**Chapter 2: The Taste of Revenge**
Ava woke up with the faint echo of bass still thumping behind her eyes and the ghost of a kiss that didn't belong to Liam still burning on her lips. Sunlight sliced through the half-closed blinds of her bedroom, painting stripes across the rumpled sheets. She lay there for a long minute, staring at the ceiling fan spinning lazy circles, trying to decide whether last night had been a brilliant act of rebellion or the dumbest thing she'd ever done.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand. She reached for it without sitting up.
**Liam:** Babe I'm sorry about last night. I was wasted. Didn't mean to ignore you on your birthday. Can we talk? I miss you already.
Three heart emojis. A selfie of him looking appropriately sheepish, hair messy, eyes bloodshot.
She stared at the photo until it blurred. Part of her wanted to type back something soft, forgiving. They'd been together since junior year. He knew her favorite coffee order, how she hated horror movies but watched them anyway just to hold his hand, the way she cried at dog adoption commercials. That history had weight.
But then she remembered the napkin kiss. The way Brittany's giggle had sounded like glass breaking. The way Liam hadn't even noticed her standing there until the game forced him to.
She typed: **We'll talk later.**
Sent.
Then she threw the phone across the mattress and buried her face in the pillow.
An hour later she was showered, dressed in jeans and her favorite oversized sweater, hair still damp, and standing outside the little coffee shop three blocks from home. Mia was already inside, claiming their usual corner booth, two lattes steaming in front of her.
"You look like you got hit by a truck made of bad decisions," Mia said the second Ava slid into the seat.
"Close enough." Ava wrapped her hands around the warm mug. The foam had a perfect little heart drawn in cinnamon. She almost laughed at the irony.
Mia leaned forward, dark eyes sharp. "Spill. I saw the stories. Liam making out with Brittany through a napkin? And then you… disappearing into a closet with his *uncle*? Girl."
Ava groaned. "It was seven minutes in heaven. A dare."
"And?"
"And nothing happened." Lie. Partial lie. The kiss had happened. The way Sebastian's mouth had moved against hers—slow, deliberate, like he was memorizing every curve and dip—had definitely happened. But the rest? The way her knees had gone weak, the way heat had pooled low in her belly like warm maple syrup? That part she wasn't ready to confess, even to Mia.
Mia wasn't buying it. "Bull. Your face is doing that thing where it turns tomato-red when you're hiding something juicy."
Ava sipped her latte to buy time. It tasted like vanilla and comfort, but it couldn't erase the smoky aftertaste of whiskey she swore she could still feel on her tongue.
"He kissed me," she finally admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "Like… really kissed me. Not some drunk party peck. It felt… intentional."
Mia's eyebrows shot up. "Dr. Kane? The hot professor uncle? The one who looks like he stepped out of a dark academia Pinterest board?"
"Yeah."
Silence stretched between them, thick with possibility.
Mia whistled low. "Okay. That's next-level petty revenge. I'm impressed. And a little scared for you."
"I didn't plan it," Ava said quickly. "It just… happened. And now Liam's texting apologies like nothing's wrong."
"Because to him, nothing is wrong. He got to play grab-ass with Brittany in front of everyone, and you're supposed to just smile and move on." Mia stirred her drink aggressively. "You deserve better, Avs. Always have."
Ava stared into her coffee. "I know. I just… I thought we were solid. I thought turning eighteen would mean something. Like we'd finally be on the same page."
Mia reached across the table and squeezed her hand. "You're allowed to want more than what he's giving. And if that more happens to come wrapped in a charcoal button-down and a PhD, who am I to judge?"
Ava laughed despite herself. "Stop. It was one kiss. One stupid, reckless kiss."
But even as she said it, her mind replayed the moment Sebastian's thumb had brushed her neck, the way his breath had hitched when she kissed him back. It hadn't felt stupid. It had felt like the first honest thing she'd done in months.
Her phone buzzed again. Another text from Liam.
**Liam:** I'm coming over tonight. We need to fix this. I love you.
She stared at the words until they swam.
Mia noticed. "You gonna let him?"
"I don't know," Ava whispered. "Part of me wants to scream at him. Part of me wants to pretend last night never happened."
"And the other part?"
Ava didn't answer. She didn't have to. The other part was still tasting Sebastian Kane in the back of her throat, rich and forbidden, like the last bite of a dessert she knew she shouldn't have ordered.
---
That evening, Liam showed up at her door with a bouquet of grocery-store roses and a sheepish grin. Her mom let him in—because of course she did; she'd always liked Liam—and disappeared into the kitchen to give them "space."
They sat on the couch in the living room. The TV was off. The silence felt loud.
"I messed up," he started. "I got caught up in the game, the attention. I wasn't thinking about you. About us."
Ava crossed her arms. "You weren't thinking about me at all."
He winced. "I know. I'm sorry. It won't happen again."
She wanted to believe him. God, she wanted to. But every time she looked at his face, she saw the napkin. The laughter. The way he'd high-fived Tyler like kissing someone else was a victory.
"And the closet thing?" he asked, voice tight. "With Uncle Seb? What was that about?"
"Revenge," she said flatly. "You got to kiss someone else. I got to kiss someone else. Fair's fair."
His jaw clenched. "He's my uncle, Ava. That's… messed up."
"He's not your blood uncle. He's your mom's half-brother from her dad's second marriage. You barely know him."
"That's not the point."
"Then what is the point, Liam? That I embarrassed you? That I didn't just sit there quietly while you played grabby-hands with Brittany?"
He ran a hand through his hair. "I don't want to fight. I just want us to be okay."
She looked at him—really looked. The boy she'd given her firsts to. First hand-hold in the movie theater. First I-love-you under the bleachers after homecoming. First everything.
And suddenly she felt tired. Bone-deep tired.
"I need time," she said.
His face crumpled. "Time for what?"
"To figure out if I still want this."
The words hung between them like smoke.
Liam stood up slowly. "I'll wait. However long it takes."
He left the roses on the coffee table. They looked sad and out of place, petals already drooping.
After he was gone, Ava picked up the bouquet and carried it to the kitchen. Her mom was chopping vegetables for dinner—carrots, celery, onion. The sharp, clean scent filled the room.
"Everything okay, sweetheart?" her mom asked without looking up.
Ava set the flowers in the sink. "Not really."
Her mom paused, knife hovering. "You want to talk about it?"
Ava shook her head. "Not yet."
She went upstairs, closed her door, and sat on her bed staring at the acceptance letter from Evergreen University still taped to her bulletin board. She and Liam had applied together. Same campus. Same future.
Now that future felt like a half-baked recipe—promising on paper, but missing something vital.
She opened her laptop. Typed "Evergreen University faculty literature" into the search bar.
The department page loaded.
There he was.
**Dr. Sebastian Kane**
**Associate Professor of American Literature**
**Specialties: 19th-20th Century Fiction, Gothic Traditions, Desire and Power in Modern Narrative**
His faculty photo stared back at her—same sharp jaw, same stormy eyes, same faint half-smile that made her stomach flip even in pixels.
She clicked on his bio.
PhD from Yale. Published three books. Taught at two other universities before Evergreen. No mention of family. No mention of anything personal at all.
She closed the laptop.
Her heart was racing.
She told herself it didn't mean anything. She was just curious. Researching her future professors. Totally normal.
But deep down, in the quiet part of her that still tasted whiskey and charcoal and slow, deliberate kisses, she knew better.
The menu had changed.
And she was already hungry for the next course.
---