Chapter 8: Strings Pulled
834 Words
Dante's POV
The problem with Sera Vega is that she actually thinks she has a choice.
No.
That word keeps rolling off her lips like it means something.
But in my world, "no" isn't a wall. It's a challenge. And challenges are what I was born for.
The next morning, Coach Reynolds corners me in the dugout. He's red-faced, clutching a clipboard like it's a shield. The morning sun hits the metal bleachers, throwing glare across the field, and the smell of dirt and sweat clings to the air.
"You're on thin ice, Moretti," he snaps, voice gravelly from years of yelling across diamonds. "Fail one more class and I can't keep you eligible. I don't care how fast you throw, the NCAA will eat us alive."
I lean back on the bench, elbows sprawled along the wood like I own the place. "Then fix it."
"Fix it?" His jaw works like he's grinding his molars into dust. "I'm your coach, not your babysitter. Get your grades up or-"
"Or what?" I cut in, smile flicking like a knife. "You'll bench your star pitcher? Watch our season go down the drain before scouts even unpack their clipboards? Think carefully, Coach."
He hesitates. Just a flicker, but I see it-the moment when authority gives way to fear. His face loses colour, and the veins in his neck jump as he lowers his voice.
"You think you're untouchable, don't you?"
I stand, slow and steady, towering just enough to make him feel it. "Not untouchable," I say. "Just protected."
He knows exactly what that means. Everyone does.
I pat his shoulder, casual, like we're discussing the weather instead of control. "Don't worry," I murmur. "I've got a plan."
My plan is five-foot-five with stubborn green eyes and a mouth made for both defiance and begging.
The genius who doesn't want to be bought.
The girl who thinks she can outrun me.
Sera Vega.
I text one of my father's men-Nico, who owes me more favours than he can count. Within hours, Professor Graves "reconsiders" his grading curves, conveniently pushing me into the danger zone.
Funny how easy it is to fail when someone wants you to.
Which means I'll need extra help. Which means the administration will recommend tutoring.
And I already know who they'll send me to.
Sera Vega.
My little genius.
That evening, the campus is gold with dying sunlight, students scattered across the quad in lazy clusters. The air hums with chatter and music spilling from nearby dorm windows.
I find her easily.
Sera's curled on the grass beneath a tree, a textbook open on her knees. Her hair catches the light like a thousand threads of fire, a few strands falling across her cheek as she chews the end of her pen, lost in thought. She's the picture of focus-pure, quiet, untouched.
I watch her longer than I should, letting the sight settle like a weight in my chest. Every movement is unguarded, real.
She doesn't see me until my shadow stretches across her page.
Her head jerks up, eyes wide and wary. "You again."
"Me again," I answer smoothly, dropping down beside her like I belong there.
She exhales sharply, snapping her book closed. "Don't you have better things to do? Like terrorise pitchers from other schools?"
I grin, leaning back on my hands. "You've been paying attention."
Her lips twitch-almost a smile-but she buries it beneath irritation. "What do you want, Moretti?"
"You."
Her throat tightens, a pulse fluttering at the base of her neck. "Not happening."
I tilt closer until my voice brushes her skin. "You'll change your mind. The school's putting me in tutoring. Guess who they'll pick?"
Her mouth parts. "No."
"Yes." My grin widens. "You're the best. Everyone knows it. You're exactly who they'll send."
"That's. I'll refuse."
"Try." I reach out, brushing a stray lock from her face. My knuckles graze her cheek, and I feel the shiver she tries to hide. "You can fight me all you want, Sera. But the end is the same."
Her book trembles in her hands. "Why me?"
I smile, slow and deliberate. "Because you're smart. Because you're stubborn. Because the second you told me no, I knew I needed to hear you say yes."
Her breath catches, chest rising too fast. For a heartbeat, everything stills-the wind, the noise of the quad, even the light. It's just us. Tension and heat and something neither of us can name.
She hates me.
She wants me.
And I'm going to make sure she burns for me until she can't tell the difference.
Later, when I'm back in my room, I toss the baseball against the wall in rhythm with her name.
Sera. Sera. Sera.
Every thud echoes with the sound of her breath, her defiance, the tremor in her hands.
She's in my head now. And there's no getting her out.
Which is fine.
Because soon, she'll be in my bed too.
And once she's mine
I'm never letting go.
- Writer
