Jealousy Games
1039 Words
It started with the girl in the red miniskirt.
She was standing way too close to him, her manicured hand resting on his chest like she belonged there. I had been walking to my next class, minding my business, sipping on a Capri-Sun I stole from my little cousin’s lunch stash, when I saw them.
Her.
Him.
Together.
Laughing.
I didn’t even realize I’d stopped walking.
From across the hallway, I watched her giggle, twirl her hair, and lean in closer—like she’d done this a hundred times before. And Wavy? He wasn’t exactly pushing her away. He stood there cool and relaxed, wearing that same black hoodie that he always smelled stupid good in. Like wood smoke and warm spice.
I tried to tear my eyes away. Tried to remind myself that we weren’t anything official. That I had no right to care. That he hadn’t kissed me. That he didn’t even text me back.
But my stomach burned anyway.
She touched his chain. That damn silver chain he always played with when he was bored or pretending not to care. She tugged on it lightly, and he let her. He let her.
I blinked, heart twisting in something way too close to jealousy.
Then he looked up.
His eyes met mine from across the hallway like he knew I was watching. And that smirk?
Wicked.
Cruel.
Slightly amused.
Like he was enjoying this.
I looked away fast, cheeks burning, stomach churning. I turned the corner and nearly knocked someone over. I needed to get away. Far. Fast. Before I did something stupid.
⸻
I barely paid attention during Chemistry. Or Literature. Or lunch.
His voice played in my head. That voice note. The almost-kiss. The look in his eyes when he got close.
And now… that girl. Red skirt girl. The one with the fake laugh and claws on his chest.
Why did I care so much?
He wasn’t mine.
But I was still pissed.
I didn’t go to our usual spot after school. I went straight home, tossed my phone on the bed, and tried to drown out the entire day with loud music and an overdue skincare routine.
But my phone buzzed around 6:12 p.m.
WAVY:
“Didn’t see you after school. Mad about something?”
I stared at the screen.
Was he serious?
I left him on read.
A minute later:
WAVY:
“I like when you get mad. It makes your eyes do that sharp thing.”
My fingers hovered over the keyboard. I shouldn’t reply. I shouldn’t.
So naturally, I did.
ME:
“Go talk to your little girlfriend.”
The typing dots popped up immediately.
WAVY:
“She’s not my girlfriend. You mad?”
ME:
“No.”
WAVY:
“Liar. I could feel it from across the hallway.”
ME:
“Whatever.”
WAVY:
“Come outside.”
My heart skipped. I sat up, looked out the window. Nothing. I typed back quickly:
ME:
“What?”
WAVY:
“Come. Outside.”
I paused. Then grabbed my slides, ran my fingers through my messy bun, and stepped outside like an i***t chasing chaos.
He was leaning on the hood of a black Honda that I knew wasn’t his. Arms crossed, jaw flexing, hoodie on. Like he was posing for a streetwear ad that didn’t exist.
I walked up slowly. “Seriously?”
“You really get jealous that easy?” he asked, straightening up.
“I wasn’t jealous,” I lied.
“Then why you giving me attitude?”
“I’m not.”
“You are.” He stepped closer. “And I like it.”
My breath caught.
“I’m not one of your little girls,” I said, eyes narrowing.
“I know.” He dipped his head low. “That’s why I want you.”
Silence.
Then:
“I’m not gonna chase you,” I said.
“Good,” he whispered. “I like it when you stand still.”
He leaned in again—so close, so slow—and this time, I didn’t move away. I wanted it. I needed it.
But he didn’t kiss me.
Not yet.
He backed me up against the car, hand on my waist, the heat between us unbearable.
“Tell me to stop,” he said.
I didn’t.
He leaned in further, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. “I didn’t touch her. I let her talk. That’s it.”
“You didn’t stop her either.”
“You didn’t stop staring,” he shot back, fingers tracing the side of my neck.
I shivered.
“I like when you get like this,” he murmured. “Jealous. Fiery. Bold.”
Then he finally kissed me.
And holy hell.
It wasn’t soft.
It wasn’t slow.
It was hungry. Rough. Possessive. Like he’d been holding it back for too long and couldn’t take it anymore.
My hands gripped his hoodie, pulling him closer. He pushed me gently against the car door, body flush with mine, lips moving like he was memorizing me.
His tongue slid against mine and my knees almost gave out.
I’d never been kissed like this before.
I’d never been seen like this before.
It wasn’t just hot. It was dangerous.
He pulled back slightly, lips swollen, eyes darker than I’d ever seen them.
“This,” he said, voice thick. “This is what you do to me.”
I was breathless.
He smirked. “Still think I want someone else?”
I couldn’t speak.
My phone buzzed again. A DM.
I ignored it.
He leaned in again, this time slower, softer, a kiss just above my collarbone.
“Next time you wanna act jealous,” he whispered, “do it in private. I might lose control.”
—
That night, I replayed the moment a hundred times.
And then I opened the DM I ignored earlier.
It was a girl I didn’t follow.
UNKNOWN:
“Be careful with Wavy. He breaks girls for fun.”
Attached?
Screenshots.
Old messages. Flirty. Suggestive. From months ago. Maybe weeks.
All from him.
I stared at the screen, throat dry.
A second message came in.
UNKNOWN:
“He said the same thing to me.”
⸻
- Writer
