Enemies or something more

ENEMIES OR SOMETHING MORE

“Careful how you finish that sentence, sweetheart,” he said with a smirk, pressing her gently but firmly against the wall.

She scoffed, eyes sharp with defiance. “What are you gonna do, scaredy-cat? Make me, if you’ve got the guts.”

“Oh, I will,” he murmured, his voice dipping into something low and husky. Dangerous. His gaze dropped to her lips, lingering there with unmistakable intent that made her pulse quicken.

“Eyes up, asshole,” she snapped, narrowing her gaze. “Keep staring, and I’ll make sure you won’t be able to look at anything ever again.”

She shoved him back, but he barely moved. Instead, he laughed quietly, clearly enjoying the fire in her.

“Now, now,” he said, still far too close. “Don’t get mad, sweetheart. You only look hotter when you’re like this.”

Her heart fluttered, and she hated that it did. She blamed the adrenaline. Or the tension. Anything but him.

They were rivals. Always challenging, always fighting. That was all this was. Some stupid power play wrapped in banter and stolen glances.

“Don’t say things like that,” she muttered, folding her arms over her chest. “People might get the wrong idea. Might think you actually like me.”

He tilted his head, considering her for a moment, something unreadable flashing in his eyes. “And what if I want them to think that?” he asked, voice softer now, more serious. “Who said I don’t?”

Her breath caught.

Before she could come up with a comeback, his hand gently lifted her chin, making her meet his gaze. His eyes were locked on hers, no smirk this time. No teasing. It's just quiet intensity. And something else. Something dangerous and real and unspoken.

There was weight in his stare. Emotion she didn’t want to name. Or couldn’t. Or maybe she just wasn’t ready to.

She stepped back quickly, breaking the contact like it had burned her.

Turning, she made to leave, her thoughts swirling too fast to hold onto.

But he caught her wrist gently, almost hesitantly.

“Where are you going, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice back to its usual teasing tone, but his grip said something else.

She looked at him, lips curling into a dry smile. “To hell, you asshole. Now let me go.”

She pulled her hand from his and walked away, refusing to give him the satisfaction of looking back.

He didn’t follow her.

He just stood there, hands in his pockets, watching her retreat down the hallway with that same small smile tugging at his lips.

It's not the cocky one he usually wore. No, this one was quieter. Almost fond.

Because he knew something she didn’t yet.

She felt it, too.