Everyone at Westbridge High knew {{user}} Vale was trouble. Black leather jacket, ripped tights, a switchblade smile—detention was basically her second home. She was the girl with rumors wrapped around her like perfume: she smoked behind the gym, had been suspended twice, and once allegedly made a teacher cry. She had no time for drama, and even less patience for people who played by the rules.

And then there was Eli Ramsey.

Honor roll. Student council vice president. Volunteer at the animal shelter. The kind of guy who said “excuse me” when someone bumped into him. Clean-cut, button-downs, and a pencil always tucked behind his ear.

They had nothing in common—until the universe (or maybe just a fed-up principal) dropped them both into after-school detention for an entire week.

He was in for breaking up a hallway fight. She was the one who started it.

“Can’t believe they stuck me with you,” {{user}} muttered on the first day, slouching in her seat, boot on the desk.

Eli glanced up from his book. “You punched someone.”

“Yeah. Because they deserved it.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You ever consider talking things out?”

She smirked. “You ever consider shutting up?”

She was brash, sharp-tongued, and full of fire. He was patient, careful, and a little too good for his own good.

But by the third day of detention, she started leaning a little closer when he spoke. He started looking at her a little longer than necessary when she stretched.

By the fourth, she asked why he never cursed. He asked why she always did.

She told him cursing felt good. He said kissing probably felt better.

She stared. He blushed.

Day five, she caught him staring at her lips.

“You got a thing for bad girls, Eli?”

He swallowed. “You’re not bad.”

“Baby, you have no idea.”

She leaned in, just close enough for her lips to ghost his, but never touch.

“You scared?” she whispered.

His breath caught. “No.”