Chapter 3: Riley

Riley pov

Noah and I kept our distance most of the time but it didn’t help the matter. He was everywhere. I could hear the sound of his boots when he walked in, the low murmur of his voice on the phone behind closed doors. The rumble of his car in the driveway long after midnight.

And every time, my pulse betrayed me.

Sunday night, I found myself curled on the bed with my laptop open, pretending to work on an essay I hadn’t even started. My mom had gone out with David something 'social, business related' she said with too much sparkle in her tone. Which meant the house was quiet.

Until a soft knock echoed on my door.

I froze. “Yeah?”

The door opened a little, and Noah leaned against the frame like he owned the place, one hand shoved into his jeans pocket, the other holding a water bottle.

“Tomorrow,” he said.

I blinked. “Tomorrow what?”

“ I'll tutor you at seven. Don’t be late.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Do you seriously have to schedule everything?”

He smirked, just a flicker at the corner of his mouth. “Some people need structure.”

“I don’t,” I shot back.

His gaze swept over me, lingering a second too long on the tank top I had thrown on without thinking. His voice dipped, rougher now. “Yeah, I noticed.”

Heat flared in my chest, crawling up my neck. “You’re such an ass.”

“Maybe.” His blue eyes locked on mine unreadable.

And then he was gone, the door clicking shut as if he hadn’t just thrown gasoline on a fire I was trying desperately to put off.

By the time Monday night rolled around, I almost convinced myself I wasn’t nervous.

I carried my notebook into his room, refusing to let him see how tightly I was gripping it. He didn’t look up when I came in. Just gestured lazily to the chair across from him,his eyes still on the papers spread across his desk.

“You’re late.”

“It’s seven right now,” I muttered.

“That’s late.”

God, he was infuriating.

We worked in silence, his voice was low and steady as he explained formulas I barely followed. But it wasn’t the math that made my stomach twist—it was him.

The way he leaned close enough for his cologne to engulf my senses and everything around me. The way his sleeve slipped just enough to reveal more of that ink crawling up his arm. The way his eyes burned through me whenever I zoned out.

At one point, I dropped my pen, and he caught it before it hit the floor, his fingers brushing against mine. Just a spark but it was enough to make my breath hitch.

“Concentrate,” he murmured, lips so close I could almost feel the shape of the word on my skin.

I jerked back like I’d been caught. “I am.”

He didn’t argue this time. Just watched me, silent, unreadable, until I forced myself to scribble an answer down.

When I finally escaped his room after the torturous tutoring session, my head was spinning. I closed my door and leaned against it, heart thudding like I’d run a marathon.

This wasn’t going to work.

No matter how much I told myself to hate him, to keep the line drawn in thick, unbreakable ink Noah was already pushing past it.

And worst of all?

A part of me didn’t want to stop him.

I thought I was safe once I left his room. That if I hid behind my door, my ceiling, my own restless thoughts, Noah would stay where he belonged—in the shadows of my memory, not in the present.

I was wrong.

Because an hour later, there was another knock only this time was firm and demanding.

My heart stuttered. “What?”

The door opened anyway. He didn’t even wait for an invitation.

Noah stepped in, his shoulders filling the frame, his blue eyes locking on me like I was the only thing that mattered. He closed the door behind him, the click of the lock sounding louder than it should have.

“What the hell, Noah?” I snapped, scrambling to sit up. “You can’t just—”

“Last year.” His voice was low, dangerous. “We’re going to talk about it.”

The words hit me like a slap. My throat went dry. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Bullshit.” He stalked closer, each step deliberate, predatory. “You’ve been looking at me like you’re waiting for me to bring it up. Like you want me to.”

I shook my head, even as my pulse betrayed me. “I was drunk Noah! It was a mistake.”

His smirk was sharp and cruel. “You weren’t drunk. I was there, remember? You kissed me because you wanted to.”

I shot to my feet, backing up until my calves hit the bed. “Stop twisting it. It didn’t mean anything.”

He closed the space between us in two strides. His hand braced against the wall by my head, his body caging mine in. I could feel the heat of him, smell the faint spice of his cologne, see the scar above his brow.

“Didn’t mean anything?” His voice dropped, rough, almost a growl. “Then why are you still thinking about it?”

My breath hitched.

“I’m not, why would you say that?” I whispered, weakly.

His eyes darkened. “Liar.”

He leaned closer, his mouth hovering a breath from mine, his voice low. “You can lie to yourself, Riley. But don’t lie to me.”

His face was so close now I could feel the heat of his breath brushing my lips. My chest rose and fell too fast, my back pressed hard against the wall with nowhere to run.

“Noah…” My voice cracked, softer than I wanted it to be.

His eyes flicked down to my mouth, then back up. He looked like a man standing on the edge of something dangerous and about to jump.

I swallowed hard. “You’re my—”

He cut me off, his mouth twisting into a wicked, smug smile. “Say brother, Riley. I dare you.”

My lips parted, but nothing came out.

His gaze sharpened, his voice dropping to a low growl that slid straight into my bones. “Go on. Say it.” His head tilted, his mouth brushing so close I swore he was going to kiss me.

“Because as far as I know…” His smirk deepened. “Brothers don’t know how you taste.”

My knees wobbled, heat rushing through me so violently I wanted to shove him away, scream at him, hate him. Anything but this.

Anything but wanting him.

“You’re disgusting,” I whispered, but it didn’t sound convincing. It sounded weak.

His eyes glittered triumphant. “And yet you’re still here. Still looking at me like you want me to do it again.”

He leaned in just a fraction closer, enough for his lips to graze my cheek without touching. My whole body was trembling.

And then he pulled back.

“Think about that, Riley,” he murmured, voice laced with poison. “Think about why you didn’t stop me.”

Then he stepped back, turned, and walked out, leaving me pressed against the wall, shaking, hating him… and hating myself even more for wishing he hadn’t stopped.