His POV

A short story? Yeah—if only she were that simple.

There lived an annoying girl. Annoying in the way a pebble in your shoe is annoying: tiny, persistent, impossible to ignore. She bothered me every damn day as if teasing me was the only thing keeping her alive. And of course, fate decided we’d be in the same class. Same schools. Same neighborhood. Same everything. Since birth, basically—thanks to our moms being inseparable best friends. They still are. Probably will be until they’re old and knitting matching sweaters or something.

Did that make us close? Hell no.

We fought every chance we got. She once bit my left shoulder when we were kids, hard enough to leave a scar I still have. Sometimes I look at it and wonder why I didn’t bite her back. Maybe even then, I knew losing control with her was dangerous.

Growing up next door meant I knew her whole family. They knew mine. Too well, honestly. It got worse when I overheard her mom saying she wanted to match us someday. A ridiculous thought—but not entirely shocking. Even when we hated each other, we understood each other better than most people understood their partners. It was… complicated.

Like today.

My friends were crowding around my locker, messing around and being loud as usual, when a sweet scent slid into my space—peach, vanilla, and trouble. I didn’t need to turn to know who it was. My shoulders dropped on instinct; my lungs exhaled on autopilot.

I turned anyway.

There she was. A petite menace in shiny hair and questionable fashion choices, flanked by her friends, standing just below my shoulder like she belonged there. Her eyes sparkled up at me—too bright, too confident—and that wide, cheerful smile made my stomach twist in ways I refused to examine.

She was famous on campus, of course. Pretty face, pretty laugh, pretty everything she weaponized daily. And me—I had my own spotlight because of basketball, whether I wanted it or not. Reporter photos, campus website banners… whatever.

But her? She twirled slightly in front of me, like a damn ribbon caught in the wind.

“How do I look?” she asked, voice sweet like poison. “I bet I’m gorgeous.”

God. Her arrogant tone alone was enough to make my patience evaporate.

I sighed—loudly, obviously—before giving her the answer she deserved.

“Well, look at my crotch, beautiful. I’m sure you can get your answer from there.”

Harsh? Maybe. But that’s how we talk. Every day. Our language is insults coated with something neither of us wants to name.

Something that scares me more than her bite ever did.