The next morning, Ella walked into school armed with warpaint—a flawless winged liner, blood-red lips, and a leather jacket that screamed don't mess with me.
If Ryan wanted to play games, she'd show him what it meant to lose.
She'd been up all night rehearsing comebacks, reminding herself she wasn't the type of girl boys like him got to break. She didn't want his touch, or his teasing words, or his stupid late-night texts that made her heart skip like a traitor.
And yet, every time she thought of last night's message—
Still pretending?
—it made her skin burn in all the wrong ways.
****
In the locker room, Ryan was the center of attention as usual.
Shirtless, towel around his waist, wet hair dripping onto perfect shoulders. His abs flexed as he reached for his shirt, and his teammates whistled at the sound of giggles echoing from the girls' corridor.
"Bro, who's the new chick?" Mateo asked, smirking. "Ella? She's like... wild fire."
"She slapped you, kissed you, then ignored you," another chimed in. "That's gotta hurt."
Ryan's smirk deepened. "She'll come back."
"You sure?" Mateo teased. "She looked like she'd set you on fire yesterday."
"She already did," Ryan muttered under his breath.
The others laughed.
Mateo tossed him a towel. "Wanna make it interesting?"
Ryan arched a brow.
"A bet."
"I don't do bets."
"You will now." Mateo leaned in. "Two weeks. You seduce her. Full-on. Bedroom action. Otherwise, you admit you've lost your edge."
Ryan scoffed. "I don't need two weeks."
"One week, then."
Ryan's jaw tensed. He was used to getting what he wanted, and Ella was already halfway into his mind, into his mouth, into places he never let anyone touch.
He nodded.
"One week."
****
Ella sat in the library, headphones in, trying to study.
Trying to forget.
But then—he walked in.
The air shifted.
She felt his presence before she even looked up.
He didn't speak. Just slid into the chair across from her, leaned forward, and watched her like she was a puzzle he planned to solve.
She kept her eyes on her notebook.
"What do you want, Ryan?" she asked without looking up.
"Truth?"
"Highly unlikely."
He smirked. "I want you to stop pretending you don't feel it."
She blinked, finally meeting his gaze. "Feel what exactly?"
"This pull between us."
"There's no pull. Just disgust."
He leaned forward, lowering his voice. "Disgust doesn't make you arch your back when I touch you."
She inhaled sharply. "You're disgusting."
"You've said that before."
"You are."
"So stop imagining my hands under your shirt."
Her cheeks flushed.
He leaned even closer. "I bet you didn't even sleep last night. I bet your thighs pressed tight while you thought about my lips on your neck."
She stood so fast her chair screeched.
The librarian glared.
Ryan just smiled.
She hated him. She hated how right he was. And most of all, she hated how bad she wanted him to shut up by kissing her again.
---
That evening, Camila cornered her.
"Okay. Spill. He's practically undressing you with his eyes."
Ella groaned. "He's playing some stupid game. I'm not falling for it."
Camila raised a brow. "What if... you play back?"
Ella blinked. "Excuse me?"
"Seduce the player. Make him fall."
Ella hesitated.
It was risky. Dangerous.
But maybe... satisfying.
"Alright," she said slowly, the ghost of a smile on her lips. "Let's see how the golden boy handles me."
*****
What she didn't know?
The bet had already begun.
Seven days.
One heart.
And a fire neither of them could control.