Even The Score

"Pass me my phone, will you?"

Tyler didn’t even look up from his TV screen as he spoke, his thumbs flying over his PlayStation controller. His room smelled like expensive cologne and fresh laundry—a familiar scent that Gigi had associated with safety for the past three years.

"Sure," Gigi said, leaning back against his headboard. She tapped the screen awake. "I’m just gonna send myself those photos we took at the diner yesterday first."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever babe. Watch this pass—"

Gigi unlocked the phone, opened his camera roll, and selected the three photos of them laughing over milkshakes. But as she hit the share icon, a notification banner dropped down from the top of the screen.

Becky: I can’t stop thinking about you 😉 and what you were doing to my body.

Gigi’s thumb froze in midair.

Her heart didn't leap into her throat. She didn't drop the phone. Instead, a strange, sub-zero chill washed over her, freezing the blood in her veins. Slowly, methodically, she tapped the notification.

The chat opened. Attached right above the text message was a picture.

It was taken from a high angle. In the frame was Becky, smiling softly at the camera, her bare shoulders exposed above a white sheet. Tucked beside her, fast asleep and completely naked, was Tyler.

Gigi stared at the image. Her sharp, sarcastic inner voice went completely silent for three full seconds.

Well, she thought, her mind settling into a terrifying, icy clarity. That’s certainly one way to ruin a Sunday afternoon.

She didn't scream. She didn't throw a temper tantrum. She simply set the phone face-down on the middle of his mattress, slid off the edge of the bed, and grabbed her denim jacket.

"Hey, where are you going?" Tyler asked, finally pausing his game when he heard her shoes hit the floorboards. "You're leaving?"

Gigi didn't answer. She opened his bedroom door, stepped out into the hallway, and walked out.

She was halfway across the quad, the cold autumn wind whipping her dark hair across her face, when her phone started screaming in her pocket.

Tyler.

She let it ring three times before she clicked answer. "You have thirty seconds before I block this number permanently, Tyler. Make them count."

"Gigi! Wait, Jesus Christ, Gigi, stop!" Tyler’s panicked voice crackled through the speaker. He was breathing heavily, clearly running down his apartment stairs. "It’s not what it looks like! You have to let me explain!"

"Explain?" Gigi let out a short, dry laugh, her voice laced with deadly sarcasm. "What’s there to explain? Did Becky slip, fall, and accidentally land naked in your bed with her phone camera open?"

"Gigi, please! It was meaningless! It was a total mistake!" Tyler pleaded. "Look, Becky was there at the bar after we won the game, okay? You weren't there! I was hyped up, I was excited, and she was just present. It meant nothing to me, I swear!"

Gigi stopped dead in her tracks near the campus fountain.

"She was present?" she repeated, her voice dripping with sheer disbelief. "So because I had a midterm to study for, any girl with a pulse and an open bedroom door gets a turn? That’s your grand defense?"

"I was drunk, Gigi! It was just a stupid physical thing!" Tyler rasped.

"Right," Gigi said softly, her eyes narrowing. "So tell me, Tyler... how would you feel if I went out, got a little drunk, and slept with someone else? Just a stupid physical thing because he happened to be present?"

Silence stretched over the line.

On the other end, Tyler’s mouth went dry—before an arrogant, self-satisfied grin spread across his face. Every guy on Oakridge University’s campus knew Gigi was his girl. He was the star quarterback of The Oaks; no guy on campus would ever dare touch her.

He felt untouchable.

"Come on, Gigi," Tyler said, his tone shifting into something infuriatingly condescending. "We both know you wouldn't do that. Besides... let’s be real for a second. If it bothers you that much, go ahead. Cheat back. Go sleep with some guy tonight so we’re even, and then we can put this behind us."

"Even the score, huh?" Gigi said, hearing the sheer, terrifying audacity in his voice.

"Yeah. Even the score," Tyler replied, sounding smugly confident. "Get it out of your system, babe. I’ll wait."

"Deal," Gigi said.

She hung up before he could reply and immediately blocked his number.

Three weeks passed. Three agonizing, mind-boggling weeks.

Gigi’s grand plan for swift, spiteful payback had hit a wall she couldn't understand: the guys on this campus had suddenly turned into absolute weirdos.

Every time she went to a party, a campus bar, or even a local coffee shop, the second a guy recognized her, he practically ran for the hills. She had tried flirting with a guy from her communications class—he literally excused himself to use the bathroom and never came back. She had tried talking to a guy at the gym—he dropped a dumbbell on his own foot trying to back away.

She had no idea why every guy looked at her like she was carrying a contagious disease.

Gigi sat at her dorm desk, slamming her forehead onto the wood. "I don't get it! Am I suddenly repulsive? I am literally being friendly, and these men act like I’m asking them to sign a death warrant!"

The dorm door burst open, and her two best friends pushed inside. Claudia dropped a bag of takeout onto the bed, while Paula immediately slumped into the beanbag chair.

"Still no luck with the campus coward club?" Claudia asked, popping a French fry into her mouth.

"I don't know what’s wrong with them!" Gigi snapped, spinning around in her chair. "I just want to get this stupid revenge over with! If I sleep with someone, the score is settled, and Tyler and I can finally deal with this mess. But every guy on this campus acts terrified of me!"

Paula shook her head. "I don't know what's going on with the guys at Oakridge lately, but they're acting like you're poison. You're looking in the wrong puddle, Gigi. You need to look outside campus."

"Outside campus?" Gigi frowned. "Where?"

"Tonight," Paula said, a wicked grin spreading across her face. "West Atlanta University just clinched the quarterfinals. Their entire athletic department is throwing a massive, completely unhinged victory party at their sports house on 5th Street."

"West Atlanta?" Claudia chimed in, catching on. "Paula, that place is going to be packed with guys who don't know or care about local Oakridge drama."

"Exactly," Paula said. "It’s dark, it’s loud, and nobody there knows who you are. You go in, we find you a candidate, you execute the deal, and you walk away with your debt paid."

Gigi stared at her friends. Two wrongs didn't make a right—she knew that. But if a quick one-night stand was what it took to clear the slate so she and Tyler could fix their three-year relationship, she was ready to get it over with.

"Fine," Gigi said, standing up. "Help me pick an outfit."

The West Atlanta sports house was absolute chaos.

Heavy bass rattled the floorboards, sticky beer coated the stairs, and the air was thick with heat and victory. Bodies were packed wall-to-wall.

Gigi pushed through the crowd in a tight leather jacket and ripped jeans, flanked by Claudia and Paula like two tactical generals on a mission.

"Alright, eyes peeled," Claudia shouted over the music. "We need someone hot, single, and totally detached."

"What about him?" Paula pointed toward a guy by the couch wearing a backwards cap.

"Too young," Gigi dismissed instantly. "He looks like he still asks his mom to cut his sandwich crusts."

"Him?" Claudia gestured to a guy flexing near the keg.

"He's wearing a shirt with his own face on it," Gigi deadpanned. "Next."

They maneuvered through the sticky living room toward the kitchen. Gigi was starting to lose hope, ready to accept that her revenge attempt was a total failure, when her eyes swept past the far corner of the kitchen bar.

Leaning against the granite counter, completely unbothered by the party raging around him, was a guy in a dark grey hoodie, broad shoulders stretched against the fabric, arms crossed over his chest.

Gigi stopped in her tracks.

He was dangerously attractive. A sharp, cut jawline, dark messy hair, and an arrogant, cold detachment that practically radiated off him. While every other athlete in the room was yelling and chugging beer, he just stood there, sipping a drink with an expression that said he owned the room without even trying.

"Who is that?" Gigi asked, her eyes locked on him.

Paula looked over and gasped softly. "Oh. Him. That's Jax James."

"Is he a West Atlanta player?" Gigi asked.

"He's the team captain," Claudia supplied, smirking. "And he notoriously hates everyone. Good luck getting two words out of him, Gigi."

Gigi stared at Jax. She knew nothing about West Atlanta's team politics or sports rivalries. All she saw was a guy who looked confident, brutally handsome, and completely unbothered by anyone’s opinion.

At that exact moment, as if sensing her gaze, Jax slowly turned his head.

Dark, piercing eyes locked directly onto hers through the crowded room.

Gigi didn't flinch. She didn't look away. She raised her chin, hit him with a faint, daring smirk, and took a step straight toward him.

Target acquired.