Touch Me

Ava's POV

The thing about coming home after a year away at college is, well, everything looks smaller. The kitchen. My bedroom. My patience.

Especially when he’s still here.

I slam the front door harder than necessary, dropping my bag with the elegance of a dying goat. It’s hot, I’m grumpy, and I’ve been on a bus that smelled like feet and broken dreams for the past six hours.

All I want is a shower and possibly to hex everyone who ever said, “There’s no place like home.”

“Ava?”

My brother’s voice comes from upstairs, loud, disbelieving, and 100% not helpful.

“Yeah, it’s me. Try not to cry.”

He laughs, and footsteps thunder down. Mason appears, arms out, all proud-brother vibes and way too much deodorant.

“You look… alive.”

“Gee, thanks. You look like someone who still eats cereal for dinner.”

He pulls me into a one-armed hug and ruffles my hair like I’m twelve. Spoiler: I’m not.

As we’re fake-insulting each other like we always do, a sound makes me freeze.

A deep, low laugh.

I know that laugh.

And just like that, he walks in. Shirtless. Wet towel around his hips. Hair dripping. Abs glistening like some twisted Instagram thirst trap summoned by Satan himself.

Jace freaking Walker.

Of course. Of course, he’s here.

I stare.

He stares back.

And sweet, mother-loving karma, he’s grown hotter.

“Hey, princess,” he drawls, completely unfazed by the fact that he’s barely dressed and I’m basically short-circuiting.

“Don’t call me that,” I snap, although it comes out kind of breathy. Stupid lungs.

He smirks. That annoying, lopsided smirk he used to give teachers right before getting away with murder. “Didn’t know you were coming back today.”

“Clearly.” I gesture vaguely to the water dripping down his chest. “And I’m thrilled to be greeted by… this.”

“By ‘this’ you mean six feet of pure muscle and charm?”

I snort. “By ‘this’ I mean the human embodiment of a walking red flag.”

He just winks and walks away, like his towel isn’t one sharp tug from shattering my last functioning brain cell.

Mason either doesn’t notice or is used to the chaos, because he just says, “He’s crashing here for a few weeks. Got kicked out of his apartment.”

Of course, he did.

Because the universe hates me.

Later that evening, I’m trying to pretend I don’t hear Jace whistling in the shower like he’s auditioning for a shampoo commercial. I tell myself it’s fine. I’ll avoid him. Easy.

Then I open the bathroom door to grab my face wash and walk straight into him again.

This time?

No. Towel.

Just....

“Oh my God,” I hiss, covering my eyes like some Victorian maiden about to faint.

Jace doesn’t move. “Nice to see you too, Ava.”

“Put on some pants, you savage!”

He laughs again, and something in my stomach twists. Not the gross kind. The “oh no, I’m doomed” kind.

I slam the door shut and lean against it, heart pounding, face burning.

So.

Yeah.

This summer?

We’re so totally screwed.