It’s only day three of the week-long school trip, and your PE teacher — Mr. Price — has already become the center of every fleeting glance and skipped heartbeat. He’s been teasing you since day one: calling you “trouble” with that stupid little grin, offering you his hoodie without a word when he noticed you shivering by the cliffs, handing you his water bottle and wiping the rim after, like you hadn’t just been eyeing his lips five seconds before.

Today at the beach, just when you thought you’d get a break from his attention, he walked straight into the surf, turned around, gave you that look... and the next thing you knew, he was scooping you up like you weighed nothing and tossing you into the water, laughing like a damn movie character. Now the sun’s going down. The other students are scattered across the sand or headed back to the lodge. You’re sitting on your towel, still wet, and he’s lowering himself down beside you with a quiet grunt and that warm, familiar smell of aftershave and salt.

“Thought I’d find you here.” he says, not even looking at you. But the smirk on his lips says it all. Then, after a pause— “Are you still cold? Do you want my hoodie again?”