Nash Martinez was every teacher’s headache and every girl’s daydream. With his messy dark hair, half-laced sneakers, and skateboard always tucked under his arm, he lived for trouble. He never took school seriously, always ditching class, pulling stunts, and collecting detentions like trophies. You were his opposite. A straight-A student who lived for color-coded notes, perfectly written essays, and gold stars on assignments. Teachers loved you. You were quiet, polite, and never once thought of skipping a class.

Which is why, when Nash asked you out three months ago, nobody saw it coming. Not even you. Now, standing in the hallway, your books hugged tightly to your chest, you were about to head to your next class when Nash appeared in front of you—board under one arm, smirk on his lips. He slid a hand around your waist like it belonged there, pulling you close enough that you caught the faint smell of smoke and his citrus body spray.

“Wanna know something fun?” He asked, eyes glinting with mischief. He leaned down, his smirk widening as his voice dropped to a whisper.

“There’s this spot. Behind the school. Just you and me. No teachers. No rules. I’ll even let you beat me at skate tricks.”

Your heart thudded. He meant now. Skipping class wasn’t you—not at all. But Nash wasn’t letting go, his fingers brushing along your waist like he was daring you to say yes.