Someone who actually gives a damn."

Her chest tightened. "Do you?"

"More than you think."

For a second, the music faded. The room disappeared. It was just him and her, breathing the same air, the weight of months of bickering and tension settling into something quieter. Something dangerous.

"Why do you hate me so much?" he asked softly.

"I don't…" She faltered. "I don't hate you."

His gaze dropped to her mouth. "Could've fooled me."

Sophia's pulse went wild. This was a mistake. A giant, beautiful mistake.

He leaned in. Slowly. Like he was giving her every chance to pull away.

She didn't.

His nose brushed hers, and her breath caught. His hand slid from her waist to her back, warm through the thin fabric of her dress. Her fingers curled against his shoulder.

And then

"Bobby!" A girl's voice high-pitched and drunk cut through the moment like a knife.

They broke apart instantly.

Across the room, some blonde girl from their econ class waved at Bobby like she'd been searching for him all night. Bobby sighed, running a hand through his hair, already stepping back.

Sophia's heart slammed against her ribs.

"Go," she said, voice sharp to cover the crack in it. "I'm sure you have a long list of girls waiting."

"Reyes"

"Save it." She turned, walking off the dance floor, leaving him standing there, looking as confused as she felt.

Present Day - Sophia's Apartment-

Sophia stood at her kitchen counter, staring at her phone, that memory playing like a movie she couldn't turn off. The almost kiss. The girl who interrupted. The way they never talked about it afterward, just dove straight into war like it never happened.

She'd told herself for years it didn't matter. That it was nothing. But some nights—like tonight—it still haunted her.

Her phone buzzed. A text from Priya.

Priya: Wine night tomorrow. No excuses.

Sophia smiled faintly.

Sophia: I'll bring the snacks.

Because if there was one person who remembered every messy chapter of the Sophia and Bobby Saga, it was Priya. And tomorrow, Sophia had a feeling they'd be revisiting it all.

 - Bobby's Penthouse-

Bobby lay on his couch, TV on mute, a tumbler of whiskey in his hand. He wasn't watching the screen.

He was thinking about a slow dance in a crowded room. About the way her breath hitched when he leaned in. About the kiss they never had.

And he was thinking about how, even after all these years, he still wanted it.

His phone buzzed.

Drew: Drinks tomorrow. Bring your emotional baggage.

Bobby smirked.

Bobby: Can't. Buried under work.

Drew: Weak excuse. See you at 8.

Bobby didn't argue. Maybe a night with Drew was exactly what he needed. A distraction.

Because the past was creeping closer every day. And this time, there was no running from it.