His Obsession, Her Perfect Calculated Escape

Bridgett's scream cut through the loud music.

Caden's athletic reflexes kicked in instantly. He spun back around. He saw Bridgett falling face-first toward the hard wood.

He lunged forward. He threw his right arm out, wrapping it tightly around Bridgett's waist just inches before her face hit the floor.

The massive forward momentum of her fall pulled him off balance.

Their bodies collided violently.

Caden's left hand shot out to brace them. In the chaotic tangle of limbs, his large hand clamped down hard directly on the side of Bridgett's chest.

They skidded backward on their skates for two full feet, locked together in a desperate embrace.

Caden's boots finally caught the floor. They stopped.

Bridgett was pressed flush against him. Her back was arched over his arm. Her face was buried in the crook of his neck.

The group of reckless boys who caused the crash skated past them backward. They pointed and let out loud, obnoxious wolf whistles.

Bridgett's entire body went rigid.

She could feel the hard muscles of Caden's chest against her ribs. She could feel the heavy, rapid thumping of his heart. And she could feel the burning heat of his hand gripping her breast.

Caden realized exactly where his hand was.

He yanked his hand back as if he had touched a hot stove. He quickly pulled Bridgett upright and stepped back, creating a foot of space between them.

He cleared his throat loudly. A dark flush crept up his neck.

"You okay?" Caden asked. His voice was rougher than usual.

Bridgett kept her head down. Her face was burning hot. She couldn't look him in the eye.

"Yeah," she whispered. Her voice was breathy and weak. "Thank you."

From the dark edge of the rink, Alma watched the entire exchange.

She saw the lingering flush on Caden's neck. She saw the way Bridgett's hands trembled as she smoothed down her sweater.

The physical boundary had been shattered. The chemical reaction had started.

Alma picked up her half-empty soda cup. She tossed it into a nearby trash can.

She forced a heavy limp back into her right leg. She walked slowly toward the exit gate, waving her hand to catch their attention. She pointed to her ankle and mouthed, I want to go home.

The ride back to the dorms was suffocating.

Caden drove his truck. Bridgett sat in the passenger seat. Alma sat alone in the back.

No one turned on the radio. The silence in the cab was thick and heavy.

Alma leaned her head against the cold glass of the window. She closed her eyes, pretending to sleep.

In the darkness, she listened.

She heard the uneven, shallow rhythm of Bridgett's breathing. She heard the squeak of leather every time Caden shifted uncomfortably in the driver's seat.

The tension in the front seat was electric. They were hyper-aware of each other.

Alma smiled in the dark.

Monday morning arrived with a cold drizzle.

Alma walked into her first-period history seminar. She pulled her notebook from her bag and sat at her desk.

Her desk partner, Heather Baxter, practically threw herself into the plastic chair next to Alma.

Heather was the biggest gossip in their junior year cohort. She thrived on drama.

Heather leaned across the small gap between their desks. She poked Alma's arm with a sharp fingernail.

"Did you go to the rink with Caden and Bridgett this weekend?" Heather whispered. Her eyes were wide with frantic energy.

Alma looked up, blinking innocently. "Yeah. Why?"

Heather looked around the classroom to make sure no one was listening. She leaned closer.

"You need to watch your back," Heather hissed. "Bridgett is making a move on your boyfriend."

Alma's eyebrows pulled together in perfect, manufactured confusion.

"What? No, Bridgett is my friend. She wouldn't do that," Alma said softly.

"You are too nice," Heather groaned, rolling her eyes. "Half the sorority house is talking about it. Shawna saw them on the rink. She said Caden practically felt her up, and Bridgett was rubbing all over him."

Alma's breath hitched. She let her mouth fall open slightly.

"That was an accident," Alma defended weakly. "Someone bumped into her."

"Oh, please," Heather scoffed. "If it was an accident, then why did I see Bridgett hand Caden a plastic container of homemade chocolate chip cookies by the gym this morning? She was giggling like an idiot."

Alma stopped talking.

She looked down at her blank notebook page. She bit her lower lip hard enough to make it turn white. She dug her fingernails into her own palms under the desk.

She forced her eyes to water.

She looked back up at Heather. She looked like a puppy that had just been kicked.

"I... I didn't know," Alma whispered, her voice cracking.

Heather's face softened immediately. Her righteous anger flared up on Alma's behalf.

"Don't cry," Heather said, patting Alma's arm. "I've got your back. I'll keep an eye on that snake. If she tries anything else, I'll tell you."

"Thank you, Heather," Alma sniffled. "But please, don't say anything to anyone else. I don't want to start a fight."

The bell rang. The professor walked to the chalkboard.

Heather sat back in her chair, glaring at the back of the room with a renewed sense of purpose.

Alma opened her textbook. She propped the heavy book up on her desk, hiding her face completely from the rest of the room.

Behind the glossy pages, the tears instantly vanished.

Her eyes were dry and calculating.

She didn't have to follow Caden and Bridgett anymore. Heather would do the surveillance for free. The rumors would build the narrative.

She turned the page of her book. The trap was snapping shut.