Chapter 6

Zach’s POV

The photo burned in my hand like it had its own pulse.

Ryder’s fingers in my hair.

My grip on his chest.

Our mouths fused like we were trying to devour each other.

It looked so real I could almost taste him; salt, mint, and pure rage.

My stomach flipped. 

“This isn’t real,” I said again, louder this time, shoving the paper back at Gigi. “I’d remember kissing him.”

Gigi’s eyes flicked between us, sharp as knives. “Group chat’s blowing up. Half the campus thinks it’s AI slop, the other half thinks you two are secretly fucking in the library stacks.”

Ryder snatched the printout, crumpling it in one big fist. His jaw worked like he was chewing glass. “Delete it. All of it.”

“You think I have that power?” Gigi snapped. “It’s already everywhere.”

I couldn’t look at him. Not when my mind was now focused on the phantom press of his mouth from the picture.

Heat crawled up my neck.

Fake.

It’s fake. 

But somehow, I didn’t believe it.

Ryder’s eyes finally met mine; stormy, furious, and something else I couldn’t name.

“Whatever! Tomorrow. Five. My place.” He rattled off the address like an order, then shouldered past us both, the scent of his cologne, something expensive and woody, lingering like a taunt.

Gigi grabbed my arm. “Zach. Tell me you’re not actually thinking about doing this project with him.”

“I don’t have a choice.” My voice sounded raw. “Staks will tank us both.”

She exhaled hard. “Fine. But I’m coming with you tomorrow. Moral support. And with a pepper spray.”

I almost laughed. Almost.

The next day, I showed up at Ryder’s off-campus apartment alone.

Gigi had a shift she couldn’t skip, and I wasn’t about to hide behind her.

The building was sleek, all glass and money. Of course.

Ryder opened the door in gray sweatpants and a black compression shirt that did unforgivable things to his shoulders.

His hair was damp, like he’d just showered.

I hated how good he looked but hated it more that I noticed.

“Coming in, or are you gonna stare at my dick through my pants all night?” he drawled.

“Fuck you,” I muttered, pushing past him.

His place was surprisingly clean; open plan, leather couches, hockey gear stacked neatly in one corner. A massive TV played a muted game.

I dropped my bag on the island and pulled out my laptop like armor.

“We’re doing the market analysis first,” I said, not looking at him.

“I already have the data sets…” “Yeah, yeah. Nerd shit.” He dropped onto the couch, legs spread, arm draped along the back like he owned the world. “You always this uptight, or is it just with me?”

“It’s you, trust me.” I opened the spreadsheet, fingers flying. “Try to keep up.”

We worked in tense silence for twenty minutes. Every time our eyes accidentally met, the air crackled.

I kept seeing that damn photo. His mouth. My hand on his chest.

The way my body had arched in the image like it belonged there.

“You’re doing it wrong,” Ryder said suddenly, leaning over me as his chest brushed my shoulder and heat poured off him.

“I know what I’m doing.”

“No, you transposed the figures.” His finger tapped the screen, close enough that I caught the faint scar on his knuckle. From what? Probably punching someone who looked at him wrong.

I slapped his hand away. “Don’t touch my stuff.” He didn’t move back.

“Touchy. What’s got you so wound up, Jameson? Still thinking about that dumb picture?”

My head snapped up. “I’m not, there’s nothing to think about.”

His eyes dropped to my mouth for half a second. “You’re right about that.”

“I’m right about a lot of things,” I retorted.

Surprisingly he remained silent before muttering. “It’s a shame though.”

The words just hung between us, heavy and dangerous. I stood up fast, chair scraping. “I need water.”

“Kitchen’s right there, princess.”

I hated him. I hated how my skin prickled when he called me that.

We met three times a week.

Each session started civil and ended in shouting.

Ryder was smarter than I wanted to admit, lazy with the details but sharp on strategy.

He caught mistakes I missed, and I hated that so much.

As if there wasn’t enough on my plate, Brittany started showing up like a bad rash.

When I arrived at our  third meeting, she was already draped over his couch when I arrived, legs crossed, glossy hair swinging. “Ryder, baby, you didn’t tell me the project kid was coming over.”

“Leave, Britt,” he said flatly, not even looking up from his laptop.

She pouted, eyes sliding to me with venom. “Careful, Zachy. I don’t know what you were trying to pull with those AI pics but people are starting to think you might want to steal my man.”

“I would rather rob the White House and then shoot myself,” I shot back.

Ryder’s mouth twitched, and almost. I ignored it.

Later, after Brittany finally left in a huff, we argued about the executive summary until we were both standing, yelling inches apart.

“You’re impossible!” I shoved his chest. It was like pushing granite.

"And you’re a fucking control freak who can’t let anyone else breathe!” he roared back.

Our chests heaved.

His eyes were dark, pupils blown.

I could smell him, sweat and that damn cologne.

My gaze dropped to his mouth.

His dropped to mine.

For one terrifying second, I thought he might kiss me. Or I might kiss him. Instead, he stepped back, raking a hand through his hair.

“Get out. We’re done for tonight.”

That was more than enough for me, in the next instant I packed my things while struggling to stay composed, his eyes on me did not make matters any easier but I couldn’t care more over my rattling mind. I left before I did something absolutely stupid.

But even as I got to my house and chugged down a full jar of orange juice, I couldn’t get that damn picture out of my mind.