Chapter 2

Maya

I regretted agreeing approximately twelve seconds after Bree dragged me down the hallway.

“This is a terrible idea,” I muttered, stumbling behind her.

Bree didn’t even look back.

“This is an iconic idea.”

“It’s Wednesday.”

“So?”

“I have an essay.”

“You have a pulse. That’s more important.”

She shoved open her bedroom door like she was entering a war room, then spun toward her closet with the kind of determination usually reserved for hostage negotiations.

“Okay,” she announced. “Operation: Torture the Rogue is officially underway.”

“I hate that you named it.”

“You love that I named it.”

“I really don’t.”

Bree pulled out a red dress so fast it was like it had been waiting for this moment.

My stomach dropped.

“Oh no.”

“Oh yes.”

“That is not a dress,” I said. “That’s… that’s a suggestion.”

“It’s a weapon,” Bree corrected. “Now put it on.”

“I can’t just walk into the football house dressed like—like that.”

Bree gave me a look.

“Maya. You live next door to a pack of men who think breaking into your house for pizza is normal. This is self-defense.”

“I’m pretty sure this counts as assault.”

“Exactly.”

I groaned, but Bree was already shoving me toward my room.

“Five minutes. Hair down. No glasses. We’re doing this.”

⸻

Fifteen minutes later, I barely recognized myself.

The dress was simple, fitted, and red in a way that felt illegal. Bree had curled my hair so it fell in soft waves over my shoulders, and she’d even convinced me to put on mascara and lip gloss.

When I stepped out, Bree froze.

Then she grinned slowly.

“Oh,” she said. “Oh, Rogue Ryder is going to suffer.”

“I look ridiculous.”

“You look like the kind of girl football captains write songs about after they ruin their lives.”

“That’s not comforting.”

“It’s accurate.”

I stared at my reflection one last time, nerves buzzing in my chest.

“This is insane.”

Bree looped her arm through mine.

“Insane is letting him steal your pizza and get away with it.”

Fair point.

We walked out the front door.

The music next door was louder now, pulsing through the cold night air. Lights flashed in the windows. Laughter spilled into the street.

The football house looked exactly like trouble.

Bree leaned close.

“One lap,” she whispered. “We make them notice. Then we vanish.”

“And if I die?”

“I’ll make sure your obituary mentions how hot you looked.”

“Comforting.”

“I try.”

⸻

The front door was wide open.

Inside, the house was chaos.

Bodies everywhere. Red cups. Someone shouting over the music. The smell of beer and cologne and bad decisions.

Bree tugged me in.

Immediately, I felt it.

The shift.

Heads turning.

Conversations stalling.

A few guys near the kitchen actually stopped mid-sentence.

Bree’s smile widened like a proud stage mom.

“That’s right,” she murmured. “Look.”

I wanted to crawl out of my skin.

We moved through the living room slowly, Bree practically glowing beside me.

I kept my chin up, even though my heart was trying to escape through my throat.

Then—

I saw him.

Cole Ryder.

He was across the room, leaning against the counter with two teammates, laughing at something.

Broad shoulders. White t-shirt stretched tight across his chest. A drink in his hand.

He looked… effortless.

Like he belonged in every room he walked into.

Then his eyes flicked up.

And locked on me.

The laugh died instantly.

His body went still.

For a moment, I thought maybe I imagined it.

But no.

Cole Ryder was staring like someone had just rewritten his reality.

His gaze swept over me—slow, sharp, unreadable.

The Rogue looked…

Speechless.

One of his teammates nudged him.

“Yo, Ryder. You good?”

Cole didn’t answer.

He was still watching me.

Like he couldn’t decide if I was real.

Bree leaned in, whispering with delight.

“Oh, he is wrecked.”

“I hate this,” I whispered back.

“You love this.”

I did not.

I absolutely did.

Cole finally pushed off the counter.

And started walking toward me.

Each step felt deliberate.

Heavy.

The air around him shifted like the room was making space.

My pulse slammed.

Bree squeezed my arm.

“Stay cool,” she murmured. “Don’t blink first.”

Cole stopped in front of us.

Up close, he was worse.

Taller. Warmer. Those blue eyes bright like they were cutting straight through me.

His gaze flicked to Bree briefly, then back to me.

“Maya,” he said, voice lower than it had any right to be.

I blinked.

“You… know my name?”

A slow grin tugged at his mouth.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured. “I know a lot more than you think.”

My cheeks burned.

Bree’s eyes practically sparkled.

Cole’s gaze dipped again, just for a second, then returned to my face.

“You come here often?”

I narrowed my eyes.

“This is literally your house.”

His grin widened.

“Then why does it feel like you’re the one who just walked in and stole something?”

My breath caught.

Bree leaned in, stage-whispering.

“She’s just doing one lap, Ryder.”

Cole didn’t look away from me.

“One lap,” he repeated softly.

Then, almost dangerously—

“Good.”

I swallowed.

Because suddenly…

This didn’t feel like revenge anymore.

It felt like the beginning of something worse.

Or maybe…

Something inevitable.