Hello! This is the second part of a series. If you haven't read Part 1 yet, head over to my page to catch up. I hope you enjoy every moment leading up to this. Happy reading!
TWO - MIA
The bass vibrates through my tiny dorm room, rattling my desk lamp and drowning out my thoughts. I crank the speaker up a notch--some gritty, angry rock song that feels perfect for the mood I'm in. Irritated. Impatient. And, okay, maybe a little devious.
The camera clicks again as I shift on my bed. I squeeze my right breast as I toss my hair over my shoulder, letting it fall messy and wild--like I'm not trying. But I am trying. Every single detail is calculated. Every picture is for one person.
Vince.
Ten days into No Nut November, and he's ignoring me. Like I don't know exactly what he's doing. Or not doing. Normally, he's always in my space--calling on me during lectures, pulling me aside after class to talk. That's what he calls it. "Talking." But the way his eyes darken when we're alone says otherwise. And in between those perfectly normal, absolutely forbidden school hours? We find each other. The teacher's lounge, his car, an empty corridor when no one's watching.
Never the classroom though. That's too risky, even for him.
But now? Nothing. He's keeping his distance, like I'm some temptation he can swat away, and it's making me crazy. He hasn't called on me once all week. No lingering looks. No gruff reprimands whispered close enough to make my skin tingle.
I bite my lip as I scroll through the photos I just took, pausing on one where my ass is angled just right. I add a cheeky caption.
> Still holding strong, Professor?
God, this game is making me insane.
I hit send before I can change my mind, then throw my phone across the room. It hits the floor with a satisfying thud. I roll over and bury my face in my pillow, screaming.
Once I'm satisfied, I roll onto my back, one hand flopping against my stomach as the music continues to roar. The thing is--Vince and I have always been a little reckless. Our whole relationship thrives on chaos. I think that's why we work.
It started months ago when I became his aide. Long hours spent in his office grading papers, organizing his nonsense. At first, it was harmless--he'd tease me about my messy handwriting, and I'd roll my eyes at his obsession with sharp ties and perfectly stacked books. But then, it wasn't harmless. Not anymore.
The night it happened, we were in his car, parked behind the faculty lot after some late-night session. I'd made a joke about how his shirt sleeves looked better rolled up--he was always so proper, but that night he looked rumpled, tired, and way too good. He turned to me with that dark, serious look I've come to love, like he was trying to figure out if he should scold me or something else.
He chose the something else.
One kiss turned into a lot of kissing, and by the time he pulled back, we both knew there was no going back. Heated. Intense. That's what we are, and we both know it's because of the secret. That's what makes it so addictive--sneaking around, pushing limits, wondering if this will be the moment we get caught.
And that's exactly why this game is driving me out of my mind.
I sit up. Vince might be able to act like he's too busy for me in class, but I know better. He's not busy. He's avoiding me. There's a difference.
He thinks if he keeps his distance, he'll win. That he'll outlast me.
I grin to myself as I send another photo. Before this month is over, one of us is going to crack.
And it's not going to be me.
***
Vince leaves me on read
I stare at the screen, waiting for those little dots to appear--the ones that mean he's typing, that he's caving. Nothing. It's been more than two hours since he read it and there's still nothing. I huff out a breath, glaring at my phone like I can will him to respond.
But he doesn't bite. Vince always bites.
I toss my phone onto the bed and flop back dramatically, groaning. "He's ignoring me. Like really, truly ignoring me."
Gemma, my roommate, sits cross-legged at the desk. She raises a brow as she scrolls through her own phone. "Who?"
"No one," I say, sitting up.
"Okay," she says slowly, eyeing me suspiciously. "Do you want to go to Randy's party tonight?"
I sit up quickly. "Randy's having a party?"
She nods.
This is perfect.
Twenty minutes later, my dorm looks like a tornado blew through it. Clothes are everywhere--skirts, heels, the kind of lingerie no one's supposed to see but still makes me feel hot. I settle on the dress. It's a deep red, hugging me like it's painted on. The fabric is smooth satin with thin spaghetti straps, a neckline low enough to be sinful, and a slit up the thigh that promises trouble with every step. My black stilettos add the finishing touch, giving me just enough height to pull off dangerous.
I turn to Gemma, striking a pose. "What do you think?"
She whistles, popping a piece of gum into her mouth. "You look like the reason men pray."
Perfect.
We take a couple of pictures by the full-length mirror, the two of us laughing as we pose. Gemma looks hot, too--her little black dress leaves nothing to the imagination, but my red dress? It's the showstopper. I scroll through the photos, choosing the one where my back is arched just enough and my lips are curled into a teasing smile. Gemma flashes a peace sign next to me, her tongue poking out between her teeth.
I open Snapchat, the one app I had to bully Vince into downloading. "For emergencies," I'd told him at the time. He rolled his eyes and muttered something about how Snapchat was for teenagers, but I know he checks my story. He always checks it.
I upload the photo to my story, tagging it with a single devil emoji. He'll see it. And he'll lose his mind.
By the time we're ready to leave, the entire dorm feels alive. Girls flit in and out of rooms, shrieking compliments at each other, curling hair, adjusting straps. I hear someone shout about Randy's party down the hall. Randy throws good parties, and apparently tonight's no different.
"You coming?" Gemma calls, dangling her car keys.
"Yeah, yeah. I'm ready." I slip my phone into my bag and follow her out.
As we step outside into the cool night air, Gemma loops her arm through mine. "Randy's gonna be packed tonight. His house is huge, and I hear he hired a DJ."
"Randy's an overachiever," I mutter.
I can't stop thinking about Vince. He hates when I go to parties. It's the one thing we fight about--him going all possessive, gritting his teeth when I tell him I danced with college boys and let them feel me up. He calls them idiots, says they don't know what to do with a girl like me.
"You just like the attention," he told me once, all dark and clipped.
And maybe I do. But not from them. Never from them.
I slide into Gemma's car, the leather cool against my thighs, and the moment she starts the engine, my phone lights up.
> Vince: Where are you going?
My heart skips, and I can't stop the grin that spreads across my face. Finally.
I bite my bottom lip as my thumb hovers over the keyboard. I could answer him. Could tell him exactly where I'm going, exactly how much fun I plan to have.
But if he can ignore me? I can ignore him.
I drop my phone into my lap, the screen still glowing with his message. Gemma gives me a look as she pulls out of the parking lot, but I just shrug, feeling the chaos buzz under my skin.
Let him wait. Let him wonder.
The night is young, and if Vince wants me to behave, he's going to have to do something about it.
The party is already alive by the time Gemma and I pull up. Randy's place is a sprawling off-campus house that's seen its fair share of beer-stained floors and bad decisions. The bass-heavy music thumps from inside, vibrating the ground under my heels as we climb out of the car. The lawn is littered with people--clusters of students huddled in laughter, a few couples making out against cars. The air smells like cheap booze and stale smoke.
"Classic Randy," Gemma says, locking her car and looping her arm through mine.
Inside, it's chaos. Bodies fill the rooms, the heat already thick as the music blares through a DJ setup in the living room. There's no sign of Randy himself, but his parties never need a host. They just run themselves.
Gemma and I move through the crowd, offering waves and hellos to people we recognize. It's the usual mix of faces--girls from class, guys who sat behind us in lectures, and people we think we know but can't quite place.
"Love the dress, Gem!" someone shouts, and Gemma grins as she spins for effect.
"Red suits you, Mia!"
"Yeah, yeah," I tease, blowing a kiss over my shoulder as we continue on.
We're halfway through the kitchen when I spot Rowan and Liam, two guys from our study group. They're sitting on the counter, red Solo cups in hand, already a few drinks deep, judging by Rowan's lazy grin. Rowan's British, sharp-jawed, and charming in that infuriating way that makes professors forgive him for skipping class. Liam's quieter--Korean, bookish when sober, but a damn party animal after a few shots.
"Gemma!" Rowan calls, lifting his drink as we approach. "I was starting to think you wouldn't show."
"Like we'd miss it." Gemma flashes a smile, already sliding next to Liam, who grins back and leans in to say something I can't hear.
I stop in front of Rowan, crossing my arms and tilting my head.
"Hey you," he drawls with a grin.
"What are you drinking, and why don't I have one?" I ask.
He laughs. "You're trouble, aren't you?" He grabs a glass from behind him and pours amber liquid from the bottle sitting next to him. Whiskey. My kind of drink. He hands it over, his fingers brushing mine for just a second too long.
"Careful, Rowan," I say, taking the glass and giving him a pointed look. "You'll make me think you're hitting on me."
