Chapter 7 Library Antics

Jalen’s POV

Flashback

Library Scene

After heading into the library, I spot her right away, sitting at our table. Yeah, our table. The one we always seem to gravitate toward now. She’s already set up, her laptop open, and our project notes scribbled across a small dry erase board: brand ideas, marketing strategies, even a mock-up tagline.

She looks up like she wasn’t expecting me yet, eyes darting from her phone screen to mine. Definitely texting someone.

“Hey, Aria,” I say, tossing my bag down and sliding into the seat across from her.

“Oh, hey,” she replies casually, clicking her phone screen off and pushing it aside. “You ready to get started? I’ve got work at four.”

“Yeah, for sure,” I say, trying to focus. But honestly, I’m stupidly curious about who she was texting. Was it that douchebag Mike? I swear, if she’s entertaining that guy…

I shake it off, pulling out my laptop and notebook.

“Hey, before we get started,” I say, glancing up at her, “I just wanna apologize about yesterday. I was caught off guard, and I should’ve stepped in… or at least said something when Talia came at Lucia like that.”

She pauses, then gives me a small smile, soft but confident.

“Thanks,” she says. “For acknowledging, you could’ve stepped in, though. That means something.”

I don’t even think I just reach across the table and grab her hand, giving it a quick, unconscious squeeze. It’s instinct, not planned.

Her eyes flick down to our hands, then back up to mine. But she doesn’t pull away.

“Alright,” I say, clearing my throat and letting go. “Let’s get started.”

She leans forward, clicking into the G****e Doc we’ve been building on, like that moment, my hand, the way her eyes lingered, isn’t hanging heavy between us. But it is. At least for me.

“Okay,” she says, scrolling. “So I worked on refining the pitch last night and tightening up the mission statement and adding more detail to our target demographic.”

I nod, pretending to focus on the screen, but my eyes keep drifting. Her fingers dance across the keyboard like it’s second nature, and her voice is calm and steady, but I see the way she chews on her bottom lip when she’s thinking.

God, I need to get a grip.

“That looks good,” I finally say, my voice a little hoarse. “The part about the brand identity? That’s strong.”

She glances up and smiles. “Thanks. I figured if we’re going for real, intentional storytelling through branding, we should start with our own.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Our own?”

She shrugs. “Our voices. Our point of view. What makes us different. Otherwise, we’re just noise.”

Damn. She’s always thinking like that, deeper. Bigger.

“You ever think about doing this for real?” I ask before I can stop myself. “Like, outside of this class?”

Aria blinks, caught off guard. “You mean like starting an actual business?”

“Yeah,” I say, leaning back. “You’re good at this. We’re good at this.”

Her eyes meet mine again, and for a second, something passes between us. A quiet recognition. Or maybe I imagined it.

“I don’t know,” she says softly. “It would be amazing. But… life’s complicated.”

I nod. “Yeah. Tell me about it.”

She looks at me a beat longer, then turns her attention back to the board.

“Okay,” she says, voice lighter now, “so you were supposed to come up with a campaign angle. What do you have?”

I smirk. “Oh, you mean besides the hours I spent wondering who you were texting before I walked in?”

Her head snaps up. Her cheeks go pink, and she laughs, like actually laughs.

“You’re ridiculous,” she says.

“Am I wrong, though?” I ask, cocking an eyebrow.

“None of your business, Jalen.”

She’s grinning now, but there’s heat behind her eyes and not just from being flustered. It’s something else. Charged.

“I’m just saying,” I murmur, tapping my pen against the table, “if it was Mike, you can do better.”

She raises her brows. “And you’d know?”

“I got eyes,” I say. “And decent instincts. He’s not your type.”

“Oh?” She leans in slightly. “And what exactly is my type?”

I pause, suddenly hyper-aware of how close she is. Of how the air feels different now, thicker.

“Somebody who actually sees you,” I say. “All of you. Not just the version that looks good on paper.”

She doesn’t say anything for a second. Just stares at me. Then slowly leans back, her expression unreadable.

“Let’s finish this campaign,” she says quietly.

“Yeah,” I say. “Let’s.”

But my mind’s not on marketing anymore. Not even close.

Aria’s POV

Present Day

Nia’s House

After logging off the Teams meeting, the silence in the room is almost startling. My stomach growls so loudly I swear it echoes.

“Hey chick, are you done working so we can grab lunch while Matt watches the kiddos?” Nia calls from downstairs.

I stand and stretch, feeling the stiffness in my back. “Yeah, let’s go.”

We hop in her truck, windows cracked just enough to let in the breeze, the air still thick with early summer heat. We’re halfway to Olive Garden when she side-eyes me with that look.

“So, bitch… spill it. I need the rest of the story,” she says, dragging out the word like it’s wine she’s savoring.

I sigh, already knowing I’m about to hand her a whole damn novel. “Where did we leave off?”

“You told me about the first time y’all met and how he pissed you off. Then y’all started working on that project and got close again, so let’s move on,” she says, tossing her braids over her shoulder. “When did ya'll cross the line? I remember something shifting... I just didn’t know what.”

I stare out the window for a second too long, like maybe the story will change if I wait. I inhale. “Okay, now when I tell you this, don’t judge me.”

She chuckles, flipping on her blinker. “Girl, this is a judgment-free zone. Spill.”

Flashback

October, Second Week

Thursday, 10:00 PM

Aria’s POV

People think working at the library is easy. Peaceful. Quiet. Hell no. It's physical and draining, and by the time I get home to the condo, my entire body is ready to collapse. The second I step in, the smell of home cooked food hits me, and I could kiss Lucia for leaving me a plate.

I warm it up, grab a juice and a water, and I’m thinking I’ll eat and crash, until I hear it.

No. I hear them.

Moans. Breathless gasps. Skin slapping against skin.

“Yes, Jay, fuck me like that!” Talia’s voice echoes through the thin walls.

His voice follows, low, ragged. “Baby, ride me.”

I freeze in the kitchen, jaw clenched around my spoon. This is the third time this week. And every damn time they’re louder. Bolder.

I grab my plate and head to my room, closing the door behind me like it’ll block out the sounds of her calling his name. I turn on the TV, trying to drown them out. Trading Places is playing. Perfect. I wish I could trade places with her right now.

Jalen and I… we’ve been texting. A lot. He told me about his dad, Tucker, cold and ruthless in business, but a loving, protective father at home. His mom’s warm. His little brothers are wild. I told him about my sister. We talk like… like we’re something more that project partners.

And still, tonight I’m alone. Listening to her fuck him into the mattress.

After dinner, I take a long shower. A long one. I try not to imagine what they’re doing, but my mind won’t shut up. Jalen’s voice. Talia’s moans. His stamina, yeah, I’ve heard. He goes for hours. I laugh bitterly to myself. I’ve never had a man last longer than ten minutes. Never had one try to actually satisfy me.

I throw on a long sleep shirt and my bonnet and decide to let Daedly Women on ID channel distract me. I’m almost halfway through when I get a craving for ice cream. I know there's orange sherbet downstairs, and dammit, I deserve some happiness.

I creep down quietly, knowing Lucia’s probably asleep, and Talia and Jalen are hopefully tired out. I open the freezer, grab the tub, and scoop two huge spoonfuls into a bowl. I’m leaning over the counter, half-dressed and blissfully licking my sherbet when I hear someone clear their throat behind me.

I freeze.

I slowly turn, and there he is.

Jalen.

In nothing but basketball shorts. Chest glistening. Skin flushed. He has the nerve to smirk.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” he says, casually walking toward the fridge. “Just came down for a water. Talia’s asleep.”

I swallow hard. “Okay.”

He opens the fridge, grabs water and then glances at me. “Ice cream, huh?”

I nod, too stunned to say anything.

He steps closer, eyes on my lips. “I guess I need a lick.”

And just like that, he leans in and licks the sherbet off my lips.

I stand frozen. My brain screams what the fuck are you doing?! but my body doesn’t move.

“Mmm,” he says. “That’s good. Can I have another lick?”

I don’t answer.

So he does it again. And again. And the next thing I know, his mouth is on mine. Kissing me. Slow. Deep. Hot. Like we’ve been waiting weeks for this. Like every message, every look, every almost touch was leading right to this moment.

And then he pulls back. Breath shaky. Eyes locked with mine.

He grabs his water.

And walks away.

Back to her room.

Back to Present – Olive Garden

“Bitch, what?!” Nia damn near shouts, flipping her menu down. “I can’t believe that happened!”

I lean back in the booth, my hands gripping the water glass. “It happened. And I felt bad… at first. But then I didn’t. Because she’s a crazy ass bitch.”

We both break into laughter as the waiter approaches, giving us the side-eye before asking for our order.

I’m still laughing, but somewhere deep down, I feel that familiar ache. The kind that lingers after a kiss you should never have shared.