A week isn’t that long in the grand scheme of things, but this close to the end of the semester, it’s enough to put someone seriously behind.
That’s why I suggested the library. Quiet, fewer distractions. A place where she can focus without Ford hovering over her shoulder or Raf making things uncomfortable with his brooding silence.
I’m considerate like that.
I also wanted to get her alone.
Ava has barely looked me in the eye since we rescued her from the Dollhouse, and I know I need to clear the air between us. Problem is, apologies aren’t really my thing. They implysurrender, and the dynamic between is already complicated enough without shifting the balance further.
So, I let the silence stand, hating every fucking second of it.
I try to focus on the Social Psychology textbook spread on the table, but it’s difficult with her sitting directly across from me. My gaze drifts despite myself, descending to the crown charm dangling at the base of her neck; right where it belongs. When she shifts in her chair, the movement draws my eyes lower, to the way her tits press against the table through her turtleneck as she leans over her notes.
Jesus.
She’s distracting enough when she’s doing it on purpose. When she isn’t even trying, it’s nearly unbearable.
I force my attention back to the page, scanning the same paragraph for what must be the fourth time. None of the words stick. All I can think about is the fact that she’sright there, close enough that I could reach across the table and touch her if I wanted to.
Technically, nothing would stop me… but the thought of forcing her again leaves a sour taste in my mouth.
I want her towantit; to wantme.
For a while, it felt like she was starting to. Even after stripping away all the pretense and learning my true nature, it was like she couldn’t help herself. She’d blush when I brought her coffee, stare when she thought I wasn’t looking. But ever since that incident in Stoker Hall, things have shifted. She’s shut me out almost completely.
She even seems more comfortable around Raf now than she does me, which is complete bullshit. He’s been nothing but a dick to her since day one. And despite it all, she’s now offering up her virginity to him on a silver fucking platter, as if he deserves to be the one to take it.
The thought burrows under my skin like a splinter I can’t dislodge, irritation curling tighter in my chest each time it surfaces. Raf doesn’t even want her, not the way I do. He just wants to flex his control over Ava; prove he can do whatever the hell he wants to her and she’ll just fucking take it.
My eyes drift back to her before I can stop them.
She’s leaning over her notebook again, pencil moving steadily across the page as she works through the material she missed. A loose strand of hair has slipped forward, brushing the edge of her cheek as she writes. She absently tucks it behind her ear, still focused on her notes.
“You don’t have to go through with it, you know,” I grumble.
Her pencil pauses, and she slowly lifts her head, narrowing her eyes on me across the table. “What?”
I lean back in my chair, keeping my tone casual despite the resentment eating me alive from the inside. “Letting Raf pop your cherry,” I say. “You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to.”
She scoffs immediately, dropping her gaze back to the page. “Why do you care?” she mutters, resuming her notes.
For a second, I actually consider answering honestly. Except I suck at articulating how I feel, and even if I didn’t, it’s probably not something I’d want to admit out loud. “I’m just saying.”
“Well, say less,” she sighs, her pencil moving across the page.
The dismissal stings more than it should. I frown across the table at her, watching the steady movement of her hand as she writes. I don’t even pretend to go back to the book in front of me this time, I just continue staring her down while she pointedly ignores me.
After a minute or so, she heaves an exasperated sigh, glancing up again. “What do you want, Wes?”
“What happened to you?” I ask, squinting like if I just look hard enough, I’ll be able to figure her out.
Ava furrows her brow. “What do you mean?”
“At the Dollhouse,” I clarify, leaning an elbow onto the table and resting my chin on a hand. “You seem… different.”
She purses her lips, pencil tapping lightly against the notebook as her eyes flicker around the room. “I had a lot of time to think,” she murmurs.
“And?”
