Competing With Desire (GxG)

{two} "don't fuck with me"

Chloe Turner

I never needed anyone's approval, least of all from girls like Isabelle. So when that email dropped, saying I was stuck with her for the semester, I didn't flinch. I mean, did it suck? Yeah. But I wasn't about to let that princess ruin my vibe. The second I saw her name, I knew what kind of semester this was going to be—filled with drama, a lot of bullshit, and her trying to prove she's better than me. Spoiler: she's not.

I could already picture her reaction. Eyes wide, lips drawn into that tight, judgmental line she always wore around me. She was probably whining to her little friend Emily about how unfair the world was, acting like she'd been paired with a serial killer.

Whatever. I could deal with her.

After class, I made my way to the bathroom, needing a second to gather my thoughts before I confronted this project from hell. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as I splashed water on my face, staring at my reflection in the mirror. My hair was pulled back, still damp from this morning's workout, and I tightened the carabiner on my belt loop. A part of me wondered how quickly I could finish this damn thing if I just ignored her altogether.

The door creaked open behind me, and I didn't need to turn around to know who had walked in. I could feel her presence immediately—tense, angry, and radiating judgment like always. Isabelle didn't bother with subtlety. She marched in like she was about to demand the world bow to her feet.

"Chloe," she hissed, voice dripping with venom.

Here we go.

I straightened up and turned slowly, locking eyes with her as she stood a few feet away, her arms crossed like she was ready for war. She kept her distance, probably scared of what would happen if she got too close. Smart move.

"What do you want?" I asked, keeping my voice cool and calm, even though I already knew why she was here. Her eyes flickered with anger, like she couldn't stand even hearing me speak.

"This project is going to be a nightmare," she spat, her words sharp enough to cut glass. "I'm not about to let you screw up my grade."

I laughed, shaking my head. "Screw up your grade? Please. I'm not the one who's going to have a meltdown over this."

Her nostrils flared, and for a second, I thought she might actually slap me. She was always so composed in class, but outside, when it was just us? She couldn't hide how much she hated me.

"Don't fuck with me, Chloe," she hissed, taking a step closer, but still keeping that careful distance between us. I could see the tension in her body, like she was holding herself back from doing something she'd regret.

I leaned against the sink, crossing my arms lazily, unfazed by her little outburst. "I'm not here to fuck with you, Isabelle. I want this done as much as you do."

"Good. Then call me up, lesbo. I want this project finished as soon as possible," she sneered, her eyes narrowing with contempt.

There it was. The jab she always saved for when she thought she had the upper hand. Like using the word "lesbo" was supposed to sting. Like it made her feel superior. I smirked, refusing to give her the reaction she was so obviously fishing for.

"Sure thing, princess. But next time you try to insult me, make it a little more creative, yeah?" I shot back, pushing off the sink and walking past her, feeling her seething behind me.

The thing was, Isabelle could act all tough and untouchable, but I knew exactly what was going on in that pretty little head of hers. She hated me because I didn't give a shit. About her, about this project, about the competition she seemed hell-bent on making personal. She thrived on control, and I lived to blow that up in her face.