Chapter Eighteen: Back
RILEY'S POV
Three days in, the trip had settled into an easy rhythm. Late mornings. Whatever breakfast Max hadn't finished first. Claiming pool chairs like it was a competitive sport.
It should've been relaxing. And mostly, it was.
Except Xander.
Three whole days, and he still wasn't talking to me the way he used to—if you could even call what we had "talking." Now it was short replies, careful distance, and the clear effort he made not to linger anywhere near me.
Which would've been fine… if I wasn't terrible at doing the same.
That morning proved it.
Amber and Connor were stretched out in the sun, Jaden was asleep under an umbrella, and Harleen, Ben, Cleo, and Max were nowhere in sight. Somehow, that left just me and Xander in the pool, tossing a ball back and forth.
No audience. No distractions.
The ball hit my hands, the water cool against my skin as I threw it back.
"Too easy," Xander muttered, catching it one-handed without even looking.
"Oh, so I should aim for your head next time?" I shot back.
One corner of his mouth twitched. "Might improve your aim."
I narrowed my eyes and threw harder. He caught it again—but instead of throwing it back, he drifted closer, the water shifting between us.
"Rachel," he said, voice low, "you sure are competitive for someone like you."
My breath hitched—not at the words, but at the space he'd closed. His eyes held mine a second too long before he tossed the ball away and stepped back like nothing happened.
It should've been nothing.
But for the rest of the day, every time his gaze found mine across the pool, my stomach tightened like it remembered.
Two days later, the trip ended.
We loaded the cars under the blazing sun, everyone tired and loud. Max claimed his car, and before I could even think about where to sit, Harleen slid into the front seat like she'd planned it.
That left the back.
With Xander.
I got in first, pressing myself against the door. He followed, settling beside me without a word. Max started the engine, music humming low as we pulled away.
Harleen chatted nonstop with Max. Xander sat back, one arm draped over the seat, his knee brushing mine every time the road curved.
"You allergic to conversations now?" I muttered, staring out the window.
"Depends who's talking," he said quietly.
I almost smiled. "Charming."
The car hit a bump. I jolted sideways, my shoulder knocking into his chest, my hand grabbing his arm instinctively. His muscles tensed—but he didn't pull away.
"Careful, Rachel," he murmured, amused.
I pulled back fast, heat creeping up my neck. "Tell your driver to learn what brakes are."
Max laughed far too loudly from the front seat.
The rest of the ride passed in silence, but my hand still felt warm where it had touched him.
By Monday morning, the trip already felt distant.
The hallway buzzed with noise as everyone compared stories. I slid into my usual seat in English, notebook open.
Xander walked in a moment later, headphones around his neck. His eyes scanned the room before he sat beside me like always.
"Rachel," he said easily.
"Morning," I replied.
He leaned back. "Surprised you survived Max's driving."
"Surprised you didn't report him," I said.
"Still considering it."
The hint of a smile crossed his face just as the teacher walked in, cutting the moment short.
But the air between us stayed different.
Not distant.
Not close.
Just… charged.