Chapter Three: Uneasy Allies
1158 Words
Faye
If karma had a sense of humor, she was clearly having the time of her life watching me suffer.
The next time I saw Ezra Locke, he wasn’t alone.
He strolled into Professor Kellerman’s classroom ten minutes late with the same effortless arrogance that seemed stitched into his DNA. Behind him? Jude freaking Santiago, his best friend, Saint Renée’s most charming menace, and the last person you wanted near anything resembling peace and quiet.
Jude had that walk, the one that screamed I’ve seen your secrets and I’m still not impressed. He was all easy confidence, coffee-colored skin glowing under the flickering overhead lights, and a smirk that belonged in a museum of sins. His button-down shirt was artfully half-tucked, his sneakers spotless. And when he spotted me, he grinned like he already knew what I tasted like when I lied.
God help me.
I shifted in my seat near the back, trying to blend into the wall. Not easy, considering I was basically a walking Mona Lisa with anxiety, soft curls tumbling over my shoulders, full hips wedged into jeans that always felt just a size too snug, and a pair of eyes that saw too much and said too little.
Faye Grayson, 21, Black girl with a heart-shaped ass and trauma. Hi.
Ezra caught sight of me mid-stride and slowed. His dark blue eyes locked on mine for one heartbeat. Then two.
I looked away first.
Again.
“Didn’t know you were taking Literary Structures,” Jude said loudly, plopping into the seat directly beside me like this was assigned seating in hell.
“I wasn’t,” I muttered.
Ezra dropped into the seat behind Jude, spinning his pen lazily between his fingers. “We added it late. Professor Kellerman begged.”
“He did not,” I said, dryly.
“He wept,” Jude added, nodding solemnly. “Said Ezra’s absence was ruining the academic curve.”
Ezra snorted, and I could feel the smile on his face even without turning around. It was the kind of smile you didn’t need to see to feel, it curled in the air like smoke, settling behind your ears, wrapping around your ribs.
I hated it.
“Miss Grayson,” Professor Kellerman’s voice cut through the tension. “Since you and Mr. Locke have already begun your group project, I’ll assign Mr. Santiago to your group as well.”
No.
Nope.
Absolutely not.
“Sir, I don’t think that’s…”
“You’ll make it work,” the professor said briskly. “That’s what collaboration is about. Overcoming... challenges.”.
We relocated to a quiet corner of the quad after class. Or at least it was supposed to be quiet, until Jude sprawled across the picnic table like a centerfold and started humming Beyoncé.
“Can we focus?” I asked, already regretting every life decision that brought me here.
Ezra smirked from his spot beside me, knees annoyingly close to mine. “Relax, Faye. Jude’s just warming up his brain cells.”
“I don’t need warm-ups,” Jude replied, stretching like a cat. “I was born ready.”
I pulled out the outline Ezra and I had made in the library, my fingers steady this time. No trembling. No racing pulse.
I wasn’t the girl from high school anymore.
I was stronger now. Sharper. Every bruise I’d hidden under baggy hoodies back then had hardened into quiet resolve. And I wasn’t about to let two beautiful men with smug smiles undo me.
“I’ve made notes,” I said, flipping open my notebook. “We need to finalize the intro and conclusion structure before diving into individual sections.”
Ezra glanced at me. “You actually did homework before the homework?”
“I’m not like you. I have to try.”
His smile slipped for half a second. Just enough to show the crack.
Good.
“Alright,” Jude said, sitting up straighter. “So I’m guessing I take the middle? Hit ‘em with the spicy theory bits?”
“Sure,” I said, already scribbling.
“You’re the boss, Faye,” he said with a wink. “Though I gotta ask, how are you two working together without tearing out each other’s throats?”
I froze.
Ezra’s gaze flicked to mine. His voice was careful when he answered, like walking on glass. “We’re... figuring it out.”
I didn’t say anything.
Let him squirm a little.
Let him remember.
And by the flicker of something raw in those too-blue eyes, maybe he did. Maybe the image of me, shoved into lockers and silenced in bathrooms, was surfacing beneath the charm. Maybe he was piecing it together.
My laugh.
My silence.
The weight of my stare.
“Look,” I said after a beat, “I don’t care if you remember me, Ezra. I’m not here for nostalgia.”
“I do remember you,” he said quietly.
I blinked.
He looked down at his hands. “Faye Grayson. You used to hum under your breath when you wrote. You had this pencil with a chewed-up eraser. And you wore a red hoodie almost every day.”
I didn’t know what to say.
Because he had remembered. Not the cruelty. Not the rumors. But me.
“I liked your laugh,” he added.
The words were soft, almost guilty.
Jude blinked. “Okay, this is getting weirdly romantic for a group project. Should I leave?”
“No,” I said quickly, the heat rising to my cheeks. “Let’s just focus.”
Ezra didn’t press. But he watched me as we went over the paper. Every word I said, he weighed. Every glance, he returned.
I was no longer invisible to him.
And maybe that was the problem.
By the time we finished, the sun was dipping low, casting long golden shadows across the lawn. Jude wandered off to flirt with a redhead near the vending machines, and I started packing up my bag.
Ezra lingered.
“I meant it,” he said.
“Meant what?”
“I liked your laugh. Back then. I just... didn’t know how to say anything without screwing it up.”
I looked at him then. Really looked.
He was still Ezra Locke. Still tall and unfairly hot with those full lips and stormy eyes. But he looked... unsure.
Good.
“I’m not looking for apologies,” I said. “I’m looking for respect. Collaboration. And quiet, ideally.”
He gave a short nod. “You’ll get all three.”
“For now.”
He arched a brow. “Is that a threat?”
“A promise.”
I turned and walked away, letting the wind catch my curls, letting my hips sway just enough to remind him what he lost.
Behind me, I swore I heard him whisper my name again.
Like it was a secret.
And this time, I didn’t look back.
- Writer
