Don’t Look At Me Like That

CHAPTER 3

POV: Mia

Mia stood in front of her closet for twenty minutes on Sunday afternoon, which was ridiculous. It was just a project meeting. Not a date. Not even close. She pulled out a simple gray sweater and dark jeans, then stared at them like they might betray her. The sweater was soft, a little oversized, Ethan’s favorite on her because it made her look small and huggable. She put it on anyway, telling herself it was armor, not a reminder.

The coffee shop off campus was called The Grind, a converted old house with creaky wooden floors and mismatched chairs. It was far enough from Ridgewood that she wouldn’t run into anyone from class. Neutral territory. Safe. She arrived at 2:50, claiming a corner table upstairs where the light was softer and the noise from the espresso machine below faded into background hum. Two notebooks. Laptop. A fresh set of printed articles. Everything professional.

Ryder walked in at 3:02. She knew the exact minute because she’d been watching the narrow staircase like it might spit out trouble. He wore a black button-down this time, sleeves rolled to the elbows, the silver chain visible at his throat. Rain clung to his hair in tiny droplets. He scanned the room once, found her, and the corner of his mouth tilted—just enough to make her stomach flip.

He ordered at the counter without asking what she wanted, then carried two mugs up the stairs. Black for him. Oat milk latte for her, extra shot.

“You remembered again,” she said as he set it down.

“I told you. I pay attention.” He sat across from her, legs stretching out under the small table until his boot brushed her ankle. He didn’t move it away. Neither did she, not immediately.

They started with the project. Methodology section. Variables. Hypothetical surveys. Words flowed easily enough at first because Mia clung to them like lifelines. Ryder was brilliant in that quiet, cutting way—seeing angles she hadn’t considered, pushing her to defend her ideas until she was arguing back with more fire than she usually showed in academic settings. It felt good. Dangerous good.

An hour passed. Then another. The project notes sprawled across the table, but the conversation had drifted.

“You’re different when you’re not hiding behind your boyfriend’s hoodie,” he said suddenly, leaning forward on his elbows. His voice was low, intimate in the quiet upstairs space. Only two other tables were occupied, and both were far away.

Mia’s fingers froze on her pen. “I’m not hiding.”

“Aren’t you?” His eyes—those deep green-brown ones that seemed to swallow light—held hers without mercy. “You smile at your phone when he texts. But when you’re here, with me, you’re… awake. Like someone turned the volume up.”

“That’s not fair.” Her voice came out softer than she wanted. She took a sip of her latte to buy time, but it had gone lukewarm. “Ethan and I have been together for over a year. He’s steady. Kind. He’s coming home in twelve days now.”

“Twelve days.” Ryder repeated it like he was tasting the number, rolling it around. “And what happens when he gets here? You forget whatever this is?”

“There is no ‘this,’ Ryder.” But even as she said it, her ankle was still pressed against his boot under the table. She could feel the heat of him through denim.

He reached across the table slowly, like giving her time to pull away, and covered her hand with his. His palm was warm, callused at the base of his fingers—probably from the gym or whatever else he did that put that quiet strength in his arms. The contact sent a current straight up her wrist, into her chest, lower.

“You keep saying that,” he murmured. “But your body doesn’t lie, Mia. Your pulse is racing right now.”

She should have snatched her hand back. Instead she stared at the contrast—their fingers, his larger, darker against hers. “This is wrong.”

“Wrong how?” He traced a slow circle on the back of her hand with his thumb. The touch was feather-light but devastating. “You’re not married. You’re not even engaged. You’re just… loyal. To a guy who’s six thousand miles away while I’m right here. Seeing you. Wanting you.”

Her breath hitched. The word “wanting” landed heavy between them, thick with everything he wasn’t saying out loud. She pulled her hand away finally, curling it into her lap. “You don’t even know me.”

“I know enough.” He leaned back, but his eyes never left her face. “I know you bite your lip when you’re thinking too hard. I know you take notes in three different colors because one isn’t enough to organize your thoughts. I know you look at me like you’re terrified of what you feel when I look back.”

Mia’s cheeks burned. She glanced around the café, half expecting someone to be watching this unfolding disaster. No one was. The rain pattered against the old windows, turning the world outside into a watercolor blur.

“Why me?” she asked finally, voice barely above a whisper. “There are plenty of girls on campus who don’t have boyfriends. Who would love the attention.”

“Because they’re not you.” Simple. Certain. Like he’d already decided it weeks ago in that cafeteria doorway. “The first time I saw you—really saw you—you were arguing with that TA in the quad about some reading. You didn’t back down even when he tried to talk over you. You were alive. Real. I wanted that. Wanted to see what else made you light up like that.”

She swallowed hard. Part of her wanted to run. The bigger part—the treacherous one that had kept her up at night—wanted to lean in and ask him to say more.

They talked for another hour, the project forgotten on the table. Ryder told her fragments about himself: grew up moving around a lot, father in the military, learned early how to watch people. How to wait for what he wanted. He didn’t push physically again, but his presence filled the space between them like smoke. Every shift in his chair, every time his gaze dropped to her mouth, built the tension higher.

When they finally packed up, the sky outside was darkening into early evening. The rain had eased into a drizzle.

“I’ll walk you back,” he said, not asking.

“It’s fine. I have my umbrella.”

“I’ll walk you anyway.”

They stepped out into the damp air. The streetlights were just flickering on, casting long reflections on wet pavement. Ryder stayed close, his shoulder occasionally brushing hers. At one point, when a car splashed through a puddle too close to the curb, he pulled her against his side with a firm hand on her waist. The contact lasted only seconds, but she felt it everywhere.

Her dorm was ten minutes away. They walked in charged silence for most of it. Near the campus gates, under the shadow of an old oak tree, he stopped.

“Mia.”

She turned to face him. The way he said her name always sounded like a confession.

His hand came up again, this time cupping the side of her neck, thumb resting just under her jaw where her pulse hammered. “Tell me to stop and I will.”

She opened her mouth. Nothing came out.

He leaned in slowly, giving her every chance to pull away. His breath warmed her lips. The scent of rain and cedar and him filled her head. For one suspended second, the world narrowed to the space between their mouths.

Then her phone rang.

The shrill sound shattered everything. Ethan’s ringtone—the one she’d set months ago, a silly song he’d picked.

Mia jerked back like she’d been burned. Ryder’s hand dropped, but he didn’t look angry. Just… patient. Like he’d expected this.

“I have to take this,” she whispered, already stepping away.

He nodded once. “Go ahead. Tell him I said hello this time.”

There was no smirk this time. Just dark, quiet possession in his eyes.

She answered the call as she walked away, legs shaky. “Hey, baby.”

Ethan’s voice poured through, warm and excited. “Finally! I’ve been trying to reach you. How was your day? Did you get the project stuff done?”

“Yeah. It’s… coming along.” Her voice sounded foreign to her own ears. Too bright. Too brittle.

Behind her, she felt Ryder’s gaze on her back the entire way across the quad. Even after she turned the corner toward her building, the weight of it lingered.

That night, after a long call with Ethan where she laughed in all the right places and told him how much she missed him, Mia lay in bed staring at the ceiling. Lena was out again, leaving the room quiet except for the distant hum of campus life.

Her phone buzzed.

Ryder: “You taste like rain and hesitation. Next time I won’t let the phone stop me.”

She read the message three times. Her body reacted before her brain could, heat pooling low, thighs pressing together under the covers. Guilt followed like a slap.

She deleted the message. Then went into her settings and almost blocked his number. Her thumb hovered over the button for a full minute.

Instead, she typed back:

Mia: “There won’t be a next time like that.”

Ryder: “Lie to yourself if you need to. But don’t lie to me.”

She turned her phone off completely and buried her face in Ethan’s hoodie. The fabric still smelled faintly of him, but it wasn’t enough to drown out the memory of Ryder’s hand on her neck, his breath on her lips, the absolute certainty in his eyes.

Twelve days until Ethan came home.

Mia closed her eyes and tried to count them down like a prayer. But all she could see was the Wrong Pair of eyes watching her in the dark, patient, hungry, and already certain of how this story ended.