The bus rattled over a pothole, conversations blending into the steady hum of tires on asphalt. The scent of cheap cologne and leftover snacks lingered in the warm, crowded air.

But none of that held your focus. Your gaze was fixed on the very backseat.

Angela was draped across his lap, laughing softly, her fingers weaving through his hair. His hand disappeared beneath the hem of her plaid skirt, his touch hidden but obvious in the way she shifted closer to him.

He didn’t even bother to glance around to see who might be watching. Neither of them did.

She tilted her head toward his ear, voice low and teasing. “You’re such trouble…what if someone sees us?”

But he only smirked, eyes half-lidded, as if daring the whole bus to keep staring. And despite yourself, you couldn’t look away.

Because he wasn’t just anyone. He was the school’s heartthrob — the boy everyone either wanted or wanted to be — and the quiet ache in your chest told you that, no matter how hard you tried, you weren’t immune to him either.