Chapter 18 – The Art of Pretending Nothing Happened

Ava

I should leave.

I should say something casual, something normal, and walk out of Riley's apartment like last night didn't just flip my entire world upside down.

Instead, I sit there, sipping my coffee like it doesn't taste different just because she made it.

Like I don't feel her eyes on me every time I shift in my seat.

Like I don't remember the way she touched me, slow and deep, like she was trying to unravel me from the inside out.

It would be so easy to pretend.

To shove it all down, bury it beneath our years of rivalry, and act like this was just one reckless, impulsive night that would never happen again.

But when Riley speaks, her voice low and careful, I realize she's not going to make it easy.

"So, are we gonna talk about it?"

I glance up sharply. "Talk about what?"

She gives me a flat look. "Seriously?"

I force a shrug, even though my heart is trying to beat its way out of my chest.

"What's there to talk about?" I say, setting my mug down with a little too much force. "It was just sex, right? No big deal."

Something flickers across Riley's face—too fast for me to catch.

Then, she leans back against the counter, crossing her arms over her chest. Classic defensive stance.

"Right," she says slowly. "No big deal."

But she doesn't look convinced.

And I—I feel like a fucking liar.

I push back my chair and stand, tugging at the hem of her hoodie like it's suddenly suffocating me.

"I should go," I mutter.

Riley's jaw tightens. "Yeah. Sure."

I wait for her to say something else.

To stop me.

To call me out on the fact that I'm running.

But she doesn't.

So I walk to the door, heart pounding, fingers trembling as I reach for the handle.

And just as I step outside, I hear her voice—quiet, almost hesitant.

"Ava."

I pause, my back still to her.

She exhales. "Just—don't be weird about this, okay?"

I let out a short, humorless laugh.

Too late.

I don't turn around.

I don't say another word.

I just walk away.

And every step feels like a mistake.

I don't look back.

I can't.

If I turn around and see her standing there, watching me leave, I might do something stupid—like stay.

I shove my hands into the pocket of Riley's hoodie as I step out into the cool morning air, my thoughts a tangled mess of last night, this morning, and every unspoken thing in between.

My body still remembers how she felt. The weight of her pressing me into the sheets, the way she whispered my name like a confession. The way her hands held me so carefully, like I was something fragile.

Like she wanted me.

Not just for one night.

I shake the thought away before it can settle.

It doesn't matter.

It was just sex.

Just a mistake we'll both forget.

Right?

I walk faster, like I can outrun the way my stomach twists at the thought.

---

Back at my dorm, I throw Riley's hoodie on my bed and immediately regret it.

Her scent clings to the fabric, a cruel reminder of everything I'm trying to pretend didn't happen.

I groan and run a hand through my hair, pacing the room. I need to get my mind off this. Off her.

My phone buzzes on my desk.

I grab it without thinking, half-expecting—half-hoping—it's her.

But it's not.

It's Emily.

Hey, you okay? Haven't seen you around today.

I stare at the message for a long moment before typing back.

Yeah. Just tired. What's up?

Her response is almost immediate.

Party at Jake's tonight. You coming?

A party.

A distraction.

Exactly what I need.

Yeah. I'll be there.

I toss my phone onto the bed and take a deep breath.

Tonight, I'll go out.

Tonight, I'll drink.

Tonight, I'll do everything I can to forget Riley fucking Carter.

Even if it's the last thing I actually want.

I don't let myself think as I shower, scrubbing my skin like I can wash away the memory of last night.

Her hands. Her mouth. The way she whispered my name like it meant something.

I press my forehead against the cool tile, breathing hard.

It was just sex.

It doesn't mean anything.

So why do I feel like I left something behind when I walked out that door?

---

Back in my dorm, I toss on jeans and a hoodie—not Riley's, even though I want to. I grab my phone off the bed and check my messages again.

Still nothing from her.

Good.

If she's not reaching out, it means she feels the same. It means we can move on, go back to whatever the hell we were before this.

Rivals. Enemies. Anything but this confusing in-between.

I don't let myself overthink as I respond to Emily's message.

Yeah. I'll be at the party.

Maybe if I drink enough, I'll stop feeling like my body still remembers hers.

---

That Night – The Party

The house is packed, music shaking the walls. The smell of beer and sweat hangs in the air, and for the first time all day, I feel like I can breathe.

Emily hands me a drink, already grinning.

"Glad you came," she says, looping an arm around my shoulders. "I was starting to think you were ghosting me."

I force a smirk. "Me? Ghost you? Never."

I take a sip, letting the alcohol burn its way down, dulling the ache in my chest.

I can do this.

I can be normal.

I can pretend last night didn't change everything.

And then—I feel it.

A presence. A shift in the air.

I turn, and there she is.

Riley.

Standing across the room, drink in hand, looking too good, too familiar, too fucking much.

Her eyes meet mine.

And in that split second, every lie I told myself today shatters.

Because I know—

She remembers.

And neither of us can pretend otherwise.

I should look away.

I should pretend I don't see her.

But my eyes stay locked on Riley's, even as my fingers tighten around the red plastic cup in my hand.

For a moment, neither of us moves. The music pounds around us, the party buzzing with laughter and shouted conversations, but it all feels distant. Muted.

Like it's just the two of us in this crowded room.

Then, Riley looks away first.

She turns, saying something to the guy next to her—Jake, I think. He laughs at whatever she says, leaning in too close, like he has any right to.

Like she didn't just have her hands all over me last night.

A sharp, ugly emotion claws its way up my throat, and I drown it with a long sip of my drink.

Emily nudges me. "You good?"

I blink, tearing my gaze away from Riley.

"Yeah," I lie. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Emily eyes me like she doesn't quite believe me, but she lets it go, pulling me toward the group forming near the kitchen.

"If you're really good," she teases, "then you won't mind taking a shot with me."

I force a smirk. "Like you even had to ask."

We down the tequila, and I barely feel the burn. Maybe that's a bad sign.

Or maybe it's exactly what I need.

I slam the empty shot glass onto the counter, already feeling the buzz warming my veins, loosening my limbs.

If Riley can act like nothing happened, then so can I.

So when a cute brunette I vaguely recognize from one of my classes sidles up to me, smiling and tilting her head just so, I let her flirt.

I let her lean in closer, laughing at something I barely hear.

I let her touch my arm, her fingers light against my skin.

And when I glance across the room, I see Riley watching.

Her grip on her drink tightens.

Her jaw tenses.

Good.

If she wants to pretend last night didn't matter, then I'll pretend, too.

Even if it's the biggest lie I've ever told myself.