Chapter 8 – Riley

I shouldn't have gone to her dorm.

I know that the second I step out into the cool night air, my hands shoved deep into my hoodie pockets, my pulse still hammering from that moment—that damn moment—when Ava's fingers brushed against mine.

I shouldn't have noticed how soft her skin was. I shouldn't have held onto the notebook for even a second longer than necessary.

I definitely shouldn't have cared enough to check on her in the first place.

But I did.

And I have no idea what the fuck to do with that.

My feet move on autopilot across campus, but my brain is still stuck in that doorway, still replaying the way she looked at me—like she knew I was lying when I said I didn't care.

Because I was lying.

And I hate that.

I hate how much space she takes up in my head, how much this—whatever this is—has started to unravel something inside me.

This isn't how it's supposed to go.

Ava and I hate each other.

We always have.

At least, that's what I keep telling myself.

I make it back to my dorm and push the door open, expecting the room to be empty. Instead, I walk in to find my roommate, Lex, sprawled on her bed, scrolling through her phone. She glances up, raising an eyebrow.

"Where've you been?" she asks.

"Nowhere," I say automatically, kicking off my shoes.

"Uh-huh." She gives me a knowing look, sitting up. "So, just to clarify—you did not just go out of your way to return something to Ava Sinclair?"

I freeze mid-step. "What?"

Lex smirks. "*Mia texted me. Said Ava left her notebook at the café, and you were weirdly quick to grab it. Then, a few minutes ago, she texted again and said you actually *brought it to her.**"

I glare. "Tell Mia to mind her damn business."

Lex snorts. "Yeah, that's not gonna happen. She lives for this shit."

I sigh and flop onto my bed, staring at the ceiling. "It wasn't a big deal."

"Oh, totally," Lex says, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Because Riley Knight definitely goes out of her way for people she doesn't care about."

"I don't care about her," I mutter.

Lex hums. "Sure. And I'm straight."

I throw a pillow at her. "Shut up."

She just laughs, catching it easily. "Look, all I'm saying is… I've known you for a long time, Riley. And I've never seen you this worked up over anyone. It's suspicious."

I don't answer.

Because I don't have one.

Because I don't want to admit that maybe—just maybe—she's right.

But I refuse to go there.

I can't go there.

Because if I do, I'll have to face the truth—the one I've been avoiding since the first time Ava Sinclair challenged me, since the first time she looked at me like I was the only person in the room.

And I'm not sure I'm ready for that.

Not yet.

Not when everything is already starting to slip through my fingers.

Lex doesn't press, but I can feel her watching me, like she's waiting for me to slip up. Like she already knows the truth and is just waiting for me to admit it.

I refuse to give her the satisfaction.

Instead, I roll onto my side, facing the wall. "It was just a notebook," I mutter. "Can we drop it?"

Lex hums thoughtfully, and I swear I can hear her smirk. "Oh, totally. We can definitely drop it."

Silence stretches between us.

For a second, I think she's actually letting it go.

Then—

"So, did you two fight, or was it like, I don't know… a moment?"

I groan. "Jesus Christ, Lex."

"What? It's a valid question."

I don't answer.

Because the truth is—I don't know.

It should have been a fight. That's what Ava and I do. We argue, we push, we get under each other's skin. But tonight… tonight was different.

She didn't push.

And worse—I didn't want her to.

I clench my jaw, staring at the wall. "I just gave her the notebook and left. That's it."

Lex makes a doubtful noise. "Sure. And let me guess—when you left, your heart wasn't racing?"

I say nothing.

"You weren't thinking about the way she looked at you?"

Still nothing.

"And you definitely didn't feel anything when your fingers touched, right?"

I turn over and glare at her. "Do you have literally anything else to do right now?"

She grins. "Nope."

I groan again and throw an arm over my face. "For fuck's sake."

Lex laughs, but there's something softer in it now. When she speaks again, her voice has lost its teasing edge. "Look, Riley, I get it. You don't want to admit that something's changing. But it is. And the longer you fight it, the worse it's gonna mess with your head."

My chest tightens.

"Nothing's changing," I say. "Ava and I don't get along. That's just how it is."

"Uh-huh." Lex doesn't sound convinced. "Then why did you grab her notebook so fast? Why did you text her? Why did you take it to her instead of just leaving it somewhere she could pick it up?"

I sit up abruptly. "Because I fucking felt like it, okay?"

Lex stares at me.

I stare back.

The words hang in the air between us, heavier than they should be.

I shouldn't have said that.

Because it sounds too much like the truth.

And the truth is something I'm not ready for.

Lex tilts her head, like she's debating whether to push further. Then, finally, she exhales and flops back onto her bed. "Alright, fine. I'll let it go."

I don't thank her. I don't trust myself to speak.

Instead, I grab my phone and scroll aimlessly, pretending I don't want to check for any new messages from Ava.

I pretend I don't care.

Even though, deep down—

I know I do.

I should go to sleep.

That's the logical thing to do. Shut off my brain, bury myself under the covers, and pretend this night never happened.

But my body has other plans.

Even as I turn off the lamp and pull my blanket over me, my thoughts keep circling back—to the way Ava's voice softened, to the way she looked at me when she thought I wasn't paying attention.

Like maybe she wasn't as indifferent as she pretended to be.

Like maybe I wasn't either.

I shift restlessly, staring at the ceiling in the darkness. I tell myself I'm just overthinking it. That I wouldn't be lying here, wide awake, if Lex hadn't gotten in my head.

She's wrong.

She has to be.

Ava and I don't do this. We fight, we push each other's buttons. We don't have moments. We don't look at each other like that.

And yet…

I swallow hard, squeezing my eyes shut.

There was something different tonight.

Something I can't ignore, no matter how badly I want to.

My phone buzzes on my nightstand.

I grab it automatically, my pulse spiking—only to find a text from Lex.

Lex: If you stare at the ceiling any harder, it's gonna file a restraining order.

I let out a slow breath and type back.

Me: Go to sleep, asshole.

Her reply comes instantly.

Lex: Not until you admit you like her.

I roll my eyes.

Me: Die.

Lex: That's not a no.

I don't respond.

Because if I do, I might say something I can't take back.

And I'm not ready for that.

Not yet.

Not when the ground beneath me is already starting to shift.

Sleep refuses to come.

Every time I close my eyes, I see Ava—her guarded expression, the flicker of something unreadable in her gaze. The way her fingers brushed mine, just for a second, before I forced myself to pull away.

It was nothing.

It should have been nothing.

And yet, my skin still burns where we touched.

I let out a frustrated sigh, throwing an arm over my face. This is ridiculous. I shouldn't be obsessing over something so small. We've fought a hundred times before, exchanged a thousand heated words. So why does tonight feel different?

Why can't I just let it go?

The room is silent except for the quiet hum of Lex's fan. She's probably already asleep, but I can still feel the weight of her earlier words pressing on me.

"You don't want to admit that something's changing. But it is."

No.

It isn't.

I refuse to let it.

Because if I admit that something's shifting between Ava and me—if I acknowledge the way my pulse leapt when I saw her, the way my breath caught when our hands touched—then I'll have to face what that means.

And I can't.

Because I don't want to want her.

Not like this.

Not in a way that makes my stomach twist and my heart race and my thoughts spiral into something I can't control.

I turn onto my side, curling into myself, but it doesn't help. The bed feels too big, too empty, too—lonely.

Damn it.

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to push her out of my head.

But the more I try to fight it, the more she lingers.

Ava Sinclair—sharp-tongued, stubborn, frustrating as hell. The one person who has always been able to get under my skin. The one person I've always been at odds with.

The one person I can't stop thinking about.

I toss onto my back, staring at the ceiling again.

It's pathetic how restless I feel.

I shouldn't care.

I shouldn't be thinking about this.

And yet, every time I try to push Ava from my mind, something pulls me back—her voice, the way she looked at me tonight, like she was expecting me to say something. Like she wanted me to.

And maybe I did.

Maybe if I hadn't been such a coward, I would have asked her why she kept the notebook at all.

It would've been so easy. One question. One moment of honesty.

But honesty is dangerous.

Because if I ask her that, I'd have to ask myself something worse.

Why did I feel a pang of something almost disappointed when she didn't fight me?

Why did I feel like I'd lost some kind of battle when she just accepted the notebook without a word?

I shut my eyes, inhaling deep, but my pulse won't slow.

It's not just tonight.

It's every little thing—the way my stomach flips when she's too close, the way my skin burns whenever she touches me, even in the smallest, most fleeting way.

And the worst part?

I don't even know when it started.

Was it last week, when she brushed past me in the hallway, and I swore she hesitated?

Was it the time we argued in class, and for one impossible second, her lips parted like she had something else to say?

Or was it even earlier than that—years of pent-up frustration slowly turning into something else, something I don't want to name?

I groan and press the heels of my hands into my eyes.

This is Ava.

Ava Sinclair, my rival. My enemy.

She is not supposed to make my chest feel tight. She is not supposed to linger in my mind.

And she sure as hell is not supposed to make me wonder—

What would have happened if I had stayed just a little longer?

If I hadn't left her standing there with that unreadable look in her eyes?

Would she have let me go so easily?

Would I have wanted her to?

I exhale sharply, shaking my head as if that will clear the thoughts away.

It doesn't.

It never does.

And that scares me more than anything.