CHAPTER 7
OPHELIA
Ishivered as I stood on the sidewalk, the morning air slipping through my sweatshirt and sinking straight into my skin. It was freezing…though maybe that was just me. Maybe it was the kind of cold that came from the inside, that settled in your bones when you’d finally run out of feeling.
I stared at the glass doors of the communications building like they were guarding something dangerous, monsters waiting on the other side to tear me apart if I dared to walk through. My breath came out in white clouds, fogging in front of me before drifting away.
After the call with my mom yesterday, I’d collapsed back into bed, too drained to cry anymore. My body had felt heavy, my head aching from everything I’d held in. I’d told myself I’d just lie there for a minute, but sleep came fast and mean.
I dreamed of him.
Not the Matty I used to imagine, the one who smiled when he saw me, who would someday understand…but the real one. His voice, hard and cold, slicing through my head. Clingy. Desperate. Pathetic. Over and over, until I’d jolted awake with those words clawed into my chest.
I’d fumbled for my phone on the nightstand, the screen lighting up just long enough to show me I was late—only twenty minutes until class.
There’d been no time for anything. No shower, no fixing my hair, no painting my face into something better than what it was.
I’d yanked on a sweatshirt and jeans, grabbed my notebook and backpack, and ran.
A burst of wind swept across the sidewalk, catching the ends of my hair and sending another shiver down my spine.
I hugged my arms tighter around my notebook, taking a deep breath for what lay ahead.
This was a good thing. Not fixing myself up, not trying to be someone worth noticing.
Because that had been part of the problem, too—every careful outfit, every dab of lip gloss, every way I’d tried to make him look at me.
This was better. Honest. Ugly, even. The real me. The one who needed to stop.
You’re done, I told myself. You’re getting clean.
No more circling him. No more watching. No more letting Matty Adler drag me under just by existing. I was finished.
But apparently, the universe liked to test me fast. Because my brand-new vow to get clean was already being tested first thing this morning—eight a.m. sharp, in Sports Media and Communication. The only class I’d managed to get into with him.
Back when I’d registered, it had felt like fate. Now, it just felt cruel.
My fingers tightened around my notebook, the edge cutting into my palm, and for a second, I almost believed I could do it, walk in, take notes, focus on anything but him. Then the door swung open, and I stepped inside…straight into the jaws of temptation.
The fluorescent lights hummed overhead as I walked in, the heat of the room a jarring contrast to the crisp cold outside.
I hesitated in the doorway, my pulse loud in my ears.
I knew this room too well, from the rows of desks to the smell of burnt coffee from the cart outside, to the hum of chatter that always died down the moment the professor entered.
Normally, I was here early. Early enough to claim my usual seat, two rows over and one back from his.
Close enough to see the slope of his shoulders when he wrote, far enough away that no one would notice I was watching.
I’d time it perfectly, arriving just before him and pretending to scroll through my phone, as if I didn’t already know exactly when the door would open and exactly how he’d look walking through it.
Obviously, that hadn’t happened today. Not after waking up late, not after running across campus with my hair still tangled from sleep and my heart racing for all the wrong reasons.
But that was a good thing. It fit the new plan.
The one where I stopped trying so hard, stopped showing up early just to breathe the same air as him.
This was progress, I told myself. Messy, unplanned, barely held together, but still progress.
I took another hesitant step inside, the door clicking shut behind me, and instantly wished I hadn’t.
The room was already full…completely full. Every desk occupied, every backpack slung over the backs of chairs, every laptop open and glowing. My gaze swept the rows in a panic, searching for a miracle, for some forgotten corner seat I could slip into unnoticed.
But there wasn’t one.
My stomach dropped as I saw it.
Two empty seats. Both of them were beside him.
He was already there, leaned back in his chair like he owned the air around him.
One arm draped lazily over the back of the seat next to his, hoodie sleeves shoved up to his forearms, the fabric stretching across his shoulders.
He looked down at his phone, earbuds hanging loose, completely unaware of the chaos detonating inside me.
He was beautiful—unfairly beautiful.
I was frozen in place, gripping my notebook so tightly I could feel the cardboard bending. The sound of laughter and the clatter of someone dropping a pen blurred together into static. My mind went blank except for one truth I didn’t want to admit.
The universe wasn’t testing me.
It was laughing in my face.
For a long, paralyzed moment, I just stood there, pretending to scan the room like maybe another seat would magically appear if I wished hard enough. It didn’t. Eventually, the professor glanced up, his eyes flicking toward me with a look that said sit down or leave.
So I moved.
Each step toward Matty felt like walking to my own execution.
The soles of my shoes squeaked faintly against the tile, every sound too loud in the hush between bursts of conversation.
I kept my eyes down, pretending to focus on the rows of desks ahead of me, but it didn’t help.
I could feel him there, the solid weight of his presence pulling at me like gravity.
I tried not to look. I really did. But the closer I got, the harder it became. A glance. Just one. And there he was, sunlight cutting across his profile, making him look like some sort of god. My stomach twisted, my pulse stuttering in my throat.
Another step. Another glance.
By the time I slid into the empty seat beside him, I was already failing every promise I’d made that morning.
He didn’t even glance up when I sat down, didn’t seem to notice the way my whole body went tense, every nerve screaming at me to keep still.
His shoulders were hunched, muscles flexing beneath his hoodie as he leaned forward, the fabric pulling just enough to trace the lines of his back.
His gorgeous jaw was set in concentration, a faint shadow of stubble catching the light as he rifled through his backpack, the sound of paper and crumpled wrappers filling the space between us.
His hand paused, then dove back in, more impatient this time. He was looking for something.
My eyes flicked to his desk before I could stop myself. No pencil. No pen. Just a blank notebook and his phone.
Maybe he was looking for something to write with.
My heart thudded, traitorous and loud. I knew I shouldn’t.
If we actually interacted, if he looked at me or spoke to me, it would only make it harder to stop—harder to pretend I didn’t orbit him.
But my fingers were already moving, sliding open my pencil case like it was muscle memory, like they hadn’t gotten the memo that I was trying to get clean.
I wrapped my hand around the spare pencil, gripping it so tightly my knuckles ached. I stared at it, whispering silently in my head. Don’t. Don’t be that girl again. Let him find his own.
But my hand didn’t listen.
Because this was what I did. What I always did.
I hesitated for another heartbeat, telling myself it was nothing, that it was just polite, that anyone would do the same. Another lie. They came easy when it came to him.
I leaned the pencil toward him before I could stop myself. “Here,” I said, my voice so soft it barely sounded like me.
It was the first word I’d actually said to him.
His head turned, and when his eyes landed on me, the air punched right out of my lungs. Up close, they weren’t just blue; they were intense and startling, a color somewhere between turquoise and sea-glass green. Beautiful enough to make me want to fold in on myself.
For a heartbeat, he just stared. His mouth parted slightly, like he’d forgotten what he was about to say or like he hadn’t expected to see me at all.
His gaze flicked over me, slow and uncertain, taking me in as if he couldn’t quite figure out where I’d come from.
My cheeks burned under the weight of it, the heat crawling all the way to my ears.
Then he blinked hard, the moment snapping.
He shook his head slightly, as if to clear it, and reached out for the pencil.
His fingers brushed mine, and the touch was brief, nothing really, but it scorched anyway.
The warmth of his hand lingered long after, and for one dizzy second I thought I might actually faint.
“Uh…thanks,” he muttered, his voice deep and smooth, a sound that seemed to hum through the air and sink beneath my skin.
It wasn’t meant to be anything, just a polite acknowledgment, but to me it felt like more.
Like a secret. Like the first word of something I’d been waiting my whole life to hear.
The professor started talking at the front of the room, his voice a distant hum I barely registered, even though I was pretty sure he’d just announced a pop quiz. I was too busy trying to breathe, too busy replaying that single word, thanks, on a loop in my head.
Matty shifted beside me, the faint scrape of his chair cutting through the professor’s monotone. His arm brushed mine, a slow, accidental graze that sent another shock straight through me.
He leaned in, his voice sexy enough to make my pulse trip. “You saved my ass,” he murmured, the hint of a grin curling at the edge of his words. “I forgot he gets off on surprise quizzes.”