Semua Bab Crossing the line : Bab 1 - Bab 10

Ava's POV “Ava, if you keep glaring at your laptop like that, it’s going to file an official complaint.” I don’t even glance up. Lila’s voice drips with amusement, and if I make eye contact, she’ll just get more dramatic. “I’m not glaring,” I mumble, my fingers hovering uselessly over the keyboard. “I’m concentrating.” “On what? The blinking cursor? Maybe if you stare long enough, it’ll write your article for you.” With a groan, I push my chair back from the desk and grab the nearest pillow. Lila ducks just in time, and it smacks harmlessly against our dorm wall. “You’re impossible.” She grins, tucking her legs beneath her on her bed. “And you’re avoiding. Big difference. What’s the deal this time?” I press my lips together, debating whether to admit it, but Lila’s my best friend. She’d find out eventually. “The paper editor just called,” I mutter. “I’ve been assigned to cover Crescent Heights University’s basketball season.” Her reaction is instant. She gasps so dramatical

Ethan's POV I’ve done a hundred interviews, maybe more.Local papers. Regional sports blogs. Even one national piece after last season’s championship run. They all go the same way—smiles, canned questions, and me spitting out answers I’ve already rehearsed in the mirror. “We play hard.” “We’re focused on the next game.” “One day at a time.”Nobody expects me to mean any of it. They just want a good quote to slap under a photo of me making a three-pointer.But Ava Reynolds? She didn’t come at me with softballs. She jabbed like she was trying to draw blood.And I’ll admit—it threw me.I watch her leave the gym, notebook tucked tight against her chest, back stiff with irritation. She doesn’t even glance back. Most people linger around me, hoping for attention. She couldn’t get away fast enough.My teammates are still hanging around the court, stretching, joking, winding down. Marcus jogs over and bumps my shoulder with his.“Damn, Cole,” he says, grinning. “That was brutal. Think you ma

Ethan's POV If I had a dollar for every headline written about me, I could’ve already bought Tyler a car.Cole Dominates the Court.Ethan Cole Leads Hawks to Victory.Campus Hero Does It Again.Same words, different day. The kind of puff pieces you skim once and forget.But this one?This one’s different.Brilliant but Reckless: The Dual Edge of Ethan Cole.Even now, the words keep replaying in my head.---The first time I saw her after it went live, I caught her in the gym. She was waiting near the bleachers with that notebook tucked under her arm like it was a shield.Most people shrink when I walk in, give me the wide-eyed “that’s him” look and shuffle out of the way. But Ava Reynolds didn’t move. She looked me straight in the eye, like she was daring me to say something.So I did.I grabbed a stray copy of the paper one of the assistants left lying around, slapped it against my palm, and stopped right in front of her.“Brilliant but reckless,” I read aloud, letting the words han

Ava's POV The newsroom smells like burnt coffee and stale paper, a combination that should feel familiar but still manages to make my stomach twist. My laptop screen glows accusingly in front of me, the cursor blinking at the top of a blank document like it’s daring me to actually write something worth reading.I’ve been staring for almost twenty minutes, chewing the end of my pen, but every draft line sounds the same: flat, recycled, or worse, like I’m repeating my last article. The Chronicle expects a follow-up. I can’t just turn in a copy-paste version of “reckless captain Ethan Cole.”“Stop glaring at the screen like it stole your lunch money,” Maya says, dropping into the chair beside me. She smells like peppermint gum and determination. Balanced in her hands is a cardboard tray with two lattes. She slides one across the desk to me. “Caffeine. Your brain’s best friend.”“Thanks,” I mumble, wrapping my hands around the cup. The warmth seeps into my fingers, grounding me.“Progres

Ava's POV The kitchen smells like coffee and toast when I shuffle in the next morning, notebook tucked under my arm like a shield. Sunlight spills through the blinds, slicing across the worn wooden table where Dad—Coach Reynolds—sits with the sports section spread open in front of him. His reading glasses perch low on his nose, steam rising from the mug in his hand.For a second, I just stood there in the doorway, watching him. He looks exactly like he does on the court: focused, immovable, a man carved from stone. Except here, in his faded sweatshirt and scuffed slippers, there’s something softer at the edges. Not that he’d ever admit it.“You’re up early,” he says without looking up, his voice a gravelly rumble.“I’ve got work to do.” I pull out a chair and slide into it, flipping open my notebook. The pen in my hand is a comfort, even though I know he notices it, just like he notices everything.His eyes flick to the pages, then to me. “Work, huh? Or chasing after my players again