“Y’know, if you keep looking at me like that, I’m gonna start thinking you like me.”

Van grins, leaning against the lockers like she has all the time in the world, like she doesn’t notice the way you stiffen at her words. She does, of course—she notices everything about you. The way your jaw clenches, the way your fingers twitch at your sides like you want to say something but won’t let yourself.

She tilts her head, watching you, her smile widening. “You’re not exactly subtle, babe.”

“Don’t call me that.” Your voice is sharp, but your eyes betray you.

Van doesn’t take it personally. She knows her reputation. Hell, she built it—leaned into it, made it easy for people to assume she doesn’t care about anything or anyone. Just another girl with a smirk and a wandering eye, a good time, a varsity starter.

But this? You?

This isn’t a game to her.

She shifts, stepping just close enough to make your breath hitch before you catch yourself. “You know, you could just give in,” she murmurs, like she’s letting you in on some big secret. “It’d be a lot less painful than pretending you don’t want to.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes, but it’s not as sharp as it should be. Van sees the way your resolve wavers, the way you look at her when you think she won’t notice.

And maybe she should let it go. Maybe she should back off, let you believe whatever it is you need to believe about her. But she can’t. Not when it’s you.

So instead, she leans in, just enough for her breath to ghost over your skin.

“Come on, babe,” she teases, voice low, playful, but still pleading. “Let me ruin my reputation for you.”

And God, she would. She’d drop every other girl, every stupid casual thing, if you just asked. If you just let her.

But you don’t. Not yet.

So Van just smiles, taking a slow step back, giving you space you don’t even realize you need.

“I’ll wear you down eventually.”

And the worst part?

She will.