The Girl in the Hoodie is Mine

Jason POV:

I couldn’t believe the meeting had taken four hours, but with Mr. Kingsley, that was to be expected. The man was notoriously meticulous about where he invested his money. He combed through every detail of the proposal, his piercing eyes making me feel like I was being dissected with each word I spoke.

In the end, he didn’t agree outright—typical Kingsley. All I got was a clipped, "I’ll give it some thought."

It wasn’t a no, and for a deal this big, even that was a small victory. I’d given it my all, prepped to the point of exhaustion. The ball was in his court now.

Once back at the office, I told my assistant to send a takeout order from Ella’s favorite Thai place. I’d written a note to go with it:

"Don’t skip dinner. Thought you might need this. —J"

What? A guy’s gotta make sure the girl he likes is eating properly. Not that she’s officially my girl yet, but still—details.

I hoped she’d eat it. Knowing Ella, she’d probably roll her eyes at the gesture, but I was betting the lure of good food would win out.

The office wasn’t getting any quieter, even as the clock ticked into the late hours. I spent the rest of the evening clearing up any outstanding tasks. My goal? To ensure I wouldn’t need to deal with any urgent issues for the this month and maybe the next. I wanted time—time to focus on other things, like my classes, the Kingsley deal, and, yeah, Ella.

My assistant was capable of handling the smaller stuff. I trusted him to keep things running smoothly in my absence.

By the time I wrapped everything up, it was already 10 p.m. I checked my phone again—nothing. No response to my morning text. No acknowledgment of my earlier message. Not even a hint that she’d received the dinner I’d sent.

Not that I was expecting much. Ella replying to me was as rare as a unicorn sighting. Still, I’d hoped.

It was late, and I knew Ella’s shift at the diner would’ve already ended by now. There was no point in driving over to see her, even if part of me wanted to. I was too tired to make the trip, and the last thing I wanted was to come off as pushy.

Instead, once I got home, I sent her one last text for the day:

Jason: Good night, Ella. Sweet dreams.

I didn’t expect her to reply, but it felt right to send it anyway.

As I lay in bed, the weight of the day caught up to me. The endless back-and-forth with Kingsley, the hours of research, the lingering uncertainty about where I stood with Ella—it all swirled in my head.

But despite everything, there was a strange sense of calm. Maybe it was the thought that I’d done my best, both in business and in my quiet pursuit of her.

With that, I closed my eyes and let sleep take over, knowing full well I’d wake up to an empty inbox.

Still, a guy can dream, right?

The fourth day. The last day. The end of my monthly war with Mother Nature.

I woke up feeling like a brand-new woman, one who had just finalized a divorce with the most toxic, clingy, emotionally draining husband ever. Periods? Gone. Cramps? Banished. That awful bloated feeling that makes you want to unfriend your own reflection? Evicted.

Honestly, if I could, I’d throw a celebration party right now. I’d blast music, throw confetti, and march through the streets chanting "I AM FREE!" But since it’s only 7 a.m., and I don’t think my neighbors would appreciate that level of enthusiasm this early, I settled for a victorious stretch in bed and the smuggest smile ever.

I rolled out of bed with the kind of energy I hadn’t felt in days. The first thing I did? Dance around my tiny apartment like an idiot, music blasting through my phone. You’d think I’d just won the lottery, but no, I was just celebrating the glorious absence of pain.

And yes, my version of dancing includes stomping my feet, flipping my imaginary hair, and singing into my hairbrush. Don’t judge me.

While brushing my teeth, I actually winked at my reflection. Who even does that? Me, apparently. I had missed this level of sass and confidence. The past three days had turned me into a sluggish, chocolate-dependent gremlin, and it was time to reclaim my throne.

After a long shower—like, the kind where you contemplate your life choices and sing three different genres of songs—I got dressed in my comfiest, yet still-cute outfit. Look good, feel good, right?

As I sipped my coffee, I noticed my phone buzz on the table. I raised an eyebrow, already guessing who it might be.

Jason: Morning. Feeling better today?

Oh, so now he was going for the concerned guy routine. Classic Jason. Persistent to the point of borderline insanity. And yet—ugh—I didn’t roll my eyes as hard as I wanted to.

I stared at the message for a good ten seconds, debating whether to respond. I mean, yeah, I was feeling better, but did he really need to know that? The old Ella (a.k.a. the girl from pre-chocolate-and-KFC-Jason-interactions) would’ve ignored the message altogether. But now? Now I found myself typing back before I could stop myself.

Me: Yeah, I’m good. Congrats, you don’t have to babysit me anymore.

As soon as I hit send, I regretted it. Why did I sound so... chatty? Ugh. I blamed the post-period euphoria. It was clouding my judgment.

By the time I made it to campus, I was strutting like I owned the place. My cramps were gone, I wasn’t waddling like a penguin anymore, and I felt unstoppable. Nothing could ruin my mood today.

Well, except maybe the fact that Jason wasn’t in class again. And yeah, I noticed. Shut up.

It’s not like I was looking for him—except that I totally was. Call it curiosity or boredom or whatever, but after not seeing him yesterday, it felt weird.

When I walked into class, I wasn’t expecting much. Just the usual—boring lectures, a professor droning on about material I would probably never use in real life, and me minding my own business while trying to absorb enough knowledge to not fail.

Max was there, though. He gave me a lazy wave as I plopped into my seat. I considered asking where Jason was but immediately shut that idea down. What was I supposed to say? "Hey, where’s your annoying friend who insists on texting me?" No thanks.

But then there was Dylan.

He was sitting in his usual spot, head down like he didn’t want to be seen, which—let’s be real—was impossible given that the guy was as tall as a mountain and hard to miss. When he looked up and met my eyes, he hesitated before giving me the world’s shiest "hi" ever.

Seriously, it was like he had rehearsed it in the mirror beforehand:

Hi, Ella... don’t be too loud, don’t be too friendly, and definitely don’t trigger the beast.

I blinked at him for a second, caught off guard. Dylan? Shy? What alternate universe did I wake up in today?

For a split second, I thought about ignoring him—because honestly, wasn’t I the queen of "I don’t care" vibes? But something about the way he looked so awkward, like I’d kicked his puppy or something, made me cave.

"Hey, Dylan," I said casually, slipping into my seat.

You’d think I’d just handed the guy a golden trophy for Best Human Interaction because the relief on his face was instant. He relaxed a little, muttered something about how "class seems quieter today," and turned his attention to his notebook.

Me? I sat there, trying not to laugh. Great. Not only had I successfully avoided the Jason Drama™ for a whole day, but now I’d apparently "broken" Dylan.

Class went on as usual, which meant I took notes, doodled in the margins of my notebook, and mentally planned my dinner. Jason’s absence didn’t bother me. Not even a little. Nope. Not one bit.

...Okay, maybe a tiny bit.

But really, it was probably better this way. The last few days had been weird enough with his random appearances, his notes, his KFC deliveries, and the texts. It was like he was slowly creeping his way into my routine, and I wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

I mean, the guy did tell me he liked me. Like liked me liked me. I still wasn’t sure what to do with that information. I wasn’t ready to deal with "feelings" or "romance" or anything remotely close to it. My life was complicated enough as it was—working long hours, balancing school, and trying to secure my career plans. Throwing Jason into the mix was just asking for unnecessary drama.

But for some reason, I couldn’t shake him.

Halfway through the class, I caught Dylan sneaking glances at me, like he wanted to say something but didn’t quite have the courage. It was kind of adorable, in a puppy-trying-to-ask-for-a-treat sort of way.

I raised an eyebrow at him, and he froze. Caught red-handed.

"What?" I whispered, because the professor was already giving us the stink-eye.

Dylan turned pink, shaking his head quickly like he’d been accused of a crime. "Nothing! Just... uh, are you good?"

I stared at him for a second. Was I good? Well, considering I’d woken up cramps-free, danced around my apartment, and spent the morning victorious over Mother Nature, I was doing better than good. But it wasn’t like Dylan needed to know the details of my "I Survived Period Week" celebration.

"Yeah," I said simply, giving him a small nod. "Why wouldn’t I be?"

He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. "No reason."

"I’m fine," I replied, turning my focus back to my notes.

Dylan blinked, looking like he was unsure whether to respond or keep quiet. Thankfully, he chose the latter. Smart move.

After class ended, I shoved my books into my bag and bolted out of there before Dylan or anyone else could try to make small talk. I had stuff to do, and I didn’t need distractions.

But as I walked across campus, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was... off. Jason skipping two days of class wasn’t exactly normal. Sure, he was the king of "showing up late" or "half-assing assignments," but he always showed up.

Not that I cared. I didn’t.

But my brain decided to betray me anyway.

What if something happened?

What if he’s sick?

What if—

Nope. Stop. Not my problem.

I shook my head, forcing the thoughts away. Jason could take care of himself, and I had no business wondering where he was or what he was doing.