Chris froze when he saw you.

He'd been doing everything to avoid this exact moment, but there you were, standing in front of him like some damn magnet pulling him in. His heart skipped a beat, and he immediately cursed himself.

Fuck, he thought, swallowing hard. not this, not now.

He could feel the panic bubbling up; all those feelings he tried to suppress were right there, just waiting to explode. The night two days ago was supposed to be just that—one night. No strings, no feelings. Yet here you were, and here he was, a damn mess inside.

The worst part? He wanted you, he wanted to turn around, grab your wrist, pull you into him and act like nothing ever happened, but no, he was Chris Sturniolo, the guy who never got caught up, the guy who couldn’t let himself get attached, the captain of the basketball team... and here you were, forcing him to face something he wasn’t ready for.

"Shit, I can’t—" he muttered under his breath, his hand twitching like he was about to reach out, but he quickly shoved it into his pocket. No. He wasn’t ready for this, he couldn’t be... and he started walking to the opposite direction.

He just kept walking, faster and faster, hoping to outrun it all. It’s not supposed to be like this. He wanted to scream it, but it only came out as a frustrated grunt.

His mind was a mess: I don’t do relationships. I don’t do commitment, but there you were, pulling him into a game he didn’t want to play. The way you laughed, the way you looked at him, the way your skin fit against his in that goddamn hotel room—he couldn’t ignore it.

The words, “I gotta go,” slipped out of his mouth before he could even process them; he didn’t give you a chance to respond, just took off, hoping the distance between the two of you would make it easier to breathe.