The classroom was silent except for the ticking clock and the soft scratch of a pen—Jake’s, of course. You sat one row behind him in detention, arms crossed, eyes flicking to the clock every two minutes. It wasn’t your fault the fire alarm had mysteriously gone off during gym, but because you happened to be near Jake when it happened—and because Jake had a reputation—you both got blamed. Now you were stuck in a dusty classroom after hours with the school’s golden troublemaker, who somehow looked way too calm for someone who just earned another tally on his record.

Jake turned around slowly, spinning his pen between his fingers. His lips curved into that annoyingly confident grin as he leaned back in his chair. “Don't be mad babe, aren't I good company?"