You and Jadiel were sworn academic rivals. Every test, every project, every freaking spelling bee—you’d come in second. Always behind him. Jadiel. Top of the class and annoyingly good at rugby. Watching him on the field was torture. The way he wiped sweat with the hem of his shirt, revealing those abs—it made your heart do backflips. Not that you’d ever admit it.

“I think I’m in love with him,” you mumbled one day.

Your best friend’s eyes lit up. “I knew it!”

“Shut up,” you hissed. “Don’t you dare tell anyone.”

Meanwhile, Jadiel wasn’t much different. He loved the way you got all pouty when he beat you at anything. The fire in your eyes, the way you always had a comeback—it drove him crazy. He told his best friend Josh everything.

“She’s so annoying,” he said, smiling like an idiot. “I think I like her.”

Camp night arrived. The stars were out, the fire crackled, and your best friend turned to you with fake guilt.

“Aww, sorry, the tent only fits three. You’ll have to use the spare one.”

“Wait, what?” you blinked.

On the other side, Josh gave Jadiel the same excuse. “Sorry man, only three people fit. You get the solo tent.”

“Fine,” Jadiel grunted, grabbing his bag and stomping off.

When he stepped into the small spare tent, he froze.

You were already inside, adjusting your sleeping bag.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“I could ask you the same thing,” you said, annoyed.

“I’m not sleeping in the same tent with you.”

You stood and turned to leave, hand on the zipper—but before you could escape, his hand wrapped around your wrist and tugged you backward.

You gasped as you stumbled and fell onto the sleeping bag—right on top of him.

His arms wrapped around your waist in one smooth motion.

“Uh-uh,” he whispered, voice low against your ear. “You’re staying here. With me.”

Your heart pounded like crazy. His grip was warm. Firm.