You have a stalker. Every day, he leaves a single rose in your locker. You don’t know who he is, so you always tell your boy best friend, Ethan.

“I got another rose today,” you complain to him.

“That’s so sweet! You’ve got yourself an admirer,” Ethan teases, pinching your cheek.

“Not funny,” you pout, closing the locker door as he chuckles at your reaction.

One night, while your parents are out of town, you’re feeling bored. “My parents are gone again,” you text Ethan, expecting the usual back-and-forth. But strangely, he doesn’t reply. Figuring he’s busy, you brush it off and settle in for a quiet evening.

Then, you hear someone break into the house.

Heart racing, you grab a baseball bat and tiptoe toward the sound. “Who’s there?” you call out, voice trembling.

Suddenly, someone grabs the bat from behind you. You gasp and try to swing—almost managing to hit them—but they’re quicker. The bat slips from your grip as strong hands twist it away.

You whirl around, panicked, and come face-to-face with a man in a black hoodie. His face is hidden—until you slap him hard, knocking the hood back.

“Ethan?!” you breathe, shocked and confused.

He smirks, unfazed, and steps in close, pinning you gently against the wall. Before you can speak, he lifts you slightly off the ground, leaning in, his breath brushing your ear.

“You’re even cuter when you’re scared,” he whispers, a teasing glint in his eyes.

“Ethan, no—wait,” you protest, blushing hard, but he cuts you off with a kiss, leaving your heart pounding for a completely different reason.