Chapter 2 Chapter 2
Maya
I regretted agreeing to this approximately twelve seconds after Bree dragged me down the hallway.
“This is a terrible idea,” I muttered for what had to be the tenth time.
Bree didn’t even bother looking over her shoulder. She simply waved a dismissive hand and kept marching toward her bedroom like a woman on a mission.
“This is an iconic idea.”
“It’s Wednesday.”
“So?”
“I have an essay.”
“You have a pulse. That’s more important.”
I rolled my eyes so hard it physically hurt.
Only Bree could somehow make procrastination sound like a medical necessity.
She shoved open her bedroom door and immediately headed for her closet. Clothes started flying before I even made it fully inside.
“What are you doing?” I asked cautiously.
“Creating justice.”
That answer should have worried me more than it did.
Within seconds she emerged holding a red dress.
Not a normal red dress.
A dangerous red dress.
The kind of dress that belonged in romantic comedies right before the awkward girl walked down a staircase and every guy forgot how to breathe.
My stomach dropped.
“Oh no.”
“Oh yes.”
“Bree.”
“Maya.”
I pointed accusingly at the dress.
“That is not clothing.”
“It absolutely is.”
“It’s a suggestion of clothing.”
“It’s a masterpiece.”
“It’s a cry for help.”
Bree pressed the dress against my chest.
“It’s revenge.”
I looked down at it.
Then back at her.
Then back at the dress.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I can’t walk into a football party wearing that.”
“Why not?”
“Because people will look at me.”
The words slipped out before I could stop them.
For a second, Bree’s teasing expression softened.
Because she knew exactly what I meant.
People didn’t usually look at me.
Not really.
I was the girl in the corner of the classroom.
The girl carrying too many textbooks.
The girl professors remembered because she always sat in the front row and actually did the reading.
I wasn’t the girl who walked into a room and made conversations stop.
That had never been me.
Bree crossed her arms.
“Maya, you’re acting like you’re about to walk into enemy territory.”
“I am walking into enemy territory.”
“You live next door to them.”
“Exactly.”
She laughed.
“One of them literally broke into your house and stole your pizza.”
“He did.”
“And somehow you’re worried about a dress?”
When she put it that way…
Okay, maybe she had a point.
A tiny point.
A microscopic point.
Unfortunately, it was still a point.
“Fine,” I grumbled.
Bree’s face lit up.
“I knew you’d come around.”
“I hate everything.”
“No you don’t.”
She practically shoved me toward my room.
“Go change.”
⸻
Twenty minutes later, I stood in front of my mirror wondering who the girl staring back at me was.
The dress wasn’t even that revealing.
That was the annoying part.
It simply fit.
It followed curves I usually hid beneath oversized sweaters and hoodies.
My hair fell over my shoulders in soft waves thanks to Bree’s curling iron assault, and she’d somehow convinced me to wear mascara and lip gloss despite my repeated objections.
I looked…
Different.
Not like a different person.
Just a version of myself I didn’t show very often.
A version that felt exposed.
Vulnerable.
When I stepped back into the living room, Bree froze.
Then a slow grin spread across her face.
“Oh.”
I immediately hated that reaction.
“What?”
“Oh, Rogue Ryder is absolutely screwed.”
I groaned.
“Stop calling him that.”
“No.”
“I look ridiculous.”
“You look gorgeous.”
I opened my mouth to argue.
Nothing came out.
Because for once, she actually sounded serious.
Bree looped her arm through mine.
“Ready?”
“No.”
“Perfect.”
⸻
The music was loud enough that we could hear it before we even reached the sidewalk.
Bass vibrated through the cool night air.
Lights glowed from nearly every window of the football house.
Laughter drifted across the lawn.
The place looked exactly like the kind of situation responsible people avoided.
Naturally, we were heading straight toward it.
As we crossed the yard, I noticed groups of students gathered outside. Some stood around fire pits. Others sat on porch railings holding red cups.
Nobody seemed particularly concerned about classes tomorrow morning.
Must be nice.
Bree squeezed my arm.
“Remember.”
“One lap.”
“One lap.”
“And then we leave.”
“Probably.”
I stopped walking.
“Probably?”
Bree smiled innocently.
I knew that smile.
It meant danger.
⸻
The front door stood wide open.
The second we stepped inside, noise crashed over me.
Music.
Laughter.
Shouting.
The smell of beer, cologne, and whatever terrible decisions college students were currently making.
The living room was packed.
Bodies everywhere.
People squeezed onto couches.
Groups gathered around makeshift drinking games.
A guy wearing sunglasses indoors stumbled past us carrying what looked suspiciously like a traffic cone.
I didn’t even want to know.
Then something shifted.
At first, I thought I imagined it.
But as we moved farther into the room, I noticed heads turning.
Not everyone.
Just enough.
A glance here.
A double-take there.
A conversation interrupted.
Someone whispering.
My stomach tightened.
Immediately, every insecurity I’d ever had came rushing back.
Was my dress too much?
Was my makeup weird?
Did I have something on my face?
Bree noticed.
Of course she did.
“Relax.”
“I’m trying.”
“They’re staring because you look hot.”
I nearly tripped.
“Bree.”
“I’m serious.”
I wanted to argue.
The problem was I wasn’t entirely sure she was wrong.
And that somehow made it worse.
Then I saw him.
Cole Ryder.
Across the room.
Leaning against the kitchen counter.
Laughing with two teammates.
He looked exactly like he had earlier.
Comfortable.
Confident.
Like the entire house revolved around him and he didn’t even realize it.
Or maybe he did.
Then his eyes lifted.
And found mine.
The smile disappeared first.
Not dramatically.
Not instantly.
It just slowly faded.
Like his brain had momentarily lost track of whatever conversation he was having.
One of his teammates kept talking.
Cole wasn’t listening anymore.
His attention stayed right where it was.
On me.
Heat crept into my cheeks.
I immediately looked away.
Then, against my better judgment, looked back.
Mistake.
He was still watching.
Not smiling.
Not smirking.
Just looking.
Like he was trying to figure something out.
“What?” I muttered under my breath.
Beside me, Bree made a tiny squealing noise.
I didn’t even need to look at her.
I knew exactly what face she was making.
“No.”
“Oh, yes.”
“No.”
“He cannot stop staring.”
I refused to acknowledge that.
Mostly because she was right.
Across the room, one of Cole’s teammates finally noticed.
He followed Cole’s line of sight.
Then his eyebrows shot up.
The guy said something.
Cole responded without taking his eyes off me.
Great.
Fantastic.
Exactly what I needed.
Then he pushed away from the counter.
My heart immediately betrayed me.
One stupid step.
Then another.
Then another.
He wasn’t rushing.
He wasn’t swaggering.
He was just walking toward us.
Which somehow felt worse.
The crowd naturally shifted aside as he moved through it.
By the time he stopped in front of me, I was painfully aware of how tall he was.
The guy was built like a linebacker and somehow still managed to invade personal space without actually moving closer.
“Hey.”
His voice was lower than I remembered.
I swallowed.
“Hi.”
Brilliant response, Maya.
Truly.
A masterclass in conversation.
One corner of his mouth lifted.
“Maya.”
I blinked.
“You know my name?”
That grin widened slightly.
“Should I not?”
I opened my mouth.
Closed it.
Opened it again.
“Most football players don’t know my name.”
Something flickered across his face.
Amusement.
Maybe curiosity.
“Then those football players are idiots.”
For the first time all night, I didn’t know what to say.
And somehow that felt more dangerous than any cheesy pickup line.
Beside me, Bree was practically vibrating with excitement.
The traitor.
Cole glanced toward her briefly before looking back at me.
“Enjoying the party?”
I snorted.
“No.”
His laugh surprised me.
It was warm.
Real.
Not the cocky grin I’d expected.
“Fair answer.”
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
The noise of the party faded into the background.
Not completely.
Just enough.
Just enough for me to notice those blue eyes.
Just enough for him to keep looking at me like he was seeing something he hadn’t noticed before.
And suddenly, this whole thing didn’t feel like revenge anymore.
That should have made me happy.
Instead, it made me nervous.
Because revenge had rules.
Whatever this was?
It didn’t.
