Chapter 8

Zach’s POV

I had convinced myself not to return so soon. 

Not when the fake kiss still haunted my dreams, and that midnight shadow outside my dorm had left me jumpy. 

But the project deadline loomed like a guillotine, and Staks would not care about my internal drama. 

So at 4:45 PM the next day, I was back at Ryder’s door, knuckles white around my laptop bag.

He answered shirtless this time, sweatpants slung low, towel around his neck like he’d just come from the gym. 

Water glistened on his abs, a drop trailing down to the soaked patch of his waistband. 

I forced my eyes up.

“Early,” he noted, stepping aside. “Eager to argue?”

“Eager to graduate,” I shot back, pushing past him and ignoring the way the smell of his cologne mixed with his body wash made me tingle. 

The apartment smelled like protein shakes and sweat. It wasn’t as organized as usual with his workout gear scattered everywhere.

My eyes stopped when they landed on the sourly familiar blonde in the living room. Brittany was already there, of course. 

Perched on the couch in a tight top and skirt, scrolling her phone, her head flipping backwards as if she could feel the daggers I was throwing her way. “Zachy! Back for more? How dedicated.”

Ryder grunted something noncommittal and dropped onto the couch beside her. 

She immediately glued herself to his side, hand on his thigh.

 “I thought I’d help today. Two brains are better than one, right?”

What brain?

I bit my tongue and opened the shared doc, and for the first twenty minutes, she played nice, staying quiet, sipping her iced latte, occasionally twirling her hair. 

Ryder and I fell into the familiar rhythm: trading sections, marking up slides. 

Our debate from yesterday carried over, but we made real headway on the competitive landscape.

Then Ryder’s phone rang. “Dad. Gotta take this.” He stood, walking toward the kitchen, voice dropping into that clipped business tone.

The second he was out of earshot, Brittany’s mask slipped.

She leaned forward, voice dripping honeyed poison.

 “You know, it’s almost impressive how hard you’re trying. Coming from that little high school in the middle of nowhere, sniffing around Ryder like a charity case… and now, even after he exposed you for the dirty whore you are, you’re still latching onto him with the perfect excuse of this project? I mean, do you have to be here every day?”

My fingers froze on the trackpad. “What did you call me?”

“Oh, don’t play innocent.” She laughed lightly, loud enough to carry. “Everyone has been talking. How you were Ryder’s little leech back then, always hovering around him, begging to be noticed. Must’ve been kinky for you when he started giving you the attention you so desperately needed.”

“You mean when he bullied me?” My voice was thin as ice and I could feel my pencil cracking under the weight of my thumb.

“Don’t be so dramatic. He wanted to get rid of you. When he spilled your dirty secret in front of the whole school. Did you cry or did you secretly enjoy knowing that now you had no excuse to hide yourself from him?”

Heat flooded my face. “You don’t know shit about what happened.”

“I know enough. Scholarship boy thinks he can waltz in and play equals. Those stupid looks you’ve been giving him all day? Staying here till it’s late? Pathetic attempt at attention. Ryder’s too nice to say it, but we all see it.”

She kept going, voice rising with each barb, reminding me of a time when I was weak and helpless, before the transfer, how I’d run away instead of fighting back when pushed to the wall. 

My chest tightened. And humiliation clawed up my throat.

“Britt, what the hell?”

Ryder stood just by the doorway, I don’t know when he walked in or how much he’d heard. I was too busy trying hard not to cry.

She blinked innocently. “Just chatting. Zach’s had some ideas on the market positioning that are… interesting. A bit basic, but what do you expect?”

I stood up fast. “What do you think this is? I’m supposed to just sit here and act like you didn’t just try to humiliate me?”

Ryder crossed his arms. “Britt, lay off. We’re trying to work.”

She pouted. “I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking.”

He shook his head. “Can’t handle a little attention, Jameson?” he added, the tease slipping in like a reflex, but his eyes betrayed something heavier. Something I couldn’t care to read.

That was as much as I could take. 

I rounded on Ryder. “And you? I’m tired of your half-assed defense like you’re doing me some kind of favor? After everything? You’re the whole reason I’m here taking this shit.”

His jaw flexed. “You don’t know everything, Zach. You can’t just put the blame on me…”

“Bullshit! I know what I lived through. Years of your ‘jokes,’ the hallway taunts, the way you made sure I felt like nothing. And now we’re supposed to pretend it never happened because of some fucking group project?”

The air thickened. Ryder stepped closer, voice low and rough. “What happened back then- look, it’s not that simple okay? Let’s just focus on right now.”

I laughed bitterly. “Honestly, I really don’t think I can focus on anything anymore right now.” I turned back and took my seat, fuming but glad I’d gotten some of that steam out.

The silence stretched, and Brittany watched like it was premium entertainment.

Finally, Ryder exhaled sharply. “Well, at least you’re not storming out like last time.”

My jaw clenched as I eyed him. “As much as I enjoy our late night texts, we’ve got actual work to do,” I growled sarcastically.

Walking across from us, he grabbed a bag of chips from the counter, tossing it onto the table between us. “Truce? Eat something before you bite my head off.”

I stared at the offering. A pathetic white flag. Part of me wanted to knock it away. 

Instead, I sat, tension coiling tighter. “I can’t work with her here.”

Ryder glanced at Brittany, then back at me. “Fine, we’ll go to my room. Bring your laptop.”

“What?” Brittany shot up. “Ryder, you can’t be serious. I’m helping!”

He ignored her, already heading down the short hallway. “Come on, Zach.” I followed, ignoring her protests fading behind us. 

Ryder’s room was surprisingly spacious, a king sized bed pushed against one wall, hockey posters lining almost every space, and a massive desk by the window overlooking the campus. 

It smelled like him: clean sweat, cologne, and faint laundry detergent.

I didn’t realize how much of a mistake this was until he closed the door and the atmosphere became dangerously intimate.

It all slowly went downhill from there.

We settled at the desk, chairs pulled close out of necessity. 

Our shoulders brushed as we sat and I couldn’t stop thinking about it while we reviewed the latest slides. 

When his arm grazed mine while pointing at a graph, heat shot through the contact. 

I shifted, but then our knees bumped under the table and it became all I could think about for several minutes. 

On different occasions he would leave lingering side glances that felt like something I couldn’t name, his eyes tracing my features when he thought I wasn’t looking.

Soon, I started staring at him too, catching the flex of his forearm as he typed and feeling heat rush through my veins.

What in the actual heck is happening right now?

“Are you okay?”

His voice felt like timber and cold water, breaking through my tranced state and making me blink like a fool.

“Huh? Yeah, I’m fine. Just glad we’re almost done with today’s portion.”

He didn’t rush to reply, only looked at me in a way that had my head spinning with interpretations.

 Then he let out a small. “Yeah.”

My awareness built like static electricity. 

Every small movement amplified: the way his breath brushed my ear when he leaned in to correct a figure, the brush of his fingers over mine when passing the mouse. 

My skin felt too tight, and I hated how my body responded, heat pooling low despite the anger I felt whenever I was with him

“You’re not wrong about the risk model,” he murmured at one point, voice quieter than usual. 

Our eyes locked longer than necessary. Something shifted in his expression, raw, unguarded.

I swallowed hard. “Yeah? Guess you’re not as dumb as you look on the ice,” I said in a desperate attempt to break the tension.

But when he smirked, I felt a stutter in my chest again.

The pull between us felt almost impossible to deny now, thick and unspoken.

Suddenly the door creaked, and Brittany entered with an iced latte in hand. “This is ridiculous. Ryder, I brought you-”

She tripped as her hip bumped into the desk. 

Coffee splashed dangerously close to my laptop, soaking the edge of my notes and nearly hitting the keyboard.

“Oops,” she said sweetly. “Clumsy me.”

Glad for the interruption yet furious at the same time, I slammed my laptop shut, heart pounding with more emotions than I could name. “Good progress today, but I’m out,” I said, focusing on the frustration I felt towards Brittany for now.

I grabbed my bag and stormed out, Brittany’s fake apology trailing after me. Ryder called my name once, but I didn’t stop.