Borrowed Time

CHAPTER 4

POV: Mia

Mia woke up to the faint buzz of her phone vibrating on the nightstand, the sound cutting through the early morning quiet like a warning she wanted to ignore. She reached for it groggily, squinting at the screen. Two new messages from Ryder, sent sometime after midnight.

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

Ryder: Sleep well, Mia.

Her thumb hovered over the delete button, heart hammering in the dim light of the dorm room. Lena was still snoring softly across the room, oblivious. Mia read the words again, heat blooming low in her belly despite the guilt that followed like a cold wave. She deleted both messages, then cleared the trash for good measure, as if that could erase the memory of his hand on her neck, his breath warming her lips under that old oak tree.

It was Monday. Ten days until Ethan came home.

She rolled out of bed and went through her routine on autopilot, run, shower, black coffee from the cart near the east gate. The campus felt sharper today, colors brighter, every sound amplified. Or maybe it was just her nerves fraying at the edges. In class, she sat in her usual spot and forced herself not to glance three rows over where Ryder always sat. He was there, of course. She felt his gaze on her like a physical touch during the entire lecture.

When Professor Langdon dismissed them, Mia packed up slowly, hoping the crowd would swallow her. It didn’t work. Ryder waited at the end of the row again, hands in his pockets, that black hoodie making him look more like trouble than a business-psych double major.

“Library basement after your last class?” he asked without preamble. His voice was low, meant for her alone.

She adjusted her bag strap, avoiding his eyes. “I have a lot of reading to catch up on.”

“We need to finish the methodology section. Deadline’s creeping up.” He stepped closer as students filed past them. Close enough that she caught that clean, dark scent of cedar and rain again. “Unless you’re avoiding me now.”

“I’m not avoiding anything.” The lie sat heavy on her tongue. “Fine. After four.”

He nodded once, satisfied, and left without another word. Mia watched him go, shoulders straight, unhurried stride cutting through the hallway like he owned the space. She let out a shaky breath and headed to her next lecture, Ethan’s latest voice note playing on loop in her mind from the night before, warm, excited, counting down the days.

The afternoon dragged. By the time she reached the library basement, the tension in her shoulders had knotted into something almost painful. The space was quiet as usual, dust motes dancing in the low light from the small windows high on the walls. Ryder was already there, two coffees on the table, one black, one with oat milk. He looked up when she approached, eyes tracing her face in that way that made her feel stripped bare.

“You came,” he said simply.

“Of course I did. It’s a group project.” She sat across from him, pulling out her notes like a shield. Her fingers trembled slightly as she opened her laptop.

They worked in relative silence for the first twenty minutes, the scratch of pens and occasional keyboard clicks the only sounds. But the air between them felt charged, heavy with everything unsaid from Saturday night. Every time their knees brushed under the table, neither pulled away. Mia’s skin prickled with awareness.

“You deleted my texts,” he observed quietly after a while, not looking up from his screen.

Her head snapped up. “How do you—”

“I pay attention, Mia. Your replies stopped cold. No read receipts after a certain point.” He leaned forward, elbows on the table, fixing her with that steady, unhurried stare. “Doesn’t change anything.”

“It changes everything,” she whispered fiercely, glancing around even though they were alone. “I have a boyfriend, Ryder. He’s coming home in ten days. This… whatever you think this is… can’t happen.”

He didn’t argue. Instead, he reached across the table and covered her hand with his, thumb stroking the inside of her wrist where her pulse jumped wildly. The touch was gentle but possessive, sending sparks racing up her arm and down her spine. “Tell me you don’t feel it too. Look me in the eyes and say it.”

Mia tried. She really did. But when she met his gaze, the words stuck in her throat. His eyes were dark, intense, filled with a certainty that terrified and thrilled her in equal measure. “I… I can’t do this.”

“You’re already doing it.” His voice dropped lower, rough around the edges. “Every time you show up. Every time you let my leg stay against yours under this table. Every time you think about me when you’re supposed to be thinking about him.”

Heat flooded her cheeks. She pulled her hand back, but the loss of contact felt worse. “You don’t know what I think.”

“I know enough.” He sat back, but his eyes never left her. “I know you haven’t slept properly since the café. I know you wear his hoodie like a security blanket, but it doesn’t stop you from wondering what my hands would feel like instead.”

The words landed like a spark on dry tinder. Mia’s breath hitched, thighs pressing together under the table as unwanted images flashed through her mind, his hands on her waist, sliding higher, claiming. She stood abruptly, chair scraping against the floor. “I need some air.”

Ryder rose too, blocking the narrow aisle between the stacks without touching her. Not trapping her, but close enough that she felt the heat rolling off him. “Run if you need to. But we both know you’ll be back.”

She slipped past him, their bodies brushing in the tight space. The contact sent a jolt through her, nipples tightening under her sweater. She hurried up the stairs and out into the cool evening air, chest heaving. The campus paths were dotted with students heading to dinner or study groups, but she felt utterly alone with her thoughts.

That night, Ethan called again. His voice wrapped around her like a familiar blanket as she lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling.

“Baby, you sound tired. Everything okay with the project?”

“It’s fine,” she said, forcing brightness into her tone. “My partner’s pulling his weight. We’re making progress.”

“Good. I hate that you have to deal with strangers while I’m stuck over here. But ten days, Mia. I’m packing my bags already. Can’t wait to hold you.”

“I can’t wait either.” The words tasted like half-truths. She missed him, the real him, the one who made her laugh and feel safe. But the ache in her chest now had layers, complicated by a man who looked at her like she was already his.

After they hung up, she opened her messages with Ryder before she could stop herself.

Mia: “We should keep things professional from now on.”

His reply came almost instantly.

Ryder: “Professional doesn’t explain why your breath catches every time I get close. See you Wednesday.”

She groaned and tossed her phone aside, burying her face in the pillow. Sleep came eventually, restless and filled with dreams of strong hands and conflicting eyes, one pair warm and loving, the other dark and consuming.

Tuesday blurred by in a haze of lectures and avoidance. She took different routes across campus, skipped the usual study spots. But by late afternoon, as she sat in the student union with Priya, the truth spilled out in fragments over lukewarm tea.

“He almost kissed me Saturday,” Mia admitted, voice low. “And I wanted him to. God, Priya, what’s wrong with me?”

Priya’s eyes widened but she didn’t judge. “Nothing’s wrong with you. Long distance is hard. This Ryder guy sounds intense as hell. But you love Ethan, right?”

“I do. I really do.” Mia traced the rim of her cup. “But when Ryder looks at me… it’s like he sees parts of me I didn’t even know were there. Parts that want more than steady and safe.”

Priya squeezed her hand. “Just be honest with yourself before someone gets hurt. Ten days isn’t forever.”

But ten days felt like an eternity and not nearly enough all at once.

Wednesday arrived with a light drizzle that matched her mood. Mia showed up at the library basement anyway, because the project was real even if everything else felt like it was unraveling. Ryder was waiting, coffee ready as always. He didn’t mention her text. He just pulled out her chair and got to work.

The session started professional enough. They debated sources, outlined surveys, typed notes in shared silence. But as the hours wore on and the basement emptied completely, the tension thickened.

“You’re fighting it so hard,” he murmured during a lull, his leg pressing firmly against hers under the table now. Deliberate. Unyielding.

Mia’s breath shallowed. “I have to.”

“Why?” He turned in his chair, facing her fully. The dim light cast shadows across his sharp jawline, making him look even more dangerous. “Because it’s easy with him? Because you’re scared of what you feel when I touch you?”

His hand moved under the table, resting on her knee. Not pushing higher, just there, warm, solid, thumb stroking slow circles that sent electricity racing up her thigh. She should have pushed him away. Instead, her legs parted slightly, almost involuntarily.

“Ryder…” Her voice was barely a whisper, laced with warning and want.

“Tell me to stop.” His eyes bored into hers, dark with hunger. “Say it like you mean it.”

She opened her mouth, but the words wouldn’t come. His hand slid higher, just under the hem of her skirt, fingers brushing the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. Heat pooled between her legs, a slick ache building that made her shift in her seat. The library was silent around them, the risk heightening everything.

He leaned in closer, lips brushing her ear. “You’re so wet already, aren’t you? Just from this.”

A soft whimper escaped her before she could stop it. His fingers inched higher, teasing the edge of her panties. She gripped the table edge, knuckles white, torn between pulling away and arching into his touch.

The sound of distant footsteps above snapped her back. She jerked away, standing so fast her chair toppled. “I can’t. Not here. Not like this.”

Ryder stood too, calm on the surface but with fire in his eyes. He righted her chair without a word, then stepped close enough that their bodies nearly touched. “Next time, Mia. There will be a next time.”

She fled the basement, legs shaky, body throbbing with unfulfilled need. Outside, the drizzle had turned to rain. She walked back to the dorm without an umbrella, letting it soak her, hoping the cold would douse the flames Ryder had lit.

That night, alone in her room, the guilt crashed over her in waves. She called Ethan, laughing at his stories, telling him she loved him. But when she hung up, her hand slipped between her thighs, chasing the release Ryder had promised with his touch. As she came, it was his name on her lips, soft and broken in the dark.

Nine days until Ethan came home.

Mia curled into a ball under the covers, wondering how much longer she could keep pretending the wrong pair of eyes hadn’t already claimed her.