Chapter 3 – Ava

Riley Bennett is going to be the death of me.

I don't know why it bothers me so much, but the way she sits there—quiet, distant, acting like she's too good to engage with me—makes my skin itch.

She's always been this way. Cool. Untouchable. Like nothing fazes her.

And that? That's infuriating.

Because I want to faze her. I want to crack that perfect, controlled exterior just to see what's underneath.

But Riley Bennett doesn't break easily.

I lean forward, resting my chin on my hand, watching as she flips through her notes, completely ignoring me.

"So," I say, dragging out the word. "Are you actually planning to talk to me at some point, or is this just how we're gonna communicate for the rest of the semester? You staring at your notebook and me doing all the work?"

She doesn't even glance up. "I am working."

I smirk. "Uh-huh. And yet, you haven't said a single word to me about our project."

Riley exhales through her nose, like she's this close to snapping. But she doesn't.

And that? That's a shame.

Because I love getting under her skin.

She finally looks up, her brown eyes sharp with irritation. "I assumed you were capable of reading, Carter."

"Oof. That one almost hurt."

Her jaw tightens. "If you'd stop talking for five seconds, maybe we'd actually make progress."

I grin. "But where's the fun in that?"

She shakes her head, muttering something under her breath before finally pushing her notebook toward me.

I scan her notes, raising an eyebrow. "Okay, this is actually... not terrible."

Riley gives me a flat look. "Wow. High praise."

I chuckle, but as much as I love teasing her, I can't deny that her notes are solid. She's always been the best in class, and honestly, that's probably half the reason we even became rivals in the first place.

We were always competing. Always trying to outdo each other.

And now?

Now we're stuck working together.

I tap my pen against the table, thinking. "Alright. We can work with this. But I think we need a stronger argument to tie everything together."

Riley nods slowly, and for the first time, her expression softens—just a little. Like she's actually considering my input instead of immediately dismissing me.

It's a small victory.

But I'll take it.

We fall into a surprisingly comfortable rhythm, bouncing ideas back and forth, refining our argument. And for a while, it's almost... normal. Like we're not constantly at each other's throats.

But then, because the universe hates me, my ex walks in.

Chelsea.

Tall, blonde, annoyingly gorgeous Chelsea.

I feel her before I see her, the shift in the air as she moves through the library, her voice carrying just loud enough to make my stomach twist.

Riley must notice something in my expression because she follows my gaze, her eyebrows drawing together slightly.

"Problem?" she asks.

I force a smirk. "Nope."

But of course, Chelsea spots me. And just like that, she's walking over, her perfect smile in place.

"Ava," she says smoothly, like we're old friends instead of two people who haven't spoken since she dumped me.

I resist the urge to groan. "Chelsea. Fancy seeing you here."

She tilts her head, her blue eyes flicking to Riley before settling back on me. "Didn't expect to find you studying. That's new."

I grit my teeth. "Well, people change."

Chelsea hums, clearly unconvinced. Then, before I can stop her, she turns her attention fully to Riley.

"And you must be Riley," she says, her smile never wavering. "I've heard so much about you."

Riley straightens, her expression unreadable. "Can't say the same."

Chelsea chuckles. "Oh, I doubt that. Ava loves talking about you."

I want to die.

Riley's gaze flickers to me, her eyes dark with something I can't quite place. "Is that so?"

I clear my throat, refusing to let Chelsea win this. "Well, we are rivals. It's kind of hard not to talk about each other."

Chelsea's smile sharpens. "Mm. Sure."

Riley, to my absolute horror, smirks. "So, ex-girlfriend, huh?"

I glare at her. "Don't start."

Chelsea laughs, clearly enjoying this. "Oh, I like you."

Riley leans back in her chair, crossing her arms. "Most people do."

I roll my eyes, but there's something almost amused in Riley's tone, and I don't know how to feel about that.

Chelsea studies me for a second, then shrugs. "Well, I won't keep you. Just wanted to say hi."

She winks before walking off, and I exhale sharply, running a hand through my hair.

Riley watches her go, then turns back to me. "That was… something."

I groan. "Let's just pretend that didn't happen."

She raises an eyebrow. "Oh, no. I think I like knowing you have ex-drama."

I scowl. "Don't make me regret working with you."

She smirks, flipping back to her notes. "Too late."

---

The rest of our study session is weirdly productive. Despite the awkward interruption, we actually manage to put together a solid outline.

And by the time we finish, I almost—almost—forget that Riley Bennett is supposed to be my enemy.

But then, as we're packing up, she glances at me and says, "For the record, Chelsea's definitely not over you."

I freeze. "What?"

Riley shrugs. "Just saying. She was way too invested in this little rivalry of ours."

I scoff. "Yeah, well, she ended things, so it doesn't matter."

Riley tilts her head, watching me for a beat too long. "If you say so."

And then, just like that, she's gone, leaving me standing there, heart pounding, wondering what the hell just happened.

I know I should be focusing on the assignment, but my mind keeps drifting—not just to the frustration of working with Riley, but to the fact that this entire situation feels dangerously close to something I can't quite name.

There's a weight in my chest, an uncomfortable pressure that lingers as I watch her. The way she tucks her dark hair behind her ear. The way she taps her fingers against the edge of the desk when she's thinking. The way she bites her lip in concentration, completely unaware of how irritatingly attractive she is when she does that.

And I hate that I notice.

Because it makes no sense.

I've spent years thinking Riley Bennett was my biggest annoyance. My enemy, even. She's always been in my way—outshining me, outsmarting me, never once letting me win without a fight.

But now?

Now I can't stop looking at her.

And worse, she's looking back.

Every once in a while, I catch her watching me, her expression unreadable, her gaze dipping just a fraction too long before she glances away.

It shouldn't mean anything.

But it does.

It feels like an unspoken challenge, a push and pull neither of us are willing to acknowledge yet.

I force myself to focus, flipping through the notes in front of me. "So, if we go with this argument, we need stronger sources to back it up," I say, clearing my throat. "I don't want to half-ass this."

Riley smirks. "Are you implying I would ever half-ass something?"

I roll my eyes. "No, I'm implying that I would if you let me."

Her smirk lingers, and for a second, something passes between us—something I can't name, but it makes my pulse quicken.

But before I can overthink it, the moment is shattered.

Chelsea walks in.

And just like that, my stomach knots.

I don't have to look to know she's seen me. I can feel it. That sharp, knowing presence that used to be comforting but now just feels suffocating.

I brace myself, but it doesn't stop the immediate tension that coils through me as she makes her way over, her confidence practically radiating off of her.

"Ava," she greets, her voice too smooth, too familiar.

I force a neutral expression. "Chelsea."

Her gaze flicks between me and Riley, amusement dancing in her eyes. "Didn't expect to find you working so hard."

I grit my teeth. "Yeah, well. Shocking things happen."

Chelsea hums, her attention shifting fully to Riley now. And for some reason, that sets off something uneasy in me.

"So," Chelsea says, tilting her head. "This is the Riley Bennett?"

Riley doesn't react, her face unreadable. "That's me."

Chelsea smiles, slow and assessing. "You know, I always wondered what kind of person could keep up with Ava's ego."

I shoot her a glare. "Seriously?"

She shrugs. "What? It's a compliment."

I glance at Riley, expecting her to be irritated, but to my surprise, she just smirks. "It's funny," she says, leaning back in her chair. "I always wondered what kind of person could put up with Ava."

Chelsea laughs, like she actually enjoys this.

And that? That infuriates me.

"Wow, okay, glad you two are hitting it off," I mutter, slamming my notebook shut.

Chelsea gives me a look, like she knows exactly what she's doing. "Relax, Ava. I'm just curious."

Her eyes flicker to Riley again, and I swear there's something calculated behind them. Like she's testing something. Pushing something.

Riley doesn't take the bait. She just meets Chelsea's gaze, completely unfazed.

"If you're trying to get a reaction out of me," Riley says coolly, "you'll have to try harder."

Chelsea's smile falters—just for a second.

And for some stupid reason, that makes my chest tighten.

Because Riley isn't just brushing Chelsea off. She's protecting me.

I don't know why I know that.

I just do.

Chelsea hums, clearly unimpressed, and finally steps back. "Well, I won't keep you. Enjoy your study date."

And then, just like that, she's gone.

But she leaves something behind.

Tension.

Lingering, unspoken, heavy tension between me and Riley.

I exhale sharply, running a hand through my hair. "Well, that was fun."

Riley watches me carefully. "You okay?"

I force a smirk. "Please. She's old news."

Riley doesn't look convinced.

"She's not over you," she says after a moment.

I blink. "What?"

She shrugs, her voice too casual. "The way she looked at me? She was testing something. Trying to see if there's anything between us."

My heart stutters. "And?"

Riley tilts her head. "What do you think?"

The question is too loaded, too much, and suddenly, I can't breathe right.

"I think you're overanalyzing," I say quickly, grabbing my bag. "Can we just move on?"

She doesn't argue. But she also doesn't look away.

And as we walk out of the library together, I feel it again.

That pull.

That undeniable, frustrating, dangerous pull between us.

And I have no idea what the hell to do about it.

The moment Chelsea walks away, I feel like I can breathe again.

I hate that she still has that effect on me.

I hate that my pulse speeds up whenever she's around, not because I want her anymore, but because she's a reminder of everything I should've seen coming.

Riley is watching me. I can feel it.

"You sure you're okay?" she asks, her voice low but sharp, like she's not convinced.

I let out a short, humorless laugh. "Why wouldn't I be?"

She leans back, crossing her arms. "Because your ex just tried to get under your skin, and from where I'm sitting, it worked."

I bristle at that. "It didn't work," I lie.

Riley just raises an eyebrow, like she doesn't buy it for a second.

And that pisses me off.

"Look," I snap, "Chelsea is just—she's just Chelsea. She likes to poke at people, and she likes thinking she still matters."

Riley tilts her head slightly, studying me. "And does she?"

I hesitate. Because the honest answer?

No.

Not in the way she wants.

But the fact that I hesitate makes something flicker in Riley's eyes.

I don't know what it is.

I just know it makes my stomach tighten in a way I hate.

"Forget about her," I say quickly, flipping my notebook open again. "Can we just finish this?"

For a second, I think she's going to press the issue.

But she doesn't.

Instead, she nods, her expression unreadable, and we get back to work.

Except now, there's something charged between us.

Something I can't ignore.

Every time I shift in my chair, I'm aware of how close we are. Every time she reaches for something, I feel the way our arms brush.

And it bothers me how much I notice.

At some point, Riley stretches, letting out a small sigh, and I catch the way her shirt rides up just a little. Just enough to reveal a sliver of smooth, toned skin.

And that?

That shouldn't make my mouth go dry.

But it does.

I swallow hard, forcing my gaze back down, but it's too late. The image is already burned into my brain, and suddenly, I'm way too aware of how warm the library is.

I hate this.

I hate her.

Or at least, I used to.

"Hey," Riley murmurs, leaning in just slightly. "You're staring."

I jolt, heart slamming against my ribs. "What? No, I'm not."

She smirks. "You totally are."

I glare at her. "I was not."

Riley chuckles, shaking her head, and for some reason, the sound makes my stomach flutter.

God, I need to get a grip.

We somehow make it through another hour of studying, but I don't retain a single word. Every part of me is just too aware of her. Of the way she breathes. Of the way she leans forward when she's deep in thought.

Of the way her lips curve just slightly when she's amused.

And then, just as I think I might be getting a handle on myself—

She stretches again.

This time, her shirt lifts higher.

And for one horrifying second, my brain short-circuits.

Because I'm looking.

I'm definitely looking.

And then Riley catches me.

Her smirk is slow, lazy, devastating. "Told you."

I clench my jaw, slamming my book shut. "We're done here."

She laughs. Actually laughs.

"Aw, come on, Ava," she teases. "No need to get so flustered."

"I'm not flustered," I grind out.

Riley's smirk deepens.

"Sure," she drawls, dragging out the word like she knows exactly what she's doing. "Whatever you say."

I shove my things into my bag, my face burning.

And as I storm out of the library, Riley right behind me, I know one thing for certain.

I am in so much trouble.