Chapter 10 – Riley

I should've stayed inside.

I should've ignored the restless energy and kept my ass in bed instead of sitting on these damn library steps like some brooding main character in a coming-of-age movie.

Because now, she's here.

Ava.

And I have no idea what the hell I'm supposed to do with that.

She's sitting next to me, close enough that I can feel her warmth but not close enough to touch. Not that I would. Not that I want to.

Except… maybe I do.

Which is a problem.

I stare straight ahead, ignoring the way my stomach twists every time she shifts beside me. It's just nerves. Or irritation. Or something logical that has nothing to do with how her presence is starting to unravel me.

Because this is Ava Sinclair.

The girl who has spent years pushing my buttons, getting under my skin, and making me work twice as hard to keep up with her. The girl who always has a sharp remark, always meets me blow-for-blow, always—

I exhale sharply.

"Why are you out here?" I ask, forcing myself to sound casual.

Ava hums, like she's considering whether or not to answer. "Couldn't sleep."

I nod, not looking at her. "Same."

More silence.

The kind that should be awkward but somehow isn't.

And that's also a problem.

Because nothing about Ava has ever been easy. Nothing has ever been comfortable.

But sitting here with her? In the middle of the night, with the world quiet around us?

It's the closest thing to peace I've had in a while.

I hate it.

I hate that I don't hate it.

Ava shifts again, and out of the corner of my eye, I catch the way she wraps her arms around herself, as if warding off a chill.

The rational part of me—the part that has spent years competing with her—says I should ignore it.

But the part of me that's losing its goddamn mind over her presence?

That part is already shrugging off my hoodie before I can think better of it.

"Here," I say, holding it out.

She blinks at me. "What?"

I roll my eyes. "Don't make it weird. Just take it."

She hesitates. For a second, I think she's going to refuse. But then, without a word, she reaches for it, her fingers brushing mine in the process.

It's barely a touch.

Just a fleeting press of skin against skin.

But fuck—

I feel it everywhere.

Ava swallows, pulling the hoodie over her head, and something stupidly warm spreads through my chest at the sight of her in it.

Nope.

Absolutely not.

I'm not going down this road.

I shove a hand through my hair, trying to shake off whatever the hell this feeling is.

"So," Ava says after a moment, her voice quieter than before. "What are we doing?"

I frown, glancing at her. "What do you mean?"

She exhales, pulling her knees up to her chest. "This. Us. Sitting here in the middle of the night, acting like we don't despise each other."

Her tone is light, almost teasing, but I can hear the real question underneath.

What the hell is happening between us?

And the truth is, I don't know.

I don't have a single fucking clue.

But for some reason, I don't want to run from it.

Not tonight.

So instead of answering, I just look at her.

And Ava?

For the first time since I've known her…

She looks back.

And she doesn't look away.

I keep staring at her.

I should look away.

I should laugh it off, make some snarky comment, pretend like this—whatever this is—doesn't feel heavier than it should. But I can't.

Because Ava is looking back.

Not with annoyance. Not with the usual fire in her eyes when we argue.

But with something uncertain.

Something I don't know how to name.

The air between us shifts, and suddenly, I feel hyper-aware of everything—the way her fingers curl into the sleeves of my hoodie, the way the night breeze lifts strands of her hair, the way her lips part just slightly like she's on the verge of saying something but hasn't decided if she should.

Fuck.

I swallow hard, dragging a hand down my face, willing my brain to get its shit together.

"So," I say, desperate to break the tension. "What's keeping you up?"

Ava exhales a quiet laugh, turning her gaze toward the sky. "Nothing. Everything. I don't know."

I wait.

Because that's not an answer. Not really.

She must realize it too, because after a beat, she lets out a slow breath. "It's just… college is supposed to be the time when you figure things out, right? What you want, who you want to be. And I feel like I should have that by now."

I glance at her. "But you don't?"

Her lips press together, her fingers still fidgeting with my sleeves. "No. And it's fucking frustrating."

I huff a quiet laugh. "Yeah. I get that."

She raises a brow at me. "You? Miss I've-got-it-all-figured-out?"

I snort. "I don't have shit figured out. I just fake it better than most."

Ava stares at me for a second before shaking her head with a small, amused smile. "Of course you do."

I don't know what to do with the way she's looking at me.

Like she's seeing me for the first time.

Like she's peeling back the layers I didn't even know I had.

I shift, clearing my throat. "Well, maybe you don't have to have everything figured out yet. Maybe that's the whole point."

Ava hums, considering it. Then, out of nowhere, she nudges me with her shoulder.

I blink. "Did you just—"

She does it again.

I gape at her. "Are you poking me?"

"More like an aggressive nudge."

"Ava."

She grins, unrepentant. "I don't know, you just looked like you needed it."

I shake my head, biting back a smile. "You're ridiculous."

"And you're uptight," she shoots back, but it's playful, no real bite behind it.

I roll my eyes, but I don't argue. Because for the first time in a long time, things don't feel like a competition.

It's just us.

And that?

That's dangerous.

Because I don't know what to do when Ava Sinclair isn't my rival.

I don't know what to do when she's just… Ava.

And I don't know how much longer I can pretend I don't like it.

Ava stretches her legs out, crossing them at the ankles as she leans back on her elbows. "You know," she says, tilting her head toward me, "I always thought you were kind of insufferable."

I let out a dry laugh. "Gee, thanks. Great confidence booster."

She smirks. "I mean, you are. Or you were."

I raise a brow. "And now?"

Ava hesitates, her fingers still fidgeting with the sleeves of my hoodie like she doesn't even realize she's doing it. "Now…" She exhales, looking up at the sky. "I don't know. Maybe I was wrong."

Something tightens in my chest at that.

Because fuck.

I never needed her to like me. Never needed her approval.

So why does that tiny admission—just a maybe—make something in me crack open?

I shift, suddenly feeling restless. "People don't really change that much, you know."

Ava hums, like she's considering it. "Maybe. Or maybe you just don't let yourself."

I glance at her. "What's that supposed to mean?"

She shrugs. "I think you like being seen a certain way. Cold. Detached. Like none of this—" she gestures vaguely between us, "life—gets to you."

I scoff. "And you think you've got me all figured out now?"

She grins, slow and teasing. "Not yet. But I'm starting to."

Fuck.

This girl is going to ruin me.

I should get up. Should throw some sarcastic remark back at her and call it a night before this goes too far. Before I let myself fall into whatever this is.

But my body betrays me.

Instead of moving away, I turn toward her, resting my elbow on my knee. "Okay, Sinclair. If you've got me all figured out, tell me—what exactly do you see?"

Her smile falters just slightly.

She doesn't answer right away.

And when she does, her voice is quieter than before.

"I see someone who cares a lot more than she wants to admit," she says.

I swallow.

I wasn't expecting that.

I don't know what I was expecting—maybe some snide remark, some teasing insult—but not this.

Not her seeing straight through me.

The tension between us is so thick I can hardly breathe.

Ava is still looking at me, waiting, like she's daring me to contradict her.

And I could.

I could roll my eyes, could brush it off like it's nothing.

But the problem is…

She's right.

And I think she knows it.

The realization makes my skin prickle with something dangerously close to fear.

So I do the only thing I can.

I break eye contact.

I lean back, let out a breath, and force a smirk onto my lips. "And I see someone who thinks she knows everything."

Ava snorts. "That's because I do."

The moment—the tension—dissolves just like that.

But it's still there, lurking underneath.

And we both feel it.

Neither of us say it out loud, but for the first time, it's not just rivalry crackling between us.

It's something else entirely.

And that?

That's going to be a problem.

Ava's fingers keep playing with the frayed edge of my hoodie sleeve, and I can't decide if she's doing it on purpose or if it's just a nervous habit. Either way, it's distracting.

"You ever think about it?" she asks suddenly, her voice softer now.

I frown. "Think about what?"

She doesn't look at me right away, like she's debating whether to say it out loud. But then she does.

"How different things would've been if we hadn't started off as rivals."

My heart does something weird in my chest. A sharp little lurch that I pretend not to feel.

I huff a small laugh, leaning back against my hands. "You mean if you hadn't hated my guts?"

Ava rolls her eyes. "Oh, please. You hated me first."

"Yeah, because you were impossible."

"And you weren't?"

We glare at each other for half a second before the tension cracks, dissolving into quiet laughter. But underneath it, the weight of her words lingers.

Because I've never let myself think about it before.

What if things had been different?

What if that stupid misunderstanding, whatever it was, had never happened?

What if Ava Sinclair had never been my rival—but something else entirely?

The thought makes my throat go dry.

Ava exhales and leans back beside me, her shoulder barely brushing mine. "Maybe we wasted a lot of time," she murmurs.

I glance at her, but she's staring straight ahead, like she doesn't want to see my reaction.

Something twists in my stomach.

Because she might be right.

And that scares the hell out of me.

Ava's words settle between us like a live wire, buzzing with something unspoken. I should brush it off, laugh, say something sarcastic to break the weight of it.

But I don't.

Because, for the first time, I let myself wonder.

Would things really have been different if we hadn't started off at each other's throats? If I hadn't misread that first interaction? If she hadn't assumed the worst of me, and I hadn't done the same to her?

I don't know.

And I don't know what's worse—the idea that we might've wasted all this time hating each other for no reason… or the idea that the tension between us might've always been leading here, to this exact moment, where I can't stop looking at her.

"You ever regret it?" I find myself asking.

Ava glances at me, surprised. "Regret what?"

"The way things were between us."

She exhales, tilting her head back against the wall. "I don't know. I mean, part of me thinks it was inevitable. We were always going to clash."

"Yeah," I murmur. "But maybe it didn't have to be like that."

Ava watches me closely, like she's trying to see inside my head. "Are you saying you regret it?"

I hesitate.

Do I?

Do I regret the fire, the arguments, the years of tension that crackled between us?

Or do I regret that I never let myself acknowledge what it really was?

"I don't know," I say finally, which is the closest thing to the truth I can manage.

Ava hums softly, turning her gaze back to the sky. "Maybe it doesn't matter."

"How do you figure?"

She shrugs. "We're here now, aren't we?"

I stare at her, at the way the moonlight catches the sharp angles of her face, at the way her lips part just slightly like she might say something else but doesn't.

Yeah.

We're here now.

And suddenly, the past doesn't seem as important as the fact that she's sitting close enough for me to feel her warmth, and I don't hate it.

I don't hate her.

Not even a little bit.