Page 9 of The Equation of Us
But as he passes my chair, he pauses, leans down, his breath warm against my ear.
“Be careful what you ask for,” he murmurs. “You might actually get it.”
And then he’s gone, leaving me frozen in place, my heart hammering against my ribs like it’s trying to escape.
I already know I’m going to think about those words all night.
Because maybe I’m not the kind of girl who gets flustered.
But right now?
I’m completely undone.
Chapter Four
Unspoken Tensions
Dean
After practice, I shower quickly and change, ignoring the usual locker room chaos. My phone has three missed calls—one from Daphne, one from Dad, and one from a number I don’t recognize.
I ignore all of them.
The dining hall is crowded when I arrive, but I spot my usual corner table, tucked away from the main traffic. I grab food—whatever’s closest, I barely notice what—and head for the solitude.
But as I cross the room, I see her.
Nora.
She’s sitting with friends—a girl in a bright pink hoodie I vaguely recognize, and Daphne. My stomach tightens at the sight of my ex, but my eyes stay fixed on Nora.
She hasn’t seen me yet. She’s listening to Daphne talk, her head slightly tilted, that same focus in her eyes that I noticed during our tutoring session. Her hair is down now, falling past her shoulders in dark waves.
I should keep walking. Pretend I don’t see them. Find another table.
But then Nora looks up, and our eyes lock across the crowded room.
For a moment, neither of us moves. I see recognition in her gaze, then something else—wariness, maybe. Or curiosity.
She looks away first, back to her friends, but I can tell she’s still aware of me. Her posture has changed, spine a little straighter, shoulders a little tenser.
I force myself to keep walking, to find my table in the corner, to sit with my back to them. But I can feel her presence like a weight, pressing against my skin.
What did Daphne tell her? What does she know about me? About us?
Nothing that matters, probably. Nothing real.
I pick at my food, not really tasting it. My mind keeps replaying our session, those moments when something shifted between us. When I said,Whatever you want, Nora, and saw that flicker in her eyes.
The same flicker I’ve seen in other women. The ones who want to hand over control but are too afraid to ask for it.
Only with Nora, it felt different. Like she wasn’t afraid—just curious. Like she was cataloging my responses, testing theories.
“This seat taken?”
I look up, startled. Gavin stands by my table, tray in hand, eyebrows raised.
“No.”
