It had been three days since we went to the library. Three days since we'd spoken. If someone would've told me that day, he is going to do everything in his power to ignore you after today, I wouldn't have believed it for a second. In English, he would lapse on his seat without a word, and attend the class without a comment—so unlike his usual shoulder taps and icy gaze. During lunch, he wouldn't even go through the troubles of sitting near us. He went straight to Ciara, and the duo's laughter filled the air all the way to our tables.

That did not sit right with me. Not at all. But I succeeded in blocking them out by paying extra heed to the guys, including all the rants on Capitalism and the numerous Physics study sessions Xavier, Stella, Leo, and I had had in the span of three days alone. Evan hadn't voiced his thoughts once, if he'd even thought about why I was headed to the school library at the end of the day like it was a part of my routine.

And when he did manage to acknowledge my existence—as in, right now—he was so strictly business that I wanted to ram the basketball square at him. Like securing some damage to his all-too proportionate face would free me out of misery.

He leaned onto the bleachers, calling me out on my form, not a hint of friendliness in his voice.

I couldn't be upset about that. Coach had asked him to monitor all of us without bias. Still, anger bubbled in my chest and made my concentration worse. I was giving it my all, but exam preparation had kept me up, anxious and awake, on more nights than I let on. Naturally, exhaustion was starting to show in my agility. I wondered if giving a little more would satiate my anger and make him a little less like a stranger. Perhaps if I apologized and did all of it again. He was just doing his job. . .

I realized I had spaced out when his fingers snapped. He didn't utter a word, nor did he step forward. He lifted a finger and rotated it in the air as I looked at him with bated breath. Do it again, he meant.

I had to fight the urge to lift both my middle fingers in the air.

To hell with being nice. I was done with whatever this was, so I threw the ball at his face without a warning, letting my ponytail sway to a side. "I'm tired. I've got to be somewhere soon. Goodbye."

"Wait," he took his time countering despite catching the attack mid-air. I had already walked out. "You're not dismissed."

Dismissed. God, what was this? Is this how we were going to talk? Were we not going to talk anymore? What even was going on, and what had I done?

I didn't stop walking, because I knew he was following. Slinging my sports bag over my shoulder, I wiped a sheen of sweat with my towel, and threw a look at him. "Why are you following me?"

"You're storming out of the court in the middle of practice. Why do you think?"

If this is how we're going to speak, I'd rather never speak to you again, I thought, and then turned to face him, steps coming to an unexpected halt. He stilled too, but slowly—making him stand only a mere inch away.

I wasn't going to back up. Not now, even if my feet were tempted to run for the hills. Not now, when his eyebrows raised in a challenge which seemed to materialize out of thin air. And despite his unending complacency, he looked oddly confused.

"I'm leaving."

"Who's going to let you?"

I met his bright eyes. "Who's going to stop me?"

And just like that: challenge accepted. I caught the slight grin on his lips when I turned around, only knowing that I won't make it too far.

He had been confused and conflicted, but challenges and Evan Parker were a formidable match made in the burning pits of hell.

As soon as his arm snaked around my waist, I knew I wasn't getting out of here so easily. Evan would keep his promises, that much I knew—and because no strength remained in my upper body, the whole of my shoulders collapsed onto the hard chest of his, and he took the action as me succumbing defeat.

I tried to think if elbowing him (a move I learnt for self-defense) would make me feel any better about myself.

"Glad you understood that I meant what I meant," his mouth was too close, making frissons dance up my skin. Hadn't he been practicing too? How the hell did he not stink? He twisted me around, and all thoughts left as swiftly as they came. "Let's be civilized about this, hm?"

I faked a laugh, shrugging out of his grasp. "You're talking." Ignoring a friend for days on end has to be a very civilized way of interacting, I suppose?

The creases on his forehead deepened. I whipped out my phone, my dread becoming an actuality. I hadn't lied: I was supposed to be somewhere soon. My shift at The Coffee Business started in over an hour, and I had to go home and shower and let the headache crowing my forehead dissipate, all in that limited time frame. I had no time for this, even if I wanted to talk to him. Talk him out of whatever this was.

"Laura," he called out, pausing. "What's wrong?"

My heart stuttered for a beat, because he had said it in a certain way—one destined to be my fall. His eyes were soft and so were his words, and I had to tear my gaze from him entirely. "Nothing."

He didn't comment on that. Instead, he took a step back, perhaps realizing we were too close for no reason. "Can we talk?"

Yes, I thought, tell me what I did wrong and speak to me properly. "No," I said, and shook my head. "I mean, I'm running out of time right now. Really. I've. . .got work."

"You have a job?"

I only gave him a tight-lipped smile. He added: "Where?"

"The Coffee—" I shut my mouth, because he would show up. I was so sure that mental images had already started flooding in, making me widen my eyes. "Never mind."

I had already made the mistake.

"Business," he said for me, deep in thought. "I've never been there."

"That's not it," I tried to lie, racking my brain for alternatives. "The Coffee House is what I'm talking about."

"You know I know this area better than you," he smirked. "Give up. That place doesn't even exist."

I winced. "Don't show up there." Please.

He took a step back and never answered, lost in his thoughts for a second. Then, he extended his arm, as if motioning for me to move. "I'll walk you—"

"Evan."

Ciara. She was here, and he was going to have to choose. Of course, I wasn't sure about that part, but so far that had kept happening, and he had never, for once, picked me over her.

I had no right to be upset. They went way back, right? Everyone had already told me that. It wasn't like I woke up to the news of them being childhood friends—probably even more—yesterday. Ciara and Evan's relationship, whatever it comprised of, stuck out like a sore thumb every instance they were spotted together. And if Evan looked unreal alone, together they looked like they'd dropped from a fictitious universe to grace the lands of commoners.

I had started to appreciate Ciara way too much to hold any form of grudge against her, but the knot in my chest was suffocating. Once she was close enough, she acknowledged me first. "Am I interrupting?"

Yes, I wanted to say a billion times over. And I would've, but the pettiness was settled at the bottom, seething. "No! I was just leaving."

Evan cut in, voice directed to her. "Is this important?"

"Sort of." She showed him something on her phone. I didn't bother trying to lean to even get a glimpse.

But just like that, he had decided. He looked over once, and our gazes met half-way. I knew the look all-too well.

I had expected this, but it still felt like a punch to the gut. "See you," I waved at both of them, and then rushed out.

▂

WHEN I ARRIVED, The Coffee Business chimed to its very own tune of caffeine induced sweetness. I dropped my tote on the counter, pulled out my apron, and gave Blake a smile. It took about five minutes for the rhythm to set in before I was handling and taking orders as if I had been programmed to do so. It was a feat I was immensely proud of—no one expected me to be so in tune, two weeks after joining.

Especially Maya, who still dropped cautious glances when I handled things haphazardly.

I had started with weekends and branched out a little to weekdays too. Majorly because I needed the cash, but also because it was somewhat fun.

Blake elbowed me and disappeared into the kitchen, and Maya reappeared, smile softening her features. "You look so stunning," she observed me. "That's a cute ass dress."

I had opted for a lavender sundress today. I wouldn't have done this had I not tried to pair my apron to different outfits to see what went the best together, because generally, I couldn't be bothered to care. I showed up in leggings and an oversized shirt on most days. Today, I had plucked out the dress almost disintegrating in the back of my closet. It was all my fault for ignoring it until now, because the dress was very flattering—especially with the slight confidence I had gained.

"Thank you," I beamed, grinning. "But did I woo you enough to be able to take you on a date?"

We did this every time. If I didn't platonically flirt with my friends a little, were we even friends?

She rolled her eyes, unfazed. "As much as I would like to, I'm afraid your boyfriend over there would skin me alive. And I'd better avoid that."

I almost laughed, and then realized that was not the standard response. ". . .What?"

"I don't want to point," she ushered closer. "Second-last table to the left behind you."

I turned on my heels so quick, I'm sure Maya gasped. But he couldn't have been here, when I told him not to come and when he had been busy with other things to take care of. She must've mistaken some random guy to be here for me, not him or anyone—

Oh, God. He was staring right back. And something was off. Way off. Maya was scared that she'd be skinned alive, but he looked like he could skin anyone who stood in front of him, and I was the only one in his line of sight.

Evan Parker looked mean. His gaze was everything I couldn't handle: rough, overwhelming, all-consuming.

I tucked on Maya's sleeve. "How long has he been there?"

"It's been over an hour," she sighed. "And he doesn't order anything. Can you stop inviting guys who don't actually place orders and just sit there, looking like devils?"

An hour. I never told him when my shift started, after all. It all made sense. With the way I had left, he must've thought I was rushing to get to work. God. Why did I feel so terrible? I told him not to come.

That didn't matter, because he was still staring. And now Blake was staring too, wondering what in hell had made Maya and I lose all mobility. "Talk to him," she sounded like she was begging. "I beg." She was.

I had to laugh in shock. "You sound unwell."

"He literally has murder on his mind," she whisper-yelled. "How did you end up with him?"

"We're not together," my words bunched as one. I couldn't even speak without flushing a cherry-red. "I'll go."

It seemed like he had been anticipating me for a while, because as I slid over the seat and held my hands together beneath the table, his eyes had rolled over to something behind me. I had to knock on the table to revert his attention back to me.

"Evan," I muttered. "Why are you here?"

His gaze had set me on fire and I didn't know how to stop burning. There were times he would look at me like he was slicing me apart, and times he would stare like he was afraid I'd break from a glance alone. I wasn't sure what I preferred, but this—this was in a league of its own. By his eyes, I was being undone.

He took his time to reply. "Hey to you too."

I grew redder every passing second.

"You look different." His hands sprawled on the table, eyes dropping low. What was this about, now?

"Clearly; I changed," I found some composure, ignoring the heat in his stare. "You didn't answer my question."

"I wanted to talk," his hands went to the back of his neck. "Have been for the past two hours, now."

I cringed. "I'm sorry," I'm not, though. It wasn't even my fault. He is the one who tells me not to apologize pointlessly, and I always do. "But not really. I told you not to come. We could talk tomorrow."

"Well, now that we are talking, can we cut the chase?" He sighed. "Did I do something?"

I crossed my arms. "What?"

He gave me a side-eye. "You've been ignoring me for a couple days."

Excuse me? ". . .Are you serious?"

He looked shaken. I continued. "You are the one who has been ignoring me! What are you on about?"

"No." His eyes widened in offense. "I have not—I. . .I thought I hurt you that day in the car, and thought I'd give you space."

"Oh, my God," I groaned. "Space? I thought I had done something which made you hate me."

His eyes were so wide that it was comical. "Why would I hate you? I minded my business because I was overly prying in yours last time."

Is this conversation real? I always thought I was so clear with communication, and here we were, being foolish.

"Do you realize you have a habit of saying all the right things?" I placed my palms on the table with a loud thud. It probably earned a couple glances from the sides, but I was too focused to care. "Even if you pried, I couldn't possibly have been hurt because of that. So keep your fucking space to yourself, Evan Parker."

Silence followed. The thick, overbearing one, which made me rethink every word I let out of my mouth and every syllable that followed after. Neither of us spoke, though. The ceramic clatter floated in the air as a vague reminder that I was supposed to go back to work right away. And sitting on a table with a customer wasn't what I was getting paid for. God, how loudly was I speaking? I had even cursed. I needed to get it together, in a civil way—

That was when he cracked a grin. It slowly spread, much like the heat surging through my chest, and then he was laughing—the whole ordeal with his head tipped back and chest reverberating, a sound I loved to hear.

Perhaps not in the current moment.

"What's so funny?" I snapped.

"You complimented me and asserted authority by using my full name," he twisted his rings, nonchalant. "Though I'd have you know, its power is lost on me."

"Maybe I do need some space. . ."

"Too late," he kicked my feet under the table. "When do you get off?"

I glared. "Fifteen. Why?"

He shrugged, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "You need to make up to me for all the time I lost."

"You—" asshole.

He smiled. "I'm starving. You choose a place."

I hate you so much, I thought, the blush on my cheeks reinforcing itself. But then, maybe this was the best to do. I did feel awful because of the time he wasted, just sitting around while I didn't even notice his presence. I needed to do this as a bare minimum for my sanity.

I wrapped up my shift faster than usual. Knowing he was there, watching and waiting, made me bounce on my feet with the orders. I was done when he was scrolling through his phone, leaned back on the chair.

"Louisa's Diner," I tapped his arm. "Let's go."

He drew out his lips in a straight line. "You had to, didn't you?"

"I'm going with you," I gave him a sickly-sweet look for a second, then glared. "I need your Aunt to survive."

He didn't seem to mind my insult. Nothing worked against Evan anymore, because he'd laughed and placed a hand on his heart, dipping his head in courtesy. "As long as you're by my side, sweetheart."

I went still for a fraction of a second. That term always struck, even when he meant it as a joke. And while my mind spiraled, one thing stood surefire: this boy was going to singlehandedly ruin my life.

when i tell you guys i don't know how to be concise when it comes to them????? i could fill pages upon pages with just banter and turn myself into the world's biggest enemy because WHAT am i doing at this point

what are your thoughts on the pacing?

i'm not quite sure what y'all think but i know it's going to be so rewarding when they stop being idiots for once lmao. (the sheer amount of editing I'd have to do for this book to be under the average word limit ruins my sleep most nights)

i love you, take care of yourselves