The silence in my apartment wasn't the peaceful kind. It was the kind that had teeth.
I woke up alone, staring at the ceiling, the echo of the bedroom door clicking shut still ringing in my ears. "You thought I'd be this easy?" The words were a permanent resident in my head now, sitting in the corner and laughing at me. I threw on a shirt, grabbed my keys, and headed out. I needed noise. I needed a distraction. But mostly, I needed to remind myself that I was still Cole St. James. I was the one who set the tempo. I was the one who decided when the music stopped.
I spent the morning going through the motions. I hit the gym with Jax and Theo, pushing weights until my muscles screamed, but I couldn't outrun the irritation.
"You're quiet," Jax said, wiping sweat from his forehead as we walked toward the parking lot. "Usually, after a night like last night, you're either bragging or complaining about the breakfast bill. You didn't even mention Maya."
"There's nothing to mention," I said, clicking my key fob. "She's a project. Projects take time."
"She's a wall, Cole," Theo added, leaning against my car door. "And you're starting to look like you ran head-first into it."
"I'm fine," I snapped, the edge in my voice surprising even me.
"For fuck's sake, give it up, Cole. Maya's a fortress. You don't have the heavy artillery for a girl like that." Jax snapped back.
I stepped closer to him, my voice dropping an octave. "Every fortress has a postern gate, Jax. A side door. A weak stone. She's human. She's got nerves and she's got desires. She just likes the view from her high horse."
"And you're going to knock her off it?" Theo asked.
"I'm going to make her want to jump off," I corrected. "I need coffee".
But I didn't just want coffee. I wanted to see if the "immovable object" was still sitting in the same place she's often at. I drove to the café across from the last house party street, the place where she'd first dissected me with nothing but a look.
She wasn't there.
As the morning wore on, the frustration didn't ebb. It curdled. Every time I saw a girl who looked even remotely like Maya—dark hair, a certain tilt of the head—my pulse spiked. It was a bruise on my ego that kept getting poked.
I had told myself I'm not going to school today. But by the afternoon, I found myself at Dukes University. I was hunting.
I found her at the communal seating area, but she wasn't alone. Across from her was a girl I recognized—blonde, bright, leaning forward with a wide, expressive smile. I remembered her from the party. She'd been one of the girls in Maya's little circle, astonished by the way Maya threw darts at me .
I watched them for ten minutes. Maya looked different with her. Soft. Not the "fortress" she played with me. She laughed—a real, genuine sound that drifted across the campus and hit me right in the ribs. It pissed me off. Why did she get to be happy and "genuine" while I was sitting here feeling like a ghost in my own skin?
I waited. Patience, I'd told myself.
When Maya finally stood up, checked her watch, and gave the blonde a quick hug before walking away toward the lecture rooms, I saw my move. It wasn't a plan yet; it was an instinct.
A predatory twitch.
It was petty. It was beneath me. It was exactly what I needed to feel like I was back in control.
Maya thought she was untouchable because she had standards. She thought she was better than the game because she didn't play. But everyone plays, whether they know it or not.
I adjusted my hoodie and walked toward the blonde.
She was busy texting on her phone.
"You're a lot more cheerful than your friend," I said, my voice dropping into that low, easy register that usually acted like a skeleton key.
She looked up, startled. Her eyes widened as she took me in—the ink, the smirk, the confidence that I wore like a second skin. "Oh. Hi."
"I saw you at the party," I said, leaning an elbow on the back of the empty chair Maya had just vacated. "Hard to forget someone whose dress was so distracting. In a good way. I'm Cole."
"Sienna," she said, a flush creeping up her neck. She knew who I was. I could see it in the way her pupils dilated. Maya had definitely mentioned me, probably as a cautionary tale. "And yeah, I remember you. You're the guy Maya… well, the guy Maya keeps running into."
"Running away from is more like it," I joked, shifting on the seat. "She's a bit of a challenge. Is she always that… intense?"
Sienna giggled, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. It was so easy. Too easy. "She's just protective. She doesn't think guys like you actually exist for anything more than a headline."
"Guys like me?" I arched a brow. "And what am I, Sienna?"
"Trouble," she whispered, though she didn't look like she minded the idea.
"I'm only trouble if you're looking for a reason to stay still," I said. I leaned in closer, narrowing the world down to just the two of us. "I was actually looking for Maya, but I think I've found someone much more interesting."
"Well, the way you looked at Maya at the party... I can hardly believe you could be interested in someone else" she said, tilting her head with a smile. One that said, if you can just say the right words then I'm all yours to ruin.
"Nah... Maya's a lot of work," I said, flashing the grin—the one that usually ended in a sunrise. " And I think..." I let the grin go lazy, eyes diverting to her lips then back to her eyes, " I prefer someone who knows how to have a little more fun."
The hook was set.
The rest of the afternoon was a blur of calculated charm. I didn't rush it. I walked Sienna to her next class, not forgeting to casually ask what class Maya had headed to. I listened to her talk about her major (marketing, naturally) and her complaints about her professors. I gave her just enough attention to make her feel like the center of the universe.
I waited for Maya's class to end.
She stepped out, walking with that same purposeful stride. I stepped into her path, a casual smirk plastered on my face.
"You're persistent, Cole. I'll give you that. Most parasites move on when the host is this uncooperative." she said, nonchalantly.
"Parasite? That's harsh, even for you," I said, falling into step beside her. "I just wanted to finish our conversation from last night. You left before the best part."
"The best part was me leaving," she said, stopped and turned to face me. The evening light caught the gold in her eyes, making her look even more like a puzzle I couldn't solve. Her gaze was steady, unimpressed. "What do you want, Cole? I literally have no interest in you, dude. You are a chaotic variable that adds zero value to my day. Why don't you go find someone who thinks your 'troubled bad boy' act is a personality trait?"
The rejection was so clinical it almost made me admire her. Almost.
"Value, huh?" I moved closer, invading her personal space. "Is that what love is to you? An ROI? A spreadsheet? Why not just sleep with someone if you don't care? Why not just let go for once? It's just skin on skin, Maya. It doesn't have to mean the world."
She didn't flinch. She actually looked disappointed. "Because sex without feelings is just friction, Cole. It's meaningless. It's a way to feel less lonely for twenty minutes before the silence comes back twice as loud. I don't want friction. I want a connection. Something you clearly wouldn't recognize if it hit you with a truck."
"Just twenty minutes? I last way more than that." I said with a cocky smile. She rolled her eyes in annoyance. "Connections are for people who are afraid to be alone," I countered.
"No," she said softly, her gaze boring into mine. "Connections are for people who are brave enough to be known. You? You're the most terrified person I've ever met. You hide behind those tattoos and that smirk because if anyone actually saw you, they'd realize there's nothing there to save."
I laughed, a sharp, cold sound before my face turned cold.
"I'm not terrified of anything," I growled, jaws clenching. Eyes fixed into hers like some sort of an eye contact competition.
"You're terrified of being ordinary," she countered, stepping toward me. We were inches apart now, the tension between us thick enough to choke on. "You think being a 'bad boy' makes you special. It doesn't. It makes you a cliché. I don't want a cliché. I want something real."
"Real doesn't exist, Maya" I said, my face inches from hers. "This—this physical interaction —this is the only real thing there is."
A second passed.
Another second.
Another.