Chapter 4: His Room. Her Rules.
914 Words
Lena had never been to a guy’s house alone before.
Scratch that—she’d never been to Jace Blackwood’s house alone before, which somehow felt a lot more dangerous. Like she’d signed up for a casual hike and accidentally wandered into a volcano.
His text had said “after school,” so naturally Lena arrived at 3:58 p.m. Because punctuality was her love language. She stood on his porch for a full thirty seconds, staring at the door and trying to decide if knocking twice would make her seem desperate.
Before she could decide, the door opened on its own.
Jace stood there, casually leaning against the frame like he’d been waiting all day. He was wearing a plain black T-shirt, and his hair was messily perfect, like he’d rolled out of bed and into a shampoo commercial.
“You’re two minutes early,” he said.
“Time is a social construct,” she replied automatically, then frowned. “Wait. That’s not what I meant to say.”
He stepped aside, smirking. “Well, come in, Einstein. Welcome to my humble chaos.”
Lena entered slowly, half-expecting the house to smell like motor oil and teenage rebellion. Instead, it smelled like clean laundry and cinnamon toast. Which was… disorienting.
“Your house is nice,” she said, glancing around. It was a little messy—papers, wires, a lone sock on the stairs—but it was lived-in, not wrecked.
He led her upstairs to his room. Lena hesitated at the threshold like it was sacred territory.
“Relax,” he said, flopping onto his bed. “I don’t bite.”
“You look like you bite.”
“Only when provoked.”
She shot him a look, then sat down carefully at the desk chair. “Okay, ground rules: No distractions, no wandering hands, and absolutely no sarcastic Shakespeare impressions.”
“That last one’s cruel,” he said, dramatically clutching his chest. “That’s half my personality.”
Lena pulled out her notebook. “Then I guess it’s time to develop a new one.”
Jace grinned but leaned back on his elbows, watching her. “You’re kind of scary when you’re in study mode.”
“And you’re kind of a menace when you’re breathing.”
“Thanks. I try.”
They actually got work done. Surprisingly so. Jace could be focused when he wanted to be—he just rarely wanted to be. But when Lena explained things, he listened. Really listened. He even asked good questions, which was suspicious.
Halfway through a particularly heated debate about literary motifs, Jace leaned over and stole one of her sticky notes.
“Hey!”
“Just borrowing it.” He scribbled something, folded it in half, and stuck it to her laptop.
Lena narrowed her eyes. “What did you write?”
“Guess.”
“I don’t play games.”
“Sure you do. You just like to win them.”
That made her blush. She peeled off the note and unfolded it.
It said, in his messy scrawl:
You’re the smartest person I’ve ever met. And your eyes are ridiculous.
Lena stared.
“Is this… a joke?” she asked, voice soft.
“Nope.” Jace was still reclined on the bed, but his tone was surprisingly serious. “You’re kind of amazing, Carter. Even if your binder could qualify as a safety hazard.”
Her stomach did a full cartwheel. “You’re not allowed to say things like that.”
“Why not?”
“Because it sounds like flirting.”
He shrugged. “Maybe it is.”
She blinked.
And then, before she could stop herself, Lena stood up and walked over to him. She stopped a foot away, arms crossed.
“You’re not supposed to flirt with girls like me.”
“What kind of girls are you?”
“The responsible kind. The ‘straight-A, never-late, parents-love-me’ kind.”
Jace looked up at her with that same infuriating, intoxicating smirk. “Maybe I like girls like that.”
Her throat felt dry. “Why?”
He sat up slowly, so they were eye level. His voice dropped an octave. “Because you’re fire in a library. Because you pretend to be all rules and logic, but you’ve got chaos hiding under your cardigans.”
“I do not wear cardigans.”
“Okay. But if you did, I’d still think about kissing you.”
Her breath hitched.
The silence stretched.
And then—of course—her phone buzzed. Loud. Awkward. From her backpack on the floor.
She jumped back like the moment hadn’t just ignited the air between them.
“It’s probably my mom,” she said quickly. “She likes to check if I’ve been kidnapped.”
Jace gave her a long, unreadable look. “You good?”
“Yeah. I just—yeah.”
She grabbed her backpack and practically fled to the desk again. Her hands were shaking. She had no idea if it was from fear… or excitement.
As she started packing her things, Jace stood and walked over. He didn’t touch her. Just leaned close enough to whisper:
“For the record… if I kissed you, it wouldn’t be a game.”
And then, like nothing had happened, he handed her a pen she’d dropped and walked away.
Lena stood frozen for a full minute.
His room. Her rules.
Except somewhere along the way, the rules were starting to change.
- Writer
