Three different people, three different threats, three different ways this could all fall apart.
Maya had thought understanding the problem would make it easier to handle. She was wrong.
Mateo didn't stop watching her. If anything, Maya's recognition of his interest seemed to make him bolder, like some invisible barrier had been crossed and he no longer felt the need to pretend his attention was casual.
On the field, he marked her closer than anyone else during scrimmages, close enough that she could smell his deodorant and feel the heat radiating off his skin when they went for the same ball. Every drill became an excuse to shadow her steps, to position himself where their shoulders might brush during passing exercises, where his hand might graze hers when they both reached for water bottles.
This is a nightmare. This is an actual nightmare.
In the cafeteria, he picked tables near hers with mathematical precision—never the same table, because that would be obvious, but always within her sight line. Close enough that she could feel the weight of his stare while she picked at her salad and pretended to study. Close enough that when she laughed at something one of her teammates said, she could see him lean forward in her peripheral vision, like he was trying to memorize the sound.
Even in the library—her sanctuary, the one place where she'd thought she could escape the constant performance of being Alex Rivera—he found excuses to appear. Researching the same obscure topics for different classes, needing books from shelves that happened to be near her study spot, developing a sudden interest in whatever section she'd claimed for the evening.
At first Maya had clung to the hope that it was still rivalry, that he wanted another chance to take her down after losing their one-on-one confrontation. Wounded pride was something she could work with, something that followed predictable patterns and had clear solutions.
But there was something else in his stare now. Something restless and hungry that made her skin crawl with recognition she didn't want to have.
He's attracted to Alex. And he has no idea why, which makes him more dangerous, not less.
By Friday night, Maya realized she couldn't escape him. The week had been an escalating series of encounters that felt less accidental each time—hallway conversations that lasted too long, study sessions in the common room where he somehow always ended up on the same couch, team dinners where he maneuvered to sit across from her so he could maintain eye contact while she tried to eat.
The library was mostly empty that evening, just a few dedicated students cramming for weekend exams or Monday presentations. The soft hum of laptops filled the silence between the towering shelves, punctuated by the occasional rustle of turning pages or muffled cough. Maya had spread her books across a table in the far corner, grateful for the illusion of privacy and the familiar comfort of studying.
Advanced calculus. Focus on advanced calculus. Numbers don't lie or watch you with eyes that want things you can't give.
She'd been working through derivatives for twenty minutes, finally finding some measure of peace in the predictable logic of mathematics, when she heard the scrape of a chair being pulled back.
"Mind if I...?" Mateo's voice cut through her concentration like a blade through silk.
Maya looked up to find him already settling into the seat beside her, close enough that she could see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes, close enough that his knee almost brushed hers under the table. He hadn't waited for an answer before claiming the territory, because he already knew what her response would be.
Trap. This is a trap and I walked right into it.
"Plenty of other tables," Maya said, gesturing toward the dozen empty study spots scattered around the library.
"Yeah." Mateo leaned back in his chair, that familiar smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "But none with you at them."
The directness of it hit Maya like a physical blow. No pretense, no excuse about needing help with homework or wanting to discuss practice strategy. Just honest admission that he'd sought her out specifically, that his presence here was intentional and personal.
Maya kept her eyes fixed on her calculus notes, heart pounding so loud she was sure he could hear it across the narrow space between them. The numbers blurred together, meaningless symbols that offered no protection against the intensity of his attention.
"What do you want?" she managed, proud that her voice came out steady despite the panic clawing at her chest.
"Just curious." His voice dropped to something intimate, almost thoughtful, like they were sharing secrets instead of sitting in a public library where anyone could see them. "You don't act like the others. You don't talk like them either."
Because I'm not like them. Because I'm not even who you think I am.
Maya gripped her pen tighter, knuckles going white around the plastic barrel. "Maybe I'm not like them."
The admission slipped out before she could stop it, too honest, too revealing. But Mateo's gaze didn't sharpen with suspicion the way she'd expected. Instead, something that looked almost like satisfaction flickered across his features.
"I know," he said quietly. "That's what I like about you."
The air between them felt too warm, too close, charged with an electricity that made Maya's skin prickle with awareness. Minutes stretched like pulled taffy, filled with the weight of words neither of them was saying. Maya could hear her own breathing, could feel Mateo's attention like sunlight through a magnifying glass.
Say something. Do something. End this before it goes somewhere you can't come back from.
But before Maya could figure out how to extract herself from the situation without causing a scene, Mateo moved. His hand brushed hers as he reached for her notebook—not an accident, not a casual touch, but something deliberately slow and testing.
Maya jerked back like she'd been burned, pulse jumping into overdrive. The reaction was too strong, too obvious, too telling. She saw Mateo register it, saw his eyes narrow as he processed what her response might mean.
He thinks Alex is shy. Or conflicted. Or—
Mateo studied her face with the intensity of someone solving an equation he didn't want the answer to but couldn't stop working on. His lips parted slightly, and when he leaned closer, Maya could feel the heat of his breath against her cheek, could smell the mint gum he'd been chewing during dinner.
"Why do I want to kiss you?" he murmured, the question so quiet it was barely more than a whisper.
Maya's entire world stopped. Time suspended itself somewhere between one heartbeat and the next, leaving her frozen in a moment that could destroy everything she'd worked to build.
Because the question wasn't really a question at all. It was a confession, an admission, a line being crossed that couldn't be uncrossed. And the worst part—the absolutely terrifying part—was that Mateo looked as confused by his own feelings as Maya felt by his attention.
He doesn't understand why he's attracted to Alex. Which means he's going to keep pushing until he figures it out.
And that was the kind of investigation that would uncover truths that couldn't be uncovered.