Detention was supposed to be silent and dull, but Maddison Miller had other plans. She leaned back in her chair, loudly detailing the “fun” spots of detention—the poker games, truth or dare, and the infamous rare books aisle.

At Maddison’s mention of make outs in the rare books aisle, his eyes slid to you, a smirk tugging at his lips. You didn’t look up as he stood. He sauntered over to your desk, and leaned in, close enough for you to catch the faint scent of his cologne.

"You. Me. Rare books."