The clock glowed 11:47 p.m.
Ella sat on her bed, arms folded, glaring at the blinking numbers like they'd betray her if she blinked. She'd told herself a hundred times she wasn't going. That it was just a game—another rich-boy stunt to mess with the new girl.
And yet…
There she was, fully dressed in black leggings and a hoodie, sneakers laced tight, standing by her window like she was waiting for a damn sign from God.
She didn't know what pissed her off more—that he thought she'd come... or that a part of her wanted to.
Her phone buzzed.
Ryan:
Clock's ticking, sweetheart. Or are you already in bed fantasizing about me?
She stared at the message, jaw clenched. Her fingers flew across the screen.
Ella:
Don't flatter yourself. You're not that interesting.
Ryan:
Then prove it. Show up. Or keep pretending you don't want this.
Something inside her snapped. She grabbed her phone, slid out the window, and dropped into the night like a shadow.
****
The tennis court was cold and deserted.
Moonlight spilled across the white lines, and the silence was thick enough to choke on. She was just starting to think this was all a joke when she heard it—the click of a lighter.
He stepped out from the shadows behind the bleachers, dressed in a black jacket and jeans, cigarette pinched between two fingers, lips parted like sin.
"Took you long enough."
"You're disgusting," she said, but it came out breathier than she meant.
Ryan exhaled smoke into the air, eyes locked on her. "You've said that already."
"You keep giving me reasons."
He flicked the cigarette to the ground, crushing it beneath his boot, then started toward her.
"I wanted to see what kind of girl you were," he said. "Most girls here throw themselves at me. You? You act like you're better."
"I am better."
He stopped two inches from her face. His scent wrapped around her again—rich, warm, masculine. "Then why are you here?"
Ella swallowed.
"I just wanted to see how pathetic you were in person."
"Try again," he murmured. "That fire in your eyes tells a different story."
"I hate you."
"You hate that you want me."
She slapped him. Hard. His head tilted slightly from the force.
But he didn't get angry.
He laughed.
A deep, amused sound that made her stomach twist.
"You're so goddamn hot when you're mad," he whispered.
And then he kissed her.
****
It wasn't gentle.
It wasn't sweet.
It was chaos—teeth clashing, tongues colliding, heat surging between them like electricity.
Ella should have pushed him away. She should have screamed, slapped him again, walked off like she didn't care. But his hands were on her hips, pulling her in, and she couldn't stop herself. Her fingers curled into his jacket. Her back hit the chain-link fence, and she gasped when his lips trailed down her jaw to her neck.
"You taste like trouble," he growled against her skin.
"And you taste like bad decisions," she breathed.
His hands slid under her hoodie, fingers skimming the bare skin of her waist. She trembled, but didn't stop him.
She didn't want to.
Not tonight.
*****
They broke apart suddenly, both breathless, faces inches apart.
"Still think I'm not that interesting?" he asked, eyes burning into her.
Ella's lips were swollen. Her heart thundered.
"I think you're dangerous."
"And yet... here you are."
She shoved him gently, trying to catch her breath. "Don't read too much into this. It was a mistake."
He smirked. "Then why are you smiling?"
"I'm not."
But she was. Just a little.
***
She snuck back into her room at 1:03 a.m., heart still pounding, lips tingling, body buzzing like she'd been struck by lightning.
She hated him. She hated herself.
But when she closed her eyes, all she could see was his face—wild, hungry, real.
And God help her... she wanted more from him...