JAY'S POV — WHEN CONTROL SLIPS
Keifer got up.
So did I.
"You Crazy Woman," he snapped suddenly, voice sharp and loud, cutting through the tension. "You think you can pull that and walk away?"
I turned halfway, eyebrow lifting. "Already did."
That's when he laughed.
Not amused. Not friendly.
Low. Unhinged.
"I'll make you pay for that," he said, eyes darkening. "I swear."
Before I could react, he broke into a run.
Straight at me.
"Keifer—!" someone shouted. "Yo, stop—!"
Too late.
I bolted.
The court blurred beneath my feet—polished wood flashing, sneakers squealing, air burning in my lungs. I was fast.
But he was faster.
His arm wrapped around my waist from behind and suddenly I was lifted clean off the ground. The world tilted again—lights, ceiling, faces spinning as he turned in a rough circle, momentum carrying both of us.
"Put her down!"
"Are you crazy?!"
"Coach is gonna kill you—!"
My heart hammered—not fear, not panic—
Anger.
Pure and sharp.
"Keifer," I said tightly, planting my palm against his chest, "put me down."
He didn't.
He laughed again, breath uneven, grip tightening just enough to cross from reckless to dangerous.
"You don't get to humiliate me," he said. "Not in front of everyone."
I twisted my hips hard, shifting my weight suddenly.
He wasn't expecting resistance mid-spin.
His balance faltered.
Just a fraction.
Enough.
My foot hooked against his shin, knee snapping up as I shoved off his chest at the same time. The move wasn't pretty—but it was effective.
We staggered.
He released me to keep himself upright.
I landed hard—but on my feet.
The court went dead silent.
Keifer stumbled back a step, breathing heavy now, eyes locked on me like he couldn't decide whether to laugh or lunge.
I straightened slowly.
Adjusted my jacket.
Met his gaze without blinking.
"Touch me again," I said clearly, voice carrying across the court, "and this stops being a game."
For a second—
Just one—
I thought he might actually go for it.
Then the gym doors slammed open.
"WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?!"
Both P.E. teachers stood frozen in the doorway, eyes wide, already taking in the scene—students backed away, phones half-hidden, tension thick enough to choke on.
Keifer stepped back immediately.
I didn't move.
"Watson. Mariano." The coach's voice was ice. "Office. Now."
No arguments.
No laughter.
As we walked past each other toward the exit, Keifer leaned in just enough to murmur—
"This isn't over."
I didn't look at him.
"Nothing ever is."
The doors shut behind us.
And somewhere deep in my chest, something settled.
Not fear.
Not thrill.
Certainty.
This wasn't flirting. This wasn't rivalry.
This was two people who refused to lose—
Finally realizing they'd chosen the same battlefield.
KEIFER'S POV — OFFICE & AFTER
The walk to the office was silent.
Not the awkward kind.
The lethal kind.
Jay walked beside me, spine straight, face unreadable, like she hadn't just turned the basketball court into a near-riot. No limp. No nerves. Not even a glance my way.
That pissed me off more than the fall.
Coach Ramirez didn't yell. That was worse.
"You," he said, pointing at me, "nearly caused an incident that would've shut down P.E. for the week."
Then at Jay.
"And you," he added, narrowing his eyes, "don't pretend you weren't part of it."
Jay lifted one shoulder. "I defended myself."
I bit back a smirk.
Coach sighed like he was already tired of our names.
"Detention. Both of you. One week. Separate seats. And if I hear anything like this again—"
He didn't finish.
He didn't need to.
We nodded. Left. End of story.
Or so they thought.
The second we stepped back into Section E's hallway—
Hell broke loose.
"Oh LOOK," Cin called out loudly. "The power couple returns."
"Did you guys hold hands in there?" Rory added. "Or was it more like intense eye contact?"
Blaster grinned. "So who tripped who this time?"
Laughter bounced off the lockers.
Jay didn't slow down.
Didn't react.
Didn't dignify it.
She just kept walking like the hallway belonged to her.
Which somehow made it worse.
Cin leaned toward me. "You picked her up, didn't you?"
"Shut up," I muttered.
Yuri walked beside me, lower voice. "You lost control."
"I know," I snapped—then exhaled. "I know."
Ahead of us, Jay stopped at her locker.
She turned.
Just once.
Our eyes met.
No anger. No satisfaction.
Just awareness.
Like she was filing me away under things to handle later.
Then she closed her locker and walked off.
Cin whistled. "Man… she scares me."
Good.
She should.
Because standing there, with Section E laughing and teasing and nudging me—
All I could think was one terrifying, undeniable truth:
I didn't scare her.
And that made her the most dangerous person in this school.
But I did.
Did Almost...what I shouldn't have....
JAY'S POV — AFTER HOURS
My room was quiet.
Too quiet.
The kind of silence that presses against your ears and forces thoughts to surface whether you want them to or not.
I shut the door behind me and leaned my forehead against it for a second—just a second—before pushing off and walking in.
Lights on. Bag down. Shoes kicked off with more force than necessary.
I sat on the edge of my bed and stared at the opposite wall.
The basketball court replayed itself without permission.
The slip.
The grab.
The spin.
And then—
That moment.
Too close.
Too fast.
His breath against my cheek. The heat of his grip. The way my balance had shifted—not physically, but internally.
Not fear.
Something worse.
I clenched my jaw.
That shouldn't have happened.
I don't miscalculate people. I don't get surprised by proximity. And I definitely don't freeze.
But for half a heartbeat—just half—I had.
Not because he was strong.
Not because he was loud.
Because he was focused.
Because there had been no mockery in his eyes then. No audience. No performance.
Just instinct meeting instinct.
And that was dangerous.
I stood abruptly and paced the room, arms crossed tight like I could lock the thought away with pressure.
"Get it together," I muttered.
It wasn't attraction.
It was recognition.
Two predators realizing the other one knew how to hunt.
I stopped in front of the mirror.
Studied my own reflection.
Calm face. Sharp eyes. Controlled posture.
Nothing cracked.
Good.
Because whatever almost happened on that court—
Whatever that flicker was—
It wasn't a weakness yet.
But it could become one if I let it linger.
Keifer Watson doesn't get inside my head, I told myself firmly.
I turned away from the mirror and sat back down, fingers tightening in the sheets.
I don't slip.
I adapt.
And next time he gets that close—
I won't hesitate.
Not even for a second.
Because the moment I do—
I lose.
And I refuse to lose to a boy who thinks proximity is power.