Page 4

Unspoken Tensions

Dean

After practice, I shower quickly and change, ignoring the usual locker room chaos. My phone has three missed calls—one from Daphne, one from Dad, and one from a number I don’t recognize.

I ignore all of them.

The dining hall is crowded when I arrive, but I spot my usual corner table, tucked away from the main traffic. I grab food—whatever’s closest, I barely notice what—and head for the solitude.

But as I cross the room, I see her.

Nora.

She’s sitting with friends—a girl in a bright pink hoodie I vaguely recognize, and Daphne. My stomach tightens at the sight of my ex, but my eyes stay fixed on Nora.

She hasn’t seen me yet. She’s listening to Daphne talk, her head slightly tilted, that same focus in her eyes that I noticed during our tutoring session. Her hair is down now, falling past her shoulders in dark waves.

I should keep walking. Pretend I don’t see them. Find another table.

But then Nora looks up, and our eyes lock across the crowded room.

For a moment, neither of us moves. I see recognition in her gaze, then something else—wariness, maybe. Or curiosity.

She looks away first, back to her friends, but I can tell she’s still aware of me. Her posture has changed, spine a little straighter, shoulders a little tenser.

I force myself to keep walking, to find my table in the corner, to sit with my back to them. But I can feel her presence like a weight, pressing against my skin.

What did Daphne tell her? What does she know about me? About us?

Nothing that matters, probably. Nothing real.

I pick at my food, not really tasting it. My mind keeps replaying our session, those moments when something shifted between us. When I said, Whatever you want, Nora , and saw that flicker in her eyes.

The same flicker I’ve seen in other women. The ones who want to hand over control but are too afraid to ask for it.

Only with Nora, it felt different. Like she wasn’t afraid—just curious. Like she was cataloging my responses, testing theories.

“This seat taken?”

I look up, startled. Gavin stands by my table, tray in hand, eyebrows raised.

“No.”

He sits across from me, immediately demolishing half his burger in one bite. “You’re brooding,” he says around a mouthful of food.

“I’m eating.”

“You’re staring at your mashed potatoes like they insulted your mother.” He takes another bite. “What’s up?”

I shrug. “Nothing.”

Gavin follows my gaze across the room, landing on Nora’s table. His eyes narrow. “Ah.”

“It’s not what you think.”

“No?” He grins. “Because it looks like you’re eyeballing Daphne’s friend pretty hard.”

“She’s my tutor.”

“Your tutor.” He draws out the word, making it sound dirty. “Right.”

“It’s not like that.”

“Sure.” He steals a fry from my plate. “That’s why you’re ignoring perfectly good food to stare holes in the back of her head.”

I don’t respond. Arguing with Gavin is pointless.

“She’s hot,” he says casually. “In that scary, might-stab-you-with-a-pen way.”

I can’t help the small laugh that escapes me. “She does have that vibe.”

“Serious question, though.” Gavin leans in, voice dropping. “Is this a rebound thing? Because Daphne’s sitting right there, and—”

“It’s not a thing at all,” I interrupt. “She’s my academic advisor. That’s it.”

Gavin studies me for a moment, then nods. “If you say so.”

“I do.”

“Good.” He relaxes. “Because you don’t need that complication right now. Not with the Archer Initiative coming up.”

I blink, surprised. “How did you know about that?”

“Whitman mentioned it to Coach. Said you were on the shortlist if you get your shit together.” He grins. “Which you will, because you’re Dean fucking Carter, and you don’t know how to fail.”

The vote of confidence warms me more than it should. “Thanks, man.”

“Don’t get sappy on me.” He stands, grabbing his tray. “I’ve got a study group. You going to be okay, or do you need me to hold your hand some more?”

“I’m good.”

“Yeah.” His expression softens just slightly. “You usually are.”

As he walks away, I chance one more glance at Nora’s table. She’s still there, still listening to her friends, still seemingly unaware of my attention.

But as I watch, her eyes flick up, meeting mine across the room. Just for a moment. Just long enough to let me know she sees me too.

I look away first this time, gathering my tray, my composure, my control.

This isn’t anything. It can’t be anything.

But as I walk out of the dining hall, I can feel her gaze following me, cool and steady and curious.

And for the first time in months, I feel something crack inside me—something I’ve kept carefully locked away.

Something that feels dangerously like hope.