Chapter 10: Terms of Engagement
The gravel crunched under Nova's tires as she pulled into her apartment complex. She killed the engine. Didn't look at him.
Zay sat in the passenger seat, hands in his lap, staring straight ahead. The silence between them was thick enough to choke on.
"You coming in or not?" she asked.
He nodded. Got out. Followed her up the stairs.
The hallway smelled like someone's burnt dinner and cheap air freshener. Nova's keys jangled as she unlocked the door. Inside, the apartment was dark except for the kitchen light she'd left on—that single bulb casting yellow over the counter, the stack of unwashed mugs, the demo laptop still open with its screen dimmed.
She dropped her purse on the couch. Didn't offer him a drink. Didn't ask him to sit.
He stood by the door like he was waiting for instructions.
"Close it," she said.
He did.
She walked to the kitchen table. Pulled out a chair. Sat down. He stayed where he was, hands still in his pockets, jaw working like he was chewing on words he hadn't figured out yet.
"You said one conversation." She folded her hands on the table. "So talk."
Zay exhaled through his nose. Rubbed the back of his neck. Took the chair across from her.
"You want me to define this," he said.
"I want you to tell me what you're actually offering." Her voice was flat. Controlled. "Because 'trying' means nothing if you won't put parameters on it."
He leaned back. The chair creaked. His eyes traced the wall behind her—the handwritten lyrics, the concert posters, the vinyl records stacked like they were holding up the shelves.
"Okay," he said. "Here it is."
She waited.
"I can't promise you a relationship. Can't promise exclusivity. Can't promise I'll be at your door every morning or that I'll call you every night." He paused. Let that settle. "But I can promise I'll keep you safe. I can promise I'll respect you. And I can promise I'll tell you the truth if I'm ever dealing with someone else."
Nova didn't blink.
"That's it?"
"That's what I've got."
She let the silence stretch. Counted the seconds. Watched him watch her.
"Right now," he said, quieter, "you're the only one I've been with. You've had my focus. That's the truth."
She nodded. Slow. Deliberate.
"Okay," she said. "My turn."
He braced.
"I won't ask you for a relationship either. I'm not gonna sit here and pretend I need a title to feel whole." She leaned forward. "But if I become sexually involved with anyone, I'll tell you. Same way you'll tell me. Fair's fair."
He didn't respond.
"And who I spend my time with romantically—that's none of your business." Her eyes were steady. Unflinching. "Because we aren't together. You made that clear."
The room went quiet.
Not the kind of quiet that settles. The kind that presses. The kind that makes the hum of the refrigerator sound like a scream.
Zay stared at her.
Something flickered behind his eyes—respect, irritation, hunger, all tangled up and impossible to separate. His jaw tightened. His fingers curled against his thigh.
Then he nodded.
"Fair," he said.
Nova stood up. Walked to the door. Opened it.
He rose from the chair. Slow. Measured. He crossed the room, stopping in the threshold, close enough that she could smell the whiskey on his breath and the soap on his skin.
He looked back at her.
"You're something else," he said.
She didn't smile.
She just closed the door.
The click echoed through the apartment. She stood there. Hand still on the knob. Heart pounding against her ribs like it was trying to escape.
She didn't move until she heard his footsteps fade down the hall.
Then she walked to the kitchen. Poured herself a glass of water. Drank it standing up, staring at the wall, letting the cold settle in her chest.
Her phone buzzed. A text from Mei.
You alive?
Nova typed back. Barely.
Three dots. Then: He still there?
She looked at the door. At the empty chair he'd been sitting in. At the faint indentation his body had left in the cushion.
No, she typed. He's gone.
Mei appeared in the doorway ten minutes later, arms crossed, eyebrows raised so high they nearly touched her hairline.
"So," she said. "That was a thing."
Nova was still standing by the kitchen counter. Same glass of water. Same blank stare at the wall.
"He defined the terms," Nova said. "I defined mine. We agreed."
Mei walked in. Grabbed an apple from the bowl on the counter. Took a bite.
"Agreed to what, exactly?"
"No relationship. No exclusivity. But transparency if either of us sleeps with someone else." Nova set the glass down. "He keeps me safe. Respects me. Tells me the truth."
Mei chewed. Swallowed. Studied her friend's face.
"Can you handle that?"
Nova laughed. Short. Hollow.
"No," she said. "Honestly? No."
Mei waited.
"But it's the easiest way of getting him out of my system." Nova turned to face her. "Slow release. Controlled dosage. I wean myself off instead of going cold turkey."
Mei set the apple down. Crossed the kitchen. Wrapped her arms around Nova without a word.
Nova let herself be held.
"You know this is stupid, right?" Mei murmured into her hair.
"Extremely."
"You're basically prescribing yourself poison and calling it medicine."
"I know."
Mei pulled back. Held Nova at arm's length. Her expression was soft but sharp—concern wrapped in sarcasm.
"Also," Mei said, "you're not fooling anyone. You can't let Zay's sick go because the sex is good."
Nova snorted. Actually snorted.
"It is good," she admitted. "Like—genuinely, unfairly, ruin-your-standards good."
Mei grinned.
"But it's not just that." Nova stepped back. Leaned against the counter. "I like his company. I like the way he thinks. I like the way he looks at me when he forgets he's supposed to be guarded." She paused. "That's the problem. I have to protect my heart. Because he won't."
Mei nodded. Slow.
"Then protect it," she said. "But don't lie to yourself about what this is."
"I'm not lying."
"You're negotiating."
Nova didn't respond.
Mei picked up her apple. Took another bite. Walked toward her room.
"Just don't come crying to me when the slow release turns into an overdose," she said over her shoulder.
"I won't."
"You will."
"I won't."
Mei's door clicked shut.
Nova stood alone in the kitchen. The demo laptop hummed. The refrigerator rattled. The night pressed against the windows like it wanted in.
She didn't cry. Didn't spiral. Just finished her water. Washed the glass. Set it upside down on the rack.
Then she went to bed.
---
The next few days were a study in awkwardness.
They saw each other in class on Tuesday. Zay was in his usual seat, two rows behind her, close enough that she could hear him breathing. He didn't say anything. She didn't turn around.
Wednesday, she ran into him at the coffee cart outside the library. He was ordering something black, no sugar. She was behind him in line.
He glanced back. Nodded.
She nodded back.
Neither of them spoke.
Thursday, she saw him across the quad, talking to a guy she recognized from Los Rojos—tall, broad-shouldered, the kind of man who looked like he'd been in a fight or two. Zay was gesturing, explaining something, his face serious. He didn't see her.
She kept walking.
Friday, she got a text from an unknown number.
It's Zay. Got your number from the class roster. Hope that's okay.
She stared at it for five minutes. Then typed back: It's fine.
He didn't respond.
She didn't expect him to.
---
Saturday night, she was alone in her apartment.
Mei was out with some guy she'd met at a bar. The demo laptop was open. The turntable was spinning something slow and sad—Billie Holiday, maybe, or Nina Simone. Nova was on the couch, wearing nothing but an old T-shirt and underwear, scrolling through her phone without seeing anything.
She was restless.
Not lonely. Not sad. Just—wired. Her skin felt too tight. Her mind kept drifting to places she didn't want it to go.
She opened Zay's contact. Stared at it.
Then she typed: I'm horny.
She hit send before she could think better of it.
Three seconds passed. Then five. Then ten.
Her phone buzzed.
On my way.
She didn't respond. Just set the phone down. Stood up. Walked to the door. Unlocked it.
Then she went back to the couch and waited.
---
He knocked twenty minutes later.
She opened the door. He was wearing a hoodie and sweats, hair slightly damp, like he'd just showered. He looked at her—really looked—and something in his expression shifted. Not soft. Not tender. Just—aware.
"Hey," he said.
"Hey."
She stepped aside. He walked in.
She closed the door. Locked it.
They didn't talk.
He kissed her first. Hard. Hungry. His hands found her waist, her hips, the hem of her shirt. She pulled at his hoodie, dragged it over his head, tossed it somewhere behind her.
They moved through the apartment like they'd done this a hundred times. Because they had.
The couch. The wall. The bedroom.
She didn't remember how they got there. Just that one minute she was standing, and the next she was on her back, and he was above her, and the world narrowed to the weight of his body and the heat of his breath and the way he said her name like it was the only word he knew.
Afterward, they lay side by side. Breathing. Staring at the ceiling.
The sheets were tangled. The air smelled like sweat and something else—something raw and familiar.
Nova turned her head. Looked at him.
"You can't stay," she said.
He didn't move.
"What?"
"You can't stay the night." Her voice was steady. Even. "That's not what this is."
He was quiet for a long moment.
Then he sat up. Swung his legs over the side of the bed. Reached for his clothes.
She watched him dress. Watched the way his shoulders tensed. Watched the way he didn't look at her.
She saw it. The flicker. The crack in the armor.
He tried to hide it. Tried to play it cool. But she saw the way his jaw tightened when he pulled on his sweats. The way his hands paused for half a second before he grabbed his hoodie.
He felt it. She knew he felt it.
And she knew it cut deep.
"You good?" she asked.
He nodded. Didn't turn around.
"Yeah."
He walked to the bedroom door. Paused. Hand on the frame.
"Lock up after me," he said.
"I will."
He left.
The front door opened. Closed. Locked.
Nova lay in bed. Staring at the ceiling. The sheets still warm where he'd been.
She didn't cry.
She just closed her eyes.
And waited for sleep to come.