It was dark, but I felt him.
His body pressed into mine, his breath warm against my skin. His hands—strong, urgent—gripped my waist, pulling me closer, closer.
"Marcus…" The name barely left my lips before his mouth was on mine.
The kiss was hungry, almost desperate, like we had spent too long fighting this, denying this, only to finally give in. His fingers tangled in my hair, tilting my head back as his lips devoured me, claiming me with each heated press.
My pulse pounded, my entire body burning with something raw and uncontrollable.
Marcus's hands are everywhere – rough, desperate, claiming. His mouth traces fire down my neck, and I'm drowning in the taste of him, in the weight of his body pressing me against cold sheets.
Every touch ignites something primal, something I've tried so hard to bury.
"Betty," he breathes against my skin, and God help me, I want this. Want him.
His fingers slip beneath fabric, finding bare skin, and I arch into his touch, shame forgotten in the heat of desire. The world narrows to sensation – the scrape of teeth, the slide of skin on skin, the burning need coiling low in my belly.
My body arched into him, a soft sigh escaping my lips as his mouth traveled lower, grazing down my neck, leaving fire in its wake.
I felt the weight of him above me, the sheer heat of his presence, the intensity of his touch.
I wake with a gasp, sheets twisted around my legs, body humming with unfulfilled want. My own quiet moans echo in my ears like accusations.
"Shit," I whisper into the darkness, disgusted with myself.
No. No, no, no.
NO.
I sat up so fast I nearly got whiplash, my sheets tangled around my legs, my body still buzzing with the remnants of the dream.
A dream about Marcus. I swallowed hard, pressing a hand against my overheated face. This wasn’t happening.
My stomach twisted, my skin still tingling with the memory of his hands on me—dream or not, it had felt too real.
I shook my head, willing the thoughts away.
I hate him. I had to keep reminding myself.
I hate him. I hate him. I hate him.
How dare he invade even my dreams? After everything – the bet, the humiliation, the way he turned my first kiss into just another game – my subconscious should know better.
But here I am, drenched in sweat, aching for someone I hate.
Or someone I want to hate.
Morning brings no relief. Stacey corners me between classes, her perfectly manicured nails digging into my arm as she drags me into an empty classroom.
"I saw you with him yesterday," she hisses, voice dripping venom. "In the library."
The dream flashes through my mind, making my cheeks burn. I force it away, focusing on the threat in front of me.
"He approached me about the project," I say, trying to keep my voice steady. "I told him to leave me alone."
"Listen carefully, Fatty Betty." She steps closer, her designer perfume suffocating. "Marcus is so far out of your league, he might as well be in another universe. Stop trying to cling to someone you could never deserve."
"Marcus means nothing to me," I bit out. "If you think I’m trying to ‘cling’ to him, you’re wrong."
She studied me for a long moment, then smiled—but there was no warmth in it.
"Good," she said smoothly. Her eyes narrow to slits. "Stay away from him, or I will destroy what little dignity you have left."
She stalks away, leaving me with shaking hands and a racing heart. But it's rage now, not fear, that makes my pulse thunder in my ears.
Lunch brings an unexpected reprieve. Lucy slides into the seat across from me, her eyes bright with excitement behind her glasses.
I had spent the entire morning distracted, pissed, and incredibly uncomfortable after Stacey’s little threat. But Lucy, bless her, wasn’t about to let me stew in my misery.
"You did cheerleading in high school, right?" she asked suddenly as we sat down with our trays.
I blinked, caught off guard. "Uh… yeah?"
She grinned. "Perfect."
I frowned. "Perfect for what?"
She leaned in conspiratorially. "Some of my friends and I are forming a new cheerleading team. We’re calling ourselves The Unseen. We’re performing at the upcoming basketball match."
I tense, waiting for the mockery, but there's only genuine interest in her voice.
I raised an eyebrow. "You mean the match that determines which teams get into the inter-university cheer competition?"
"Yeah, that’s the one," she confirmed. "We want to prove that just because we’re not the ‘popular crowd’ doesn’t mean we can’t compete with them."
I hesitated, stomach twisting with uncertainty.
"But… I haven’t cheered in a while," I admitted. "And Stacey—"
"—isn’t in charge of this," Lucy cut in, her tone firm. "And that’s exactly why we’re doing it. To show her and everyone else that we’re not nobodies."
I bit my lip, tempted but unsure. Lucy must have sensed my hesitation because she smiled.
I almost laugh. "Lucy, I'm not exactly—"
"Just meet the others," she cuts me off. "Then decide."
Which is how I find myself at The Daily Grind after classes, surrounded by what Lucy calls her "dream team." Sasha, with her dancer's grace and quiet intensity. Carlos, who moves like gravity is optional. And Jade – the last person I expected to see here.
"You're Stacey's..." I start, but Jade's bitter laugh cuts me off.
"Ex-teammate," she finishes. "Until I gained ten pounds and suddenly wasn't 'squad material' anymore."
The pieces click into place as I look around the table.
We're all here for the same reason – we're the ones they tried to make invisible. The ones they underestimated, mocked, cast aside.
"We're calling ourselves 'The Unseen,'" Lucy explains, a spark of defiance in her eyes. "Because that's what they want us to be. But we're done hiding."
Something stirs in my chest – hope, maybe. Or revenge. The chance to prove them all wrong, to show them that we're more than their cruel judgments and narrow standards.
"The basketball game," I say slowly, "that's where Marcus's team plays, isn't it?"
Lucy nods, a knowing smile playing at her lips. "Imagine their faces when we steal the show."
"Let’s show them what we’re made of," Carlos said, grinning.
Sasha nodded. "We’re not just gonna compete—we’re gonna win."
Jade leaned back, smirking. "And piss off Stacey in the process."
I exhaled slowly, looking around at the team—the misfits, the ones everyone counted out. And for the first time in a long time, I felt something other than anger and pain.
Hope. Maybe I wasn’t alone after all.
I think about Stacey's threats, about Marcus's betrayal, about all the times I've been told I'm not enough. Then I think about my dream – not the heated parts, but the feeling of power, of taking what I want without shame.
"So… when do we start practicing?" I ask, and the grins that spread across their faces are nothing short of revolutionary.