Chapter 9 – Ava

I don't know why I keep staring at my phone.

It's not like I'm waiting for something.

Not like I expect Riley to text me.

But still, my fingers hover over the screen, scrolling through old messages that mean nothing, rereading a conversation with a classmate I have no interest in answering. Just something to distract myself.

Because for the past hour, all I can think about is the way Riley looked at me tonight.

Like she wanted to say something but wouldn't.

Like she was afraid to.

I sigh and toss my phone onto my desk, rubbing my temples. This is ridiculous. I should be focusing on my essay—or, hell, literally anything else—but my mind keeps dragging me back to her.

To the way her voice softened when she handed me the notebook.

To the way her fingers brushed mine, sending an unexpected jolt through my skin.

It was nothing.

It had to be nothing.

Because if it was something—

I stop that thought before it can go any further.

No.

Riley and I don't do this. We fight, we push, we challenge each other. That's all this has ever been.

So why does it feel like the ground is shifting beneath my feet?

I shake my head, trying to shove it all aside, and reach for my laptop.

I have an essay due in two days. That's what I should be worried about. That's what matters.

Not Riley fucking Monroe.

I pull up my document, determined to focus.

Ten minutes later, I've written exactly three words: In this essay…

I groan and lean back in my chair, tilting my head up to glare at the ceiling like it personally offended me.

This is her fault.

She's getting under my skin.

Again.

I should be used to it by now, but tonight feels different. And no matter how much I try to fight it, my mind keeps replaying that damn moment in the library—how close we were, the way she looked at me when she thought I wasn't paying attention.

Like maybe… just maybe…

I shake my head sharply. No. I'm not going there.

I refuse.

Because if I let myself wonder what it would be like if we weren't always at odds—

If I let myself acknowledge the electricity that sparked when our hands brushed—

Then I'd have to admit that maybe…

Just maybe…

I don't hate her as much as I pretend to.

I rub my hands over my face, exhaling sharply.

This is ridiculous.

I shouldn't be obsessing over one moment. One stupid, fleeting moment that probably meant nothing.

And yet, my brain refuses to let it go.

I push back from my desk and stand abruptly, crossing the room as if movement will help. It doesn't. My skin feels too tight, my thoughts too loud.

Maybe I need air.

Or a distraction.

Or maybe I need to stop lying to myself.

I scoff at the thought. Yeah, right. Like that's happening.

Instead, I pace, arms crossed, jaw clenched.

Because this isn't just about tonight, is it?

It's about all of it.

Every sharp-tongued argument. Every heated stare. Every time Riley's name leaves my lips with too much weight, too much something I don't want to name.

It's been building.

Slow, quiet, unnoticed—until suddenly, it's everywhere.

I think back to last semester, to the way she looked at me after I called her out in class. To the tension that lingered long after the debate was over, thick and suffocating, like a storm we were both pretending wasn't coming.

To the way my pulse skipped when she smirked at me, like she knew.

I thought it was hate.

I wanted it to be hate.

But what if it's not?

I swallow hard, gripping the edge of my desk like it might ground me.

This is Riley.

Riley fucking Monroe.

I don't like her. I can't like her.

We've spent years circling each other, pushing, fighting, challenging—that's who we are. That's what we do.

But tonight, when she handed me that notebook…

When her fingers brushed mine, and I felt that undeniable, sharp pull in my chest…

It didn't feel like fighting.

It didn't feel like hate.

It felt like something else.

Something dangerous.

And I have no idea what to do with that.

I drop onto my bed, staring up at the ceiling, but that does nothing to quiet my mind. My fingers twitch like they want to grab my phone again, but I refuse to be that pathetic.

Because what would I even do? Text her?

Say what exactly?

"Hey, Riley, just wondering if you're also losing your mind over the fact that our hands touched for literally half a second?"

Yeah. No.

I let out a frustrated sigh, kicking off my blanket even though I'm not even hot. I feel restless in a way I can't explain, like something inside me is unraveling and I can't stop it.

Maybe this is just stress.

Maybe I'm overthinking it.

Maybe if I get enough sleep, I'll wake up tomorrow and forget this ever happened.

But that's a lie.

Because this feeling—this thing between us—it's not new.

I think back to every little moment I ignored, every time I told myself it was just frustration, just competition, just us being us.

The way my stomach dipped when she smirked at me from across the classroom.

The way I always noticed her first when I walked into a room.

The way I could remember her stupid schedule without even trying, like my brain had made space for her without my permission.

None of that should matter.

And yet, somehow, it does.

I roll onto my side, gripping my pillow tight like that'll stop this slow, unwanted realization from creeping any further into my head.

I don't like her.

I can't like her.

This is just—

But my mind betrays me, and suddenly, I'm remembering the way she looked at me tonight. The hesitation in her eyes. The way her lips parted, like she almost—almost—said something else.

What if she had?

What if I had?

What if this whole time, we've been fighting the wrong thing?

I squeeze my eyes shut, cursing under my breath.

This is a disaster waiting to happen.

And yet, for the first time in years, I'm starting to wonder…

What if I want the disaster?

I squeeze my eyes shut, but it doesn't help.

Sleep isn't happening tonight.

Not with her stuck in my head.

Not with the memory of that moment between us replaying in my mind like a song I can't turn off.

It should have been nothing.

It was nothing.

Except… it wasn't.

I sit up abruptly, frustration buzzing under my skin. My body feels too wired, too restless, like I need to do something, move somewhere, fight someone—anything to shake this off.

But there's nowhere to go. No one to fight.

Only me.

And her.

And the way I felt when her fingers touched mine.

I push a hand through my hair, exhaling sharply.

Riley Monroe is my rival. She always has been.

She gets under my skin, pisses me off, challenges me in ways no one else does.

And for years, I thought that was all there was to it.

But now?

Now, I don't know anymore.

Because if all I ever felt for her was frustration, then why did I freeze when she looked at me like that tonight? Why did my chest tighten when I saw something flicker in her eyes—something raw, something hesitant?

Why do I feel like I missed something when she walked away?

Like there was something I was supposed to say, but didn't.

Like maybe she was waiting for me to say it.

I bite my lip, my fingers tightening around my sheets.

I shouldn't want to know what would've happened if I had said something.

I shouldn't be sitting here, heart pounding over something so small.

I shouldn't—

But it's too late, isn't it?

The thought is already there.

The want is already there.

And no matter how much I try to push it away, it lingers.

Like the ghost of her touch.

Like the heat of her gaze.

Like a mistake I'm on the edge of making—

And maybe, just maybe, I want to make it.

I roll onto my stomach, burying my face into my pillow.

I hate this.

I hate how my mind keeps circling back to her, how every single second in that damn library keeps replaying like it was some life-altering event. It wasn't. It shouldn't be.

And yet, I can still feel the exact spot where her fingers brushed mine.

A fleeting touch, nothing more.

So why does it feel like something cracked open inside me?

I groan, flipping onto my back and staring at the ceiling like it holds all the answers. It doesn't. Neither does my phone, which I'm now glaring at like it might spontaneously give me the clarity I need.

I should text someone.

Anyone.

Hell, maybe I should text my ex.

A sharp, bitter laugh escapes before I can stop it.

Yeah. That would be a brilliant idea. Nothing like a terrible mistake to cover up another.

Not that Riley is a mistake.

She isn't anything.

At least, she wasn't…

But now, I don't know anymore.

Because something is shifting, and it's driving me insane.

I think back to every time she's pushed me, every time we've gone head-to-head in class, every heated argument that left my pulse racing. I always thought it was just anger, just competition.

But maybe… maybe it's not.

Because normal people don't get this affected over a simple touch.

Normal people don't lose sleep over a single glance.

And normal people definitely don't wonder what their rival's lips would feel like—

I bolt upright, heat rushing to my face.

What the fuck?

I shake my head aggressively, as if I can physically knock the thought loose.

No.

No, no, no.

I am not thinking about Riley like that.

I refuse.

I shove my hands through my hair, gripping the strands at my scalp as if that'll ground me.

I need to get out of my own head.

I glance at the clock—1:47 AM.

Too late to go for a run. Too late to drag someone out for a coffee.

But maybe I can just… walk.

I throw on a hoodie and slip out of my dorm, shoving my hands in my pockets as I step into the cool night air. The campus is mostly quiet, just a few students passing by, lost in their own worlds.

It's peaceful. Exactly what I need.

At least, until I spot her.

Riley.

Sitting alone on the library steps, staring at her phone.

My heart stupidly stutters.

For a split second, I consider turning around.

But then, as if sensing my presence, she looks up.

And our eyes meet.

Time slows.

For a long, stretched-out moment, neither of us says anything.

Then, instead of rolling her eyes or throwing some sarcastic remark, Riley does something that completely wrecks me.

She smiles.

It's small, barely there, but it's real.

And suddenly, I feel like I can't breathe.

Because that smile isn't cocky or teasing or laced with challenge.

It's hesitant.

Like maybe she's just as lost as I am.

Like maybe she doesn't know what's happening between us, either.

I swallow hard.

And before I can stop myself, I take a step toward her.

I take another step forward.

Riley doesn't move.

She just watches me, her phone forgotten in her lap, her gaze unreadable in the dim glow of the library's outside lights.

I should turn around.

I shouldn't be walking toward her like some restless, love-struck idiot. But my feet betray me, drawn to her like there's some invisible thread between us—something pulling me in, something I can't fight.

I stop a few feet away, shoving my hands into my hoodie pocket, trying to act normal. Casual. Like I'm not currently losing my goddamn mind over a single smile.

She tilts her head slightly, the faintest ghost of amusement flickering in her expression.

"Couldn't sleep either?"

Her voice is softer than usual, missing its usual sharp edges.

I exhale a quiet laugh. "Yeah. Something like that."

Her lips curve, but she doesn't say anything right away. Instead, she gestures to the empty space beside her, raising a brow.

An invitation.

I hesitate.

Sitting down next to Riley Monroe—at two in the freaking morning—feels like a bad idea. A reckless, stupid idea.

But my body isn't listening to my brain tonight.

I sink down beside her.

There's just enough space between us to be safe. But not enough to ignore the warmth radiating from her, the steady presence of her beside me.

Silence stretches between us.

For once, it's not tense.

Not filled with the usual bite of competition.

It's just… there.

Comfortable.

And that's somehow even more terrifying.

Riley exhales, running a hand through her hair. "You ever feel like… I don't know. Like your brain won't shut up?"

I blink at her.

Of all the things I expected her to say, that wasn't one of them.

"All the time," I admit before I can stop myself.

She lets out a short laugh. "Yeah, I figured."

"Gee, thanks."

She smirks. "What? You're a chronic overthinker. It's part of your charm."

Charm.

The word shouldn't make my stomach flip.

I glance at her, trying to gauge if she's teasing me, but her expression is unreadable again.

She's really good at that.

Too good.

Because Riley Monroe, for all her loudness and boldness, is also a mystery. A puzzle I've spent years trying to solve, only to realize I never even had all the pieces.

And I'm starting to wonder if I ever really wanted to solve her at all.

Or if I just wanted an excuse to keep looking at her.

I swallow hard, tearing my gaze away.

Focus, Ava.

This isn't some moment.

This is just two people who happened to be in the same place at the same time.

That's all.

Riley exhales again, stretching her legs out in front of her, her hands bracing against the steps. "You ever think about how weird this is?"

I frown. "What?"

"This." She gestures vaguely between us. "Us. Sitting here. Not arguing. Not plotting each other's downfall. Just… existing in the same space."

I don't answer right away.

Because yeah, it is weird.

It's unsettling, in a way I can't describe.

Like something has shifted between us, and neither of us knows what to do with it.

"Guess we're breaking tradition," I say finally, aiming for lightness.

Riley hums. "Maybe."

Silence again.

Except this time, it's different.

Thicker.

Charged.

I feel her shift beside me, and I don't even have to look to know she's turning toward me slightly.

My heart kicks up.

I keep my gaze fixed straight ahead.

I refuse to look at her.

Because if I do, I might see something in her eyes that I'm not ready to face.

I might see that this tension—this thing between us—isn't just in my head.

And if that's true, if I'm right…

Then what the hell am I supposed to do next?