Twisted Chances

11. Nia

I don't know what it is about him that drives me mad. Maybe it's his stupid smile, or the way his hair falls over his forehead, or the way he looks at me like he already knows I'm his. Whatever it is, it makes me insane.

And tonight, it makes me reckless.

I'm drunk, not enough to black out but enough to blur the edges of my thoughts. Enough to admit things to myself that I'd never dare to sober. Enough to feel the sting of jealousy burning so bright it aches in my chest.

Because I saw it. That post. Him with Brittany. Her smile, his hand on her shoulder, the casual way they looked like they belonged.

And God, it hurt.

I didn't want it to, but it did. And now I can't stop myself from spiraling.

My fingers are trembling as I type the message.
I'll be in the library in ten minutes. Come here as fast as you can.
I'll count this as our second date.
I'll be waiting for you.

I hit send before I can stop myself. My heart thunders, my pulse racing like I've just run a marathon. Did I really just say that? Did I just... call it a date?

Maybe I'm losing my mind. Maybe I'm too far gone. Maybe this jealousy has finally stripped me of my last shred of control.

But the thought of him not coming... the thought of him staying with her instead... it's unbearable.

I hate that I care this much. I hate that my chest feels tight and my throat burns and my eyes—damn it, my eyes sting with tears I refuse to let fall.

By the time the library's tall doors come into view, I'm pacing, my arms crossed like they're the only thing keeping me together. My thoughts are a mess, my emotions worse.

Then, finally, I see him.

Niko.

Running, almost tripping over himself, his hair disheveled, his face flushed from rushing. He's breathless when he reaches me, and despite myself, my heart melts at the sight. Who does that? Who runs like their life depends on it just because of a text?

He does. For me.

"I—" he pants, catching his breath, his hand braced on his knee. "I made it... not in ten minutes but... I ran."

He looks ridiculous, and yet... perfect.

And I hate him for it.

"You were with her." My voice comes out sharper than I intend, the words tumbling recklessly, fueled by jealousy and liquor. "With Brittany. Smiling. Posing. Like it was the most natural thing in the world."

Niko blinks, taken aback. Then, unbelievably, he grins. "Jealous, are we?"

My chest flares hot, humiliation mingling with anger. "Don't flatter yourself," I snap, but my voice wavers, betraying me.

He steps closer, his eyes soft in that infuriating way that makes me want to both shove him away and cling to him at the same time. "Nia... it was nothing. Just a picture. You really think anyone could matter more than you?"

The words undo me. My vision blurs and before I can stop myself, tears spill over.

Damn it. No. Not here. Not in front of him.

I turn my face away, but he notices. Of course he notices.

"Hey..." His voice is gentle now, almost unbearably so. He reaches out, awkwardly at first, then steadier, brushing his thumb against my cheek, catching the tear. "Don't cry. Please don't cry. You'll ruin me if you do."

Something in me shatters at that.

I don't want to cry, but the dam has broken and it's all spilling out—the jealousy, the aching, the reckless longing I've buried so deep. I press my palms to my face, muffling the sob that escapes, hating myself for being this weak in front of him.

And then he does something that completely unravels me.

He pulls me into his arms. Not forcefully, not teasingly. Just... softly. Carefully. Like I'm something fragile he wants to protect. His chin rests lightly on my hair, his hand rubbing slow circles on my back.

"Shh. It's okay. I've got you."

It's ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. Because I'm the one who's supposed to be strong, guarded, untouchable. And here I am, melting into his embrace like I was made for it.

For a reckless moment, I let myself lean into him, breathing in his scent, steadying myself with the sound of his heartbeat.

Then I snap out of it.

No. No, no, no. This is dangerous. This is what he wants—me, undone, needy, confessing things I swore I'd never admit.

I push against his chest, breaking free, my eyes still wet, my voice shaky but sharper now. "Don't think this means anything. Don't think I'll just... fall at your feet because you know how to hold me when I cry."

His smile is small, a little sad, but there's a flicker of hope in his eyes that terrifies me.

I can't let him win. Not yet.

So I straighten my shoulders, wipe my face, and look him dead in the eye. "Enjoy your little games, Niko. Because tomorrow, I'm the one who's going to play. And Brittany? She's going to help me."

His brows furrow in confusion, but I don't explain. Not now. I turn on my heel, my steps unsteady but determined, every ounce of me buzzing with reckless resolve.

This jealousy—it may have broken me tonight. But tomorrow, it will be my weapon.