She hated him.

Cole Matthews was cocky, loud, and always five minutes late to class — and somehow never got in trouble. That stupid smirk on his face? It made Ava want to throw her pencil across the room. Or stab him with it.

But today? Detention.

Because of him.

“I swear you tripped me on purpose,” she snapped as she sat in the empty classroom, arms crossed, legs propped up on the desk in front of her.

Cole leaned against the doorway, tossing an apple in the air like he was in a damn rom-com. “Oh, c’mon, sunshine. Don’t flatter yourself. You just have terrible balance.”

“Don’t call me that,” she snapped.

“Why not? Sunshine fits. All that glaring you do really lights up my day.”

Ava rolled her eyes so hard it gave her a headache. “Why are you even here?”

“Same reason as you. Ms. Thorne said we were disrupting class. Guess she thought the sexual tension was too loud.”

She choked. “You’re delusional.”

“Oh?” he smirked, walking closer. “Then why are you still looking at my mouth?”

She hadn’t even realized she was. She snapped her eyes away, jaw tight.

Detention started.

One hour.

Ava sat on the far left. Cole on the far right.

For about ten minutes.

Then he got bored.

He slid his chair closer with a slow screech that echoed in the silent room.

“Stop,” she hissed.

He slid closer.

“I said stop.”

Another inch.

She stood up — furious — and pointed a finger in his face. “Do you seriously get off on annoying me?”

He leaned forward. “Only when you look this hot doing it.”

Ava’s heart punched her ribs. His breath was warm. His smirk was gone.

There was heat in his stare now. Real heat. Not teasing.

“I hate you,” she whispered, chest rising fast.

“I know,” he whispered back. “But you keep standing closer.”

They were practically nose to nose.

She should’ve walked away.

She didn’t.

Instead, she grabbed his hoodie, yanked him down, and kissed him.

It was supposed to be a shut-up kiss. A one-second punishment.

But his hand cupped her waist, pulled her in, and the kiss deepened. Messy, wild, mouths colliding like two storms finally touching. His other hand slid up her back, under her shirt, fingertips skating over skin that suddenly felt like fire.

She gasped into his mouth.

“You hate me, huh?” he murmured, lips brushing her jaw as he trailed kisses down her neck. “Funny. This doesn’t feel like hate.”

“Shut up,” she breathed, tugging at the waistband of his jeans, her fingers hungry.

“Bossy,” he whispered. “Knew you’d be like this.”

He lifted her up like she weighed nothing, placing her on the teacher’s desk. The hard wood under her thighs made her shiver — or maybe it was his hands, everywhere now, roaming, gripping, tugging her closer.

Clothes stayed mostly on. But his hand was under her skirt, fingers teasing, making her writhe against the desk like she couldn’t decide if she hated or loved this.

Spoiler: It was both.

He kissed down her neck again, lips lingering right at the spot that made her moan — loud.

“Someone might hear us,” he whispered.

“Then go faster,” she hissed, grinding against his palm.

Cole growled. Actually growled. That did something dangerous to her.

Faster? He obeyed. Fingers moving just right. His mouth back on hers, messy and desperate, swallowing every noise she made like he needed them to live.

By the time she finished — body trembling, lip bitten raw — he was panting against her neck, one hand gripping the edge of the desk, the other still holding her thigh tight like he wasn’t ready to let go.

Silence fell.

Heavy, warm.

She looked at him.

He looked at her.

Then he grinned — soft this time.

“Well,” he whispered, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I still think you hate me.”

“I do,” she said.

But she was pulling him back in for more.