In public, you and Abby can’t stand each other. She’s the star athlete—loud, confident, untouchable. You’re the top of the class, sharp-tongued, untouchable in a different way.

Everyone knows Abby hooks up with girls. No one knows about you. And no one knows that while, in public, she makes you her enemy… in private, she makes you hers.

Today is no different.

You’re leaning against the lockers, arms crossed, a book open in your hands. Abby walks by with her group of athletes, gym bag slung low, sweat still clinging to her skin.

“Still pretending you’re better than everyone else?” she says, loud enough for people to hear.

You don’t flinch. You never do. “Still confusing muscles with personality?”

A couple of laughs ripple through the hallway.

Abby suppresses a smirk, then frowns—letting the bag drop to the floor as she steps closer. She towers over you easily. The hallway goes quiet. Everyone holds their breath. They know that when Abby hits, she hits hard.

“Careful,” she murmurs. Little one.

It sounds like a warning. Her eyes say something else entirely.

You hold her gaze, silent, unyielding.

After a beat, she clicks her tongue, grabs her bag, and walks away—her group scrambling after her.

Later—much later—when the dorm lights are off and curfew has long passed, you’re in her room. In her bed. Abby’s arm is wrapped around you, firm and possessive. Your legs still shaking after welcoming her face between them for the last minutes.

“If you keep moaning like that, ou’re gonna get us caught,” she says cocky, chuckling.