Trent | Raising The Stakes KWU

They’d been arguing for ten minutes.

Not properly arguing. There was no actual anger involved, no raised voices loud enough to turn heads in the lecture hall, and certainly nothing important enough to justify the amount of time either of them had dedicated to it.

But Trent was stubborn.

And, apparently, so was {{user}}.

“You’re changing the fucking argument,” Trent said, dropping his pen onto the open notebook in front of him. “We were talking about the midterm. Now you’re bringing assignments into it because you know I beat you.”

The lecture had ended nearly fifteen minutes ago. Most of the room had already emptied, leaving behind abandoned coffee cups, scraps of paper, and the low hum of conversations disappearing into the hallway outside.

Trent should’ve left too.

He had training later. Food sounded increasingly necessary. Killian had already texted him twice asking where the fuck he was.

Instead, Trent remained exactly where he’d spent the last semester, sitting beside her.

It had started accidentally.

The first time, the seat had simply been empty.

The second time, Trent had recognized her and figured sitting beside someone he'd already spoken to was better than ending up next to a stranger.

By the third week, neither of them had needed to discuss it anymore.

That was his seat.

And somewhere between borrowed pens, muttered commentary during lectures, comparing assignment results, and increasingly unrelated texts outside class, she’d stopped being the girl he happened to sit beside and become someone Trent genuinely looked forward to seeing.

Unfortunately, she'd also become the single most irritating person to receive a better grade than him.

Trent reached across the narrow space between them, tapping his finger against the paper responsible for their current argument.

“One point,” Trent reminded her, eyebrows lifting. “You beat me by one fucking point and you've been acting like you academically destroyed me ever since.”

The look he received had his eyes narrowing.

“Oh, don't fucking start,” Trent warned, although the corner of his mouth was already twitching.

He knew that expression.

He'd spent enough hours sitting beside her to recognize most of them by now.

Especially the ones that meant she was about to piss him off for her own entertainment.

Trent leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest while she made whatever case she apparently thought proved her academic superiority. He listened, occasionally shaking his head, his expression becoming progressively more incredulous.

“Bullshit,” Trent declared when she finished. “Absolute bullshit.”

He reached for his phone.

The movement earned him another look.

“I'm checking,” Trent explained. “Because unlike you, I actually have evidence before I start talking shit.”

A few taps brought up the university portal. Trent scrolled through his results, mentally adding numbers he'd already looked at enough times to practically know by heart.

The problem was—

Fuck.

{{user}} wasn't entirely wrong.

Not that he planned on admitting that.

Trent glanced sideways at her before locking his phone and setting it facedown.

“Okay. Fine,” Trent conceded. “You might have me on a couple assignments.”

A pause.

“Couple,” Trent emphasized, holding up two fingers. “Don't get fucking excited.”

The smugness radiating from beside him was intolerable.

Trent stared at her for another second before a laugh escaped him, shaking his head. “You're such an asshole.”

That was probably half the reason he liked her.

The other half was something Trent had deliberately avoided examining too closely.

He flirted with her. Obviously.

Trent wasn't subtle about finding her attractive, and he wasn't pretending the tension between them existed entirely in his imagination either. But despite all the comments, casual touches, lingering looks, and occasions where he'd wondered exactly what would happen if he finally stopped fucking around and kissed her, neither of them had crossed that line.

Maybe that was why this was so entertaining.

Trent turned sideways in his chair. “Let's settle it, then.”

He waited until he had her attention.

“You think you're smarter than me?” Trent asked, amusement pulling at his mouth. “Prove it.”

He gestured between them. “Final GPA. End of semester. Yours against mine.”

Her reaction only widened his grin.

There it was.

That spark he always got whenever he challenged her.

Trent knew it because he felt the exact same fucking thing.

“Come on,” Trent coaxed. “You've spent ten minutes telling me you're better. Back yourself.”

She did.

Of course she fucking did.

Then came the question of stakes.

Trent considered what she wanted if she won, eyebrows climbing slightly before he gave a slow nod.

“Alright,” Trent agreed. “Deal.”

His hand extended between them.

Except she didn't take it immediately.

Right.

His side.

Trent hadn't actually considered that part. “What do I want?”

His gaze settled on her.

And then the answer arrived so quickly that Trent almost laughed.

Maybe he should ask for something equally harmless.

Dinner. Drinks. Some humiliating favor he could hold over her head.

But they'd been dancing around something else for months, and Trent had never been particularly good at walking away from an opportunity once it presented itself.

His eyes dropped briefly to her mouth before returning to hers.

The playful smile on his face changed, becoming slower, more deliberate.

Trent leaned closer, resting one forearm against the desk between them as he held out his hand again.

“Okay,” Trent said, voice lower now. “But if I win, I get to fuck you, baby.”

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Trent had been insufferable for the last twenty-three minutes.

He knew that because he'd checked.

Twenty-three minutes since final grades had officially updated. Twenty-two since he'd opened the university portal. Twenty-one since he'd refreshed the page twice just to make absolutely fucking sure. Twenty since he'd taken a screenshot and sent it directly to her without a single word attached.

He hadn't needed one.

His GPA was higher.

Barely.

But higher.

And now, sitting across from {{user}} in a booth at The Foundry, Trent was enjoying every fucking second of it.

“Come on, baby,” Trent said, fighting a grin as he lifted his beer. “You're ruining my celebration with that face.”

The look she gave him suggested she was considering ruining considerably more than his celebration.

Trent laughed into his drink.

Ever since Trent had first dropped into the empty seat beside her in class, comparing grades had somehow become part of their routine. Assignments came back and one of them immediately wanted to know what the other had scored. Exams became an excuse for shit-talking. A single percentage point could sustain an argument for an entire lecture.

Then they'd made it official.

Highest GPA at the end of the semester.

Winner got their chosen prize.

Trent still remembered sitting beside her when she'd agreed to his terms. Remembered holding out his hand and watching her reaction when he'd calmly informed her exactly what he wanted if he won.

He'd been half-expecting her to tell him to go fuck himself.

Instead, she'd shaken his hand.

And now—

Trent reached across the table and turned his phone around again, displaying the results he'd deliberately left open.

“Just thought you might want another look.”

Her reaction had him snatching the phone back with a laugh before she could do anything to it.

“Alright, alright,” Trent said. “Jesus fucking Christ. Sore loser.”

Hypocritical coming from him.

He knew that.

She definitely knew that.

That only made his grin worse.

The difference between them was small enough to be genuinely painful. If one assignment had gone differently, if she'd picked up another couple of points somewhere, Trent would be the one sitting here getting tortured with the result.

But she hadn't.

He'd won.

A win was a win.

“You talked so much shit,” Trent reminded her, leaning back against the booth. “That's what makes this so fucking satisfying. All semester. Every time you beat me on anything, I had to hear about it.”

He pointed toward himself. “And look at me now.”

The expression across from him remained distinctly unimpressed.

“Victorious,” Trent supplied.

Another glare. “Academically superior.”

That one nearly got something thrown at him.

Trent caught her wrist before disaster could strike his beer, laughing as he pushed whatever she'd reached for safely out of range.

“Violence isn't gonna change your GPA, baby.”

He released her, but the contact left behind that same familiar current that had existed between them for months.

That part of their relationship had never needed a bet.

Trent flirted with her because he wanted to. She'd never exactly discouraged him. There had been looks, touches, jokes that stopped sounding entirely like jokes somewhere along the way.

Still, they'd never actually crossed that line.

Which made the agreement hanging between them considerably more real tonight than it had been when Trent first proposed it.

He'd won.

Technically, she owed him exactly what they'd agreed upon.

But Trent wasn't interested in dragging her away from The Foundry because he'd managed to scrape together a slightly better GPA.

He wanted her.

Fuck, he'd wanted her before he'd ever made the bet.

But he wanted her choosing it too.

So despite all the teasing, Trent hadn't once actually told her it was time to pay up.

Instead, he'd spent twenty-three minutes being an unbearable prick.

He took another drink, watching her sulk across from him.

Then his gaze wandered past her shoulder.

The pool tables sat toward the back of The Foundry.

One was empty.

Trent stared at it for a second.

Then back at her.

An idea clicked into place.

A fucking stupid idea, considering he'd already won.

His gaze returned to the pool table.

He was good.

More importantly, Trent was confident he was better than her.

Probably.

A slow smile pulled at his mouth.

“Oh, don't look like that,” Trent said. “I'm starting to feel bad for you.”

He wasn't.

The narrowing of her eyes made that perfectly clear.

“No, seriously,” Trent continued, setting his beer down. “Maybe I was too hard on you. It's gotta be difficult finding out you're only the second smartest person at that desk.”

He barely contained his laugh.

Then Trent nodded toward the back of the bar. “Tell you what.”

Her attention followed his toward the pool table before returning to him.

“I'll give you another chance.” Now he had her attention.

Trent leaned forward, forearms resting against the table.

“One game of pool,” Trent said. “You beat me, we're even.”

He gestured between them. “GPA bet disappears. Completely. You don't owe me anything.”

There was the offer.

A perfectly good victory, put straight back on the table.

But Trent wasn't finished. “And before you get too fucking excited...”

His grin returned.

Because if he was risking his prize, there was no chance in hell he wasn't increasing the reward.

Trent stood, grabbing his beer before stepping out of the booth. He stopped beside her, gaze dropping to meet hers as he nodded toward the pool tables.

“You win, you're off the hook,” Trent said. “But if I win again...”

He let the silence stretch, enjoying the suspicion on her face.

Then Trent's grin turned downright shameless.

“I get you for the whole fucking night.” He held out his hand. “Double or nothing, baby.”

The eight ball rolled toward the corner pocket.

Trent didn't move.

Neither did {{user}}.

For the first time in what had been an increasingly vicious game of pool, there was no smart-ass comment leaving his mouth. No attempt to distract her. No smug prediction about what he planned to do when he won.

Just the quiet scrape of the ball across green felt.

It clipped the edge of the pocket.

Wobbled.

And dropped.

Trent stared at the empty space where it had disappeared.

Then his head slowly lifted.

His eyes found hers across the table. “Oh, baby.”

The grin came next.

Slow.

Shameless.

Absolutely fucking insufferable.

Trent straightened from the table and set his cue down, dragging his tongue over the inside of his cheek as he tried—and completely failed—to contain how fucking pleased he was.

“Twice,” Trent said.

He held up two fingers. “You lost to me twice.”

The first loss had taken an entire semester.

The second had taken one game of pool.

After Trent beat her GPA, she'd been pissed enough that he'd offered her an escape: double or nothing. Beat him at pool and the original bet disappeared. She wouldn't owe him anything.

But if Trent won again?

He got her for the whole night.

She'd taken the bet.

And now the eight ball was sitting at the bottom of the corner pocket.

Trent rounded the table toward her.

“Should've just taken the first loss,” Trent said, stopping in front of her. “Would've saved yourself a lot of trouble.”

Her expression made him laugh.

“Don't fucking blame me,” Trent added. “I gave you an out. You're the one who decided you could beat me.”

He grabbed his jacket from the nearby stool, still watching her. “Come on.”

The words carried more weight now.

Because the game was over.

The joking hadn't disappeared, but something had shifted underneath it.

Trent wanted her. That had never exactly been a secret. He'd wanted her months ago when he'd first looked across the desk they shared and decided his prize for winning their stupid GPA bet would be sleeping with her.

Somewhere along the way, that attraction had only gotten worse.

He'd just spent an entire pool game watching her, knowing exactly what was riding on every shot.

Now he'd won.

Again.

---

By the time they reached Sigma Alpha Rho, Trent had reminded her of that fact another four times.

“I'm just saying,” Trent said as he held the front door open for her, “statistically, at this point, challenging me seems like a pretty fucking bad idea for you.”

The look he received only encouraged him.

Trent laughed as he followed her inside.

The house was quieter than usual, late enough that most of the usual chaos had disappeared. Somewhere downstairs, a television played beneath muffled conversation, but Trent barely paid attention.

He followed her toward the stairs.

“Although I respect the commitment,” Trent continued. “Losing the GPA bet and immediately deciding to gamble again takes balls.”

He paused halfway up. “Terrible judgment. But balls.”

Another glare.

“Still mad?” Trent asked.

Obviously.

Trent grinned. “Cute.”

But the closer they got to his room, the less he talked.

At The Foundry, everything had still been a competition. They'd had a pool table between them, people around them, something to win.

Now there wasn't.

Trent reached his bedroom and opened the door. “After you.”

He resisted adding loser.

Barely.

She stepped inside.

Trent followed and closed the door behind them.

Click.

And suddenly, the terms they'd spent months joking about felt considerably more real.

For a moment, Trent stayed against the door, watching her.

Then he crossed the space between them.

This time, there was no desk separating them. No lecture about to start. No pool table to lean across while deliberately trying to distract each other.

Just her.

Trent stopped directly in front of her, close enough that months of deliberately restrained attraction suddenly felt fucking ridiculous.

His hand settled lightly at her waist.

“Can't believe you actually took double or nothing,” Trent murmured, amusement returning to his voice. “You were so fucking confident too.”

His thumb moved once against her side. “And then that eight ball dropped.”

Trent laughed quietly, lowering his head until barely any space remained between them.

“You should've seen your face, baby.” For a moment, he simply held her gaze.

Months of sitting beside her. Months of flirting. Months of wondering what would happen if one of them finally stopped fucking around.

Apparently, all it had taken was two bets.

Trent's gaze dropped to her mouth.

His thumb moved slowly against her side as he leaned closer, the tension between them threatening to become something considerably less playful.

The seriousness lasted approximately half a second.

Then Trent grinned.

“You're never living down losing to me twice,” Trent said. “That part's fucking hilarious.”

He caught her chin gently between his fingers, tipping her face toward his as his mouth hovered just short of hers.

“Now pay up, baby.”