Chapter 4
820 Words
Monday morning hit Ivy McCall like a brick wall.
Her laptop beeped insistently with a new message:
Hey. Meet me in the library. We need to plan the project. —A
She groaned. That meant another two-hour study session with Asher. Two hours of his grins, sarcastic comments, and accidental close-quarters moments she swore she didn’t want.
⸻
By the time she reached the library, he was already there, sprawled across a table, headphones around his neck, doodling in a notebook.
“Right on time,” he said lazily, looking up. “You ready to conquer the world?”
“You’re lucky I like good coffee,” she muttered, sliding into the chair across from him.
“You like me, too,” he said confidently, before she could even respond.
“I do not.”
“You totally do.”
And with that, the semester-long battle of wills began.
⸻
They divided the project into sections: Ivy would handle research and citations, Asher would focus on presentation visuals and creative interpretation. But naturally, nothing went smoothly.
“Can we not make this pie chart neon pink?” Ivy asked one evening, scrolling through his slides.
“Neon grabs attention,” he said, leaning over her shoulder. His proximity made her pulse stutter in ways she hated.
“Attention, yes. But I’m not presenting a circus act.”
“You’re too serious,” he teased.
“I’m responsible,” she countered sharply.
“Responsible, sure. But boring.”
She shot him a glare that could have melted steel. He just laughed, that lazy, charming laugh that made her want to roll her eyes—and maybe smile—at the same time.
⸻
By Wednesday, their late-night library sessions became almost routine. Ivy was there with her highlighters, meticulously color-coding sources. Asher was there with his sketches, doodling music notes and cheeky cartoon versions of them arguing.
“You know,” he said softly one night, “you’re way easier to talk to when you’re not glaring at me.”
“Easy for you to say. I never glare,” she muttered, though she knew she was lying.
He leaned back, studying her. “You do it all the time. And sometimes… I kind of like it.”
She choked on her own breath. “Excuse me?”
“Don’t pretend you didn’t notice. There’s a difference between hate and—well, whatever this is.”
Ivy felt her cheeks heat up. She didn’t answer. She couldn’t.
⸻
Friday brought the annual Campus Charity Fair, a sprawling event full of games, food stalls, and student clubs vying for attention.
Ivy went with Naomi, claiming she needed a break from studying. Asher was performing again with his band, but this time he seemed distracted, scanning the crowd as if looking for someone.
“Uh-oh,” Naomi whispered. “Here comes trouble.”
Ivy followed Naomi’s gaze and spotted Asher walking toward them, guitar slung casually over his shoulder, a playful smirk on his face.
“You two look cute together,” he said. “Almost like best friends.”
“Almost?” Ivy asked suspiciously.
“Almost,” he said, shrugging. “I think you’re too stubborn to admit you’re having fun.”
She huffed. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet, here you are.”
⸻
Later, as the sun dipped behind the palm trees lining the campus quad, Ivy and Asher found themselves alone near the food trucks.
“I didn’t realize you liked funnel cakes,” he said, watching her take a bite.
“They’re harmless,” she said, smiling faintly. “Unlike certain stepbrothers I know.”
“Guilty as charged.”
They laughed. And for a moment, the world felt quiet around them, like nothing else mattered except the faint glow of lights, the music in the distance, and the way their laughter mixed together.
It was dangerous.
Because Ivy realized, with a sinking heart, that she didn’t just like him. She was already halfway down a path she had sworn never to tread.
⸻
By the time they returned to the apartment, Asher was unusually quiet. Ivy noticed but didn’t comment—until he suddenly turned to her in the hallway.
“You know,” he said softly, “I’m glad we’re… partners.”
She blinked. “Partners in the project, yes. Not—”
“Partners in general,” he said, cutting her off with that lazy, infuriating grin.
Her heart did a little flip. She cleared her throat. “I’ll hold you to the project. Nothing else.”
“Of course,” he said, leaning closer. The air between them was charged, and Ivy realized with a shiver that maybe nothing about him was simple.
As she walked into her room, she muttered under her breath:
“Focus, McCall. It’s just a project. Just a project…”
But deep down, she knew it wasn’t.
- Writer
