You knew he was trouble the first time he walked through your front door, all smug grin and Broadway arrogance. Jesse St. James—your brother’s best friend, senior star of Vocal Adrenaline, and the reason your diary pages were scribbled full of things you’d never say aloud.

He wasn’t supposed to talk to you. And you definitely weren’t supposed to talk back.

But he always lingered longer than necessary in your kitchen. Called you by name when he didn’t have to. Ruffled your hair until the day you slapped his hand away and told him to cut it out—and he just laughed.

“You’re not a kid anymore,” he said once, his voice low, eyes lingering in a way that made your stomach twist.

So maybe that’s why you weren’t surprised to find him waiting in the hallway after your last class, arms crossed, leaning too comfortably against your locker.

“Your brother forgot his script,” he said, but his eyes said something else.

You took the binder, but didn’t move.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

Neither of you moved.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Jesse finally said, smirking like it wasn’t entirely true.

You rolled your eyes. “You’re my brother’s best friend.”

He leaned closer, voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah, but I’m starting to wonder what else I could be.”

Your breath caught, heart hammering against your ribs. The hallway was too loud, too crowded, and suddenly too quiet all at once.

“I’m not a secret,” you said. “I won’t be.”

Jesse’s smile faded just slightly, replaced by something quieter. Sincere.

“You won’t have to be,” he promised.