I keep my face buried in my hands, wishing desperately for the couch to swallow me whole. Out of all the ridiculous, unexpected things that could happen tonight... When I finally dare to peek through my fingers, Bryan has fully stepped into the living room, closing the door behind him. He surveys the scene: puzzle pieces scattered across the floor, empty snack bowls on the coffee table, and me, disheveled and looking like I barely survived a battle.

The living room itself is warm and cozy, with soft, overstuffed couches covered in knitted throws. Family photos line the walls, including one of a younger Bryan holding a baseball bat and grinning proudly. The sight of it makes my irritation flare even more.

Bryan leans against the doorframe, his arms crossed and a look of disbelief on his face. "You've got to be kidding me," he says, his voice dripping with disdain. "You're the one they called to babysit? What, did they run out of competent people?"

I drop my hands from my face, glaring at him. "Don't be a jerk, Munzo," I snap, trying not to let my embarrassment show. "Lily and I had a great time, and she's already asleep. Not that it's any of your business."

He raises an eyebrow, his lips curling into that infuriating smirk. "Right, because nothing screams 'qualified babysitter' like a ballet dancer with popcorn all over the floor. Buen trabajo, Ballerina." His tone is mocking, and I feel my cheeks burn with a mix of anger and humiliation.

I cross my arms, feeling defensive. "I didn't realize you were the expert on childcare," I bite back. "Or are you just here to criticize everything I do, like usual?"

Bryan chuckles, the sound harsh and unkind. "Someone has to keep you grounded, Lee," he says, stepping closer. His dark eyes glint with a mixture of amusement and irritation. "And besides, I thought you'd be used to taking criticism, considering how you stumble through Spanish class."

My jaw tightens, and I grip the book in my hands, tempted to throw it at his head. "If you came down here just to insult me, you can leave," I say, my voice shaking with barely restrained anger.

He doesn't back off, though. Instead, he tilts his head, his smirk growing even more infuriating. "Tranquila," he says, his voice laced with sarcasm. "Don't get your tutu in a twist. I'm just here to check on my sister, not babysit you."

I roll my eyes, feeling my frustration reach a boiling point. "Well, if you're done, you can go now," I snap, trying to sound braver than I feel. "I was actually enjoying some peace and quiet before you barged in."

Bryan raises an eyebrow, his expression turning colder. "Enjoying peace and quiet? Yeah, right," he says, his voice dropping to a sneer. "You can barely handle being in this house alone without jumping at shadows. Maybe stick to the dance studio where you belong, Ballerina."

The tension between us is palpable, and I feel my fists clench at his words. He's so infuriating, so arrogant, and I can't stand the way he always knows how to get under my skin. "For your information," I shoot back, "I'm perfectly fine on my own. But thanks for your concern."

Bryan just laughs, a low, condescending chuckle that makes my skin prickle with annoyance. "Yeah, sure you are," he says, turning to head upstairs. "Good luck convincing yourself of that."

I glare at his back as he disappears up the stairs, seething with frustration and confusion. Why does he always have to be so insufferable?

I sit there, my jaw clenched, trying to calm the wave of frustration coursing through me. Of all the people in the world... Bryan Munzo, with his stupid smirk and even more infuriating attitude, just had to be the one who walked through that door.

I hear him moving around upstairs, and it's like every creak of the floorboards is taunting me. A few minutes later, he comes back down, looking way too comfortable and annoyingly in control of the situation. His hoodie is slightly rumpled, and he's got that lazy, arrogant expression plastered across his face as he leans against the banister, crossing his arms.

"Lily's out cold," he says, his voice as casual as if we weren't in the middle of a silent war. "Guess you didn't mess that up, at least."

I whip around to face him, clutching my copy of The Little Prince in one hand like a lifeline. "Wow, thanks for the vote of confidence," I snap, sarcasm dripping from my voice. "I'm so honored to have impressed the great Bryan Munzo with my babysitting skills."

He chuckles, the sound cutting through the room like a knife. "I'm sure it's the highlight of your week," he replies, his tone dripping with mockery. "But really, Balarina, why are you even here?" His eyes narrow slightly, and he adds, "Doesn't seem like you're exactly the responsible type."

I take a deep breath, trying not to let him get to me, but it's nearly impossible. "Are you seriously questioning my dedication to your sister?" I shoot back, my voice rising. "At least I'm here, spending time with her, making sure she's okay. Where were you, Bryan? Out doing whatever it is you do, while your mom had to scramble to find someone to watch Lily?"

His eyes flash, and for a moment, I see something flicker across his face—anger, maybe, or something else. But it's gone in an instant, replaced by his usual unbothered demeanor. "Don't pretend like you know anything about my life," he says, stepping forward. His voice is low, almost dangerous. "Tienes idea de lo que hablas? Do you even have a clue?"

I stand my ground, even though my heart is pounding in my chest. "I don't need to know the details to see that you weren't here when your sister needed you," I say, refusing to back down. "So don't act like you have the right to waltz in and criticize me when I'm the one who showed up."

Bryan's jaw tightens, and he runs a hand through his hair, the tension crackling between us like static electricity. "I didn't ask you to be here," he bites out, his accent slipping in as his frustration becomes more pronounced. "And trust me, the last thing I want is some ballerina thinking she can judge me. No eres más que una niña mimada, just a spoiled little dancer who thinks she knows everything."

The insult stings, and I can feel my face heat up, both from anger and the embarrassment that comes with being called out like that. "You don't know me at all," I say, my voice shaking, but I force myself to meet his gaze. "And for the record, I'm not spoiled. I'm here because I care about your sister, and I'm doing the best I can."

He looks at me, really looks at me, and for a split second, something in his expression shifts. But then he shakes his head, that cold, mocking look settling back into place. "Whatever helps you sleep at night," he says, his voice laced with disdain. "But don't expect me to be grateful. Lo único que haces es molestar, you're just a nuisance."

I bristle at the comment, feeling a surge of defiance. "Glad to know how much you appreciate the help," I retort, my voice full of sarcasm. "Maybe next time you can actually be around for your sister instead of leaving her to strangers."

Bryan's smirk falters for just a moment, and I wonder if I hit a nerve. But he recovers quickly, leaning in slightly. "Maybe I will," he says, his voice dangerously soft. "But don't hold your breath, Ballerina. This isn't your place."

We're standing so close now that I can see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes, and I hate how my pulse picks up, even though we're in the middle of an argument. The tension between us feels like a taut wire, ready to snap at any second.

Just when I think I'm about to either explode or combust from the intensity, there's a noise from upstairs—a creak, like someone shifting in bed. We both freeze, the sound breaking through the standoff.

Bryan glances up the stairs, his expression hardening. "You'd better hope you didn't wake her," he whispers, his voice dropping to a low growl.

I glare back at him, my fingers clenching around my book. "You'd better hope you didn't," I fire back, refusing to let him intimidate me.

He gives me one last, long look before stepping away, the space between us finally widening. "Goodnight, Lee," he says, his voice dripping with condescension. "Try not to ruin the rest of my sister's night."

A heavy, uncomfortable silence falls over the room as Bryan and I glare at each other, each of us refusing to back down. The quiet of the house is only interrupted by the occasional creak of the old wooden floors or the distant hum of a passing car outside. I'm still fuming, clutching The Little Prince like it's a weapon, and Bryan has retreated to lean against the kitchen counter, his expression hard and unreadable.

Then, the front door creaks open, and Lily's mom walks in, looking exhausted but relieved. Her hair is slightly disheveled, and her eyes are lined with fatigue, but she manages a tired smile when she sees me. "Amber, thank you so much," she says, her voice warm with genuine gratitude. "I hope everything went well?"

I force a smile, trying to mask the lingering frustration from my argument with Bryan. "Yes, of course," I say, my voice coming out a bit too bright. "Lily was wonderful. She's already asleep."

Lily's mom looks over at Bryan, her tired eyes narrowing slightly. "Bryan," she says, her voice firm and maternal, switching to rapid Spanish. "Es tarde, y Amber necesita que alguien la lleve a casa. Llévala, por favor." It's late, and Amber needs someone to take her home. Take her, please.

Bryan's jaw tightens, and I can see the way his fists clench at his sides. "¿En serio, mamá?" he mutters, his voice low with irritation. Seriously, Mom? He shoots me a glare, as if this whole thing is somehow my fault, and I feel my own irritation flare up again.

"Sí, en serio," she replies, giving him that classic mom look that brooks no argument. Yes, seriously. "Es tarde y no quiero que Amber camine sola. Hazlo." It's late, and I don't want Amber walking alone. Do it.

I'm not sure whether to feel grateful or horrified. The last thing I want is to be stuck in a car with Bryan, but I also know better than to argue with a mom who's just worked a long shift. "Oh, really, it's okay," I start to say, but Lily's mom shakes her head, cutting me off.

"No, no, Amber," she says, her voice kind but firm. "It's too late for you to walk alone. Bryan te llevará. Él es responsable de ti esta noche." Bryan will take you. He's responsible for you tonight.

Bryan lets out a frustrated sigh, his expression making it very clear he's not thrilled with this turn of events. "Fine," he grits out, his voice sharp. "Let's go, Ballerina."

Just as I'm about to step toward the door, Lily's mom pauses and rummages through her purse. Her eyes light up when she pulls out her wallet, and she walks over to me, her shoes softly scuffing against the wooden floor. "Wait a moment," she says, her tired smile warm. "I almost forgot to pay you."

"Oh, it's really okay," I stammer, holding up my hands. "I don't mind—"

"Nonsense," she interrupts, pressing a few neatly folded bills into my hand. "You're a blessing, Amber. Lily loves having you here, and I know how precious your time is. Please, take it." Her insistence leaves me no choice but to accept, and I mumble a quiet "thank you" as I slip the money into my pocket.

Before I can say anything else, she pulls out her phone and tilts her head. "Actually, could I have your number?" she asks, a touch of hopefulness in her voice. "It would be easier to contact you, especially since I was hoping to ask a favor."

I nod and give her my number, curiosity piqued. She types it in, looking relieved. "Thank you," she says, tucking her phone away. "Would you be available to babysit every Thursday night? I've taken on more shifts at the hospital, and having someone as reliable as you would mean the world to me."

My heart does a little flip as I think it over. Ballet practice, homework, and the idea of committing every Thursday rush through my mind. But then I picture Lily's sweet smile and the way she hugs her stuffed animals when she's happy. "Every Thursday?" I echo, feeling the weight of the responsibility. "I think I can manage that."

Her face lights up, and she looks genuinely grateful. "Thank you so much, Amber," she says, her voice full of relief. "You're really making this easier for our family."

Bryan gestures toward the door, his jaw set and his dark eyes practically daring me to argue. "Let's get this over with," he mutters.

I grab my bag, my irritation bubbling to the surface. "Glad to know you're so enthusiastic," I bite back, following him out the door into the cool night air.

We walk in tense silence, the air swirling around us. The street is quiet, with only the occasional rustle of leaves or distant laughter from other students heading home. Bryan has his hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie, his face set in a permanent scowl. I keep a few paces away, my arms crossed over my chest, trying not to let the closeness of the situation get under my skin.

The streetlights cast long shadows on the pavement, and the only sounds between us are the soft thuds of our footsteps. I can't help but feel hyper-aware of every little detail: the way Bryan's shoulders seem tense beneath his hoodie, the way his jaw is clenched in that stubborn, I-don't-care-about-anything way that's somehow maddening and intriguing.

He finally breaks the silence, but not with a full-on argument. "You always walk this slow?" he asks, his voice laced with impatience, though not quite as sharp as it usually is.

I shoot him a sidelong glare. "You could just walk faster and leave me behind," I reply, a little sass creeping into my otherwise quiet voice. "It's not like I asked for an escort."

He snorts, a sound that's almost a laugh but not quite. "Trust me, Ballerina, I'd be out of here in a second if I could," he mutters, though there's a hint of something that almost sounds... conflicted? I push that thought away. He's Bryan Munzo—always infuriating, never more.

We continue down the street, the moonlight casting a pale glow over the trees lining the sidewalk. I try to focus on anything but him: the way the leaves rustle, the far-off sound of someone playing music in one of the dorms, the way the air smells crisp and clean. But Bryan's presence is impossible to ignore.

Just when I think we're going to make it back to my dorm in awkward silence, Bryan finally speaks again, his voice softer, almost thoughtful. "You really like it, huh?" he asks, and when I look at him, he nods toward my ballet bag. "Dancing."

I hesitate, thrown off by the change in his tone. "Yeah," I say quietly, my grip tightening on the strap of my bag. "I do." It's simple, but it's the truth. I'm not sure why he's asking, and I'm not sure I want to give him anything more than that.

He doesn't say anything else, just keeps walking, his expression unreadable.

—-----

We reach the front of my dorm building, the warm glow from the entryway lights a welcome relief from the cold, tense walk. Bryan comes to a stop a few feet away, his hands shoved into his hoodie pockets, his expression a mix of impatience and annoyance. He glances at the building, then at me, and lets out a sigh.

"Well, that was a total waste of my time," he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Glad you survived the big, scary walk back to your dorm, Ballerina."

I narrow my eyes at him, my grip tightening on the strap of my ballet bag. "Wow, thanks for the heartfelt concern," I snap. "You really know how to make someone feel safe."

He rolls his eyes, looking almost bored. "You're welcome," he replies, his voice dry. "Next time, maybe don't need a chaperone, and we can both skip this miserable experience."

I bristle at his words, feeling my irritation flare up. "It's not like I asked for you to walk me," I shoot back. "You're the one who got dragged into this, remember?"

He raises an eyebrow, his mouth twisting into a half-smirk that makes my blood boil. "Yeah, trust me, I'm very aware," he says, his tone sharp. "But hey, at least now I know you're capable of being a pain in more than just Spanish class."

I glare at him, the heat rising in my face. "And I guess you're an expert at being a jerk anywhere, not just on the baseball field," I retort. "Impressive range, really."

His smirk deepens, and he leans in just a fraction, enough to make my heart race with a mixture of anger and something else I refuse to name. "Glad you noticed," he says, his voice low and almost mocking.

We stand there, locked in a silent, tense standoff, the air between us crackling with unresolved frustration. He finally straightens, taking a step back. "Anyway, I'm out," he says, the irritation clear in his voice. "Try not to get into any more trouble, Lee. Would hate to have to rescue you again."

I bite back a retort, my face burning as he turns and walks away, his hands still shoved in his pockets. His words hang in the air, making me feel both infuriated and—annoyingly—rattled. I watch his retreating figure disappear into the shadows, my fists clenched at my sides.

I let out a shaky breath, turning to head inside, Bryan's snarky remarks still echoing in my head. As much as I want to forget about him, it's impossible to shake the strange, infuriating feeling he leaves behind.

—---

Thanks for reading Chapter Eleven!

I'm so glad you're here and following along with Amber and Bryan's story. Your support means so much, and I hope you're loving all the twists, turns, and fun moments so far.

Can't wait to share what's next—stay tuned!