Olivia
The almost-kiss hung in the air between us like a physical object. For the next two days, we communicated only through curt emails and edits on our shared Google Doc for the festival plan. We avoided seeing each other in person. It was a silent, mutual retreat to our respective corners. The line we had drawn in the sand—Rule #5: No actual romantic or physical involvement—had been nearly erased, and we were both terrified.
But the festival wouldn't wait for us to sort out our feelings. We had a deadline. And so, we were forced back together, this time to design the marketing materials. We holed up in one of the library's media rooms, a small, soundproofed space with a large monitor and design software.
"We need a poster," I said, my voice strictly business. I was determined to rebuild the wall between us. "Something that's eye-catching but also informative."
"I know a guy in the design school who can make something amazing," Ethan said, pulling out his phone. "He owes me a favor."
"We don't have the budget to hire a designer," I said automatically.
"He'll do it for free," Ethan replied, already texting. "See? Sometimes my 'frivolous' connections come in handy."
I hated that he was right. An hour later, a lanky, perpetually paint-splattered student named Leo joined us. Ethan gave him the rundown—Fall Festival, live music, food trucks, petting zoo—and Leo started sketching on his tablet.
"What's the vibe?" Leo asked, his stylus flying across the screen. "Corporate and clean, or artsy and chaotic?"
"Informative and professional," I said at the same time Ethan said, "Fun and energetic."
We glared at each other. Leo looked between us, a knowing smile on his face. "Got it. Professional fun. Energetic information. The 'Ethivia' special."
I cringed at the couple name. "Can we not call it that?"
"Too late," Leo said cheerfully. "It's already trending on Westridge YikYak."
To my surprise, Ethan looked just as uncomfortable as I felt. He cleared his throat. "Just… make it look cool, Leo."
What happened next was a strange and unexpected kind of magic. Leo would sketch an idea, a swirl of autumn leaves and musical notes. I'd suggest a cleaner font for the text and a grid layout for the information. Ethan would look at it and say, "It needs more energy. What if the leaves are blowing out of the guitar? And can we make the colors pop more?"
Leo, a brilliant creative conduit, would take our conflicting notes and merge them into something new. Something that was both of us. The clean lines I wanted were there, but they were filled with the vibrant, chaotic color Ethan had asked for. The poster was structured, but it was also alive.
"Whoa," I breathed, staring at the final design on the large monitor. It was perfect. It was a visual representation of the compromise we'd finally managed to strike.
"We're good at this," Ethan said, his voice soft. He was standing right behind me, his arm brushing mine as he pointed to the screen. "Your structure, my… flair."
"It's a good team," I admitted, my voice barely a whisper. I was acutely aware of his closeness, of the warmth radiating from his body. The small, soundproofed room suddenly felt very, very small.
"Yeah," he said, his voice dropping lower. "It is."
We were silent for a moment, both looking at the screen, but I knew neither of us was thinking about the poster anymore. The memory of our almost-kiss, of his hand on my face, was a palpable presence in the room.
Rule #4: There will be no discussion of our real feelings.
I had to break the spell. I cleared my throat and stepped away, putting a safe distance between us. "Okay, this is great. I'll send this off to the printer first thing in the morning."
"Right. The printer," Ethan said, running a hand through his hair. The moment was broken. We were back to being co-chairs, partners in a strategic deception.
Leo, who had been tactfully pretending to be absorbed in his tablet, looked up. "Alright, folks, my work here is done. Just Venmo me for the pizza later, Brooks." He packed up his things and left, leaving Ethan and me alone again.
The silence was deafening.
"So," I said, starting to gather my things. "I think that's everything for tonight."
"Olivia," he said, his voice stopping me in my tracks. He rarely used my first name. It sounded different coming from him. Softer.
I turned to face him. He was standing by the monitor, his face illuminated by the glow of our creation. The usual smirk was gone, replaced by an expression of raw vulnerability that made my heart ache.
"About the other night…" he started, his voice hesitant. "In the conference room… I…"
"You don't have to," I interrupted, my voice coming out sharper than I intended. "It was late. We were tired. It was a mistake."
"Was it?" he asked, his gaze intense, searching mine for an answer. "Because it didn't feel like a mistake to me."
My carefully constructed walls were crumbling. Rule #4 was flashing in my mind like a neon warning sign, but my heart was overriding my brain. I couldn't lie. Not when he was looking at me like that.
"No," I whispered, the admission hanging in the air between us. "It didn't feel like a mistake to me, either."
He took a step toward me. And then another. He stopped just in front of me, so close I could see the flecks of green in his blue eyes. He lifted his hand, his fingers hesitating for a fraction of a second before they gently cupped my cheek. His touch was electric, sending a shiver down my spine.
"Then what are we doing, Chen?" he murmured, his thumb stroking my skin.
"I don't know," I breathed.
This was it. This was the moment the roller coaster went off the rails. He was going to kiss me, and I was not going to stop him. I closed my eyes, bracing myself for the impact.
And then his phone buzzed, a loud, obnoxious sound that shattered the fragile intimacy of the moment.
He swore under his breath, pulling his hand away as if he'd been burned. The loss of his touch was a physical blow. He glanced at his phone, and his face instantly clouded over. The vulnerability was gone, replaced by a shuttered, distant look.
"I have to go," he said abruptly, his voice tight. He didn't offer an explanation. He just turned and walked out of the room, leaving me alone with the glowing poster on the screen and the ghost of his touch on my skin.
I sank into a chair, my legs suddenly weak. We were crossing lines we had sworn we would never cross. And I was starting to realize that the biggest risk of our bet wasn't losing the election. It was losing my heart to the one person I was never supposed to fall for.