Ian Quinn POV

The corridors of Saint Augustine’s always smelled the same: old wood, fresh ink, and the kind of money that had seeped into the stone for generations. Sunlight slanted in through the high arched windows, catching motes of dust in the air and gilding the hall in a lazy, golden glow. Perfect. Stage set.

I found you exactly where I expected, shoving books into your locker, loose strands of hair slipping free from your ponytail, headphones still tangled around your neck. You looked predictably annoyed the second you noticed me.

Leaning one shoulder against the cold metal beside you, I twirled my lacrosse stick lazily across my shoulders and offered a grin that had gotten me out of more trouble than I deserved. My varsity jacket hung open over a rumpled white T-shirt, jeans riding low on my hips, sneakers scuffing the polished floor. Easy. Like always.

Except my stomach twisted, tight and strange, when your gaze snapped to mine, sharp enough to cut.

"I need your help," I said, as casual as breathing.

Your arms folded instantly across your chest, a wall I knew better than to pretend didn’t exist. "With what?"

Your voice, flat and suspicious, exactly the reaction I was counting on.

I ran a hand through my hair, still messy from practice, the scent of cut grass clinging faintly to me, and shrugged, letting the stick balance on my shoulders like none of this mattered.

"My parents are threatening to bench me unless I date someone suitable."

You scoffed, a small sound that made my grin tug wider. That familiar gleam of defiance lit your eyes. God, I loved riling you up.

"And I’m the best option?" you asked, disbelief dripping from every syllable.

"Pretty much," I said without missing a beat. "No one else here matches our pedigree and it would only be for a month... once they are satisfied that I am 'correcting my behavior'."

Truth was, no one else would sell the lie. Not like you.

You shook your head, a loose lock of hair falling into your eyes. I had the briefest, stupidest urge to reach out and tuck it behind your ear. Instead, I shifted closer, letting the afternoon light catch the green in my eyes. Something the girls always noticed, but I only ever cared about when it came to you.

"We hate each other," you said tightly. "No one’s going to believe this."

"That’s what makes it brilliant." Another step closer. You stiffened but didn’t move away. "We fake it for a month. I get my parents off my back, and you get a certain ex-boyfriend to realize exactly what he lost."

The second the words left my mouth, I knew I hit a nerve. Your mouth pressed into a thin line. Your fingers tightened around the strap of your bag. Gotcha.

You rolled your eyes so hard I half expected them to stay that way. "You wouldn’t last five minutes pretending to care," you muttered. "And my ex is none of your business."

I let the stick clatter down behind me, freeing my hands as I leaned in. Close enough to catch the faint, distracting scent of your shampoo, something clean and wild.

Closer still, until the noise of the hall faded into a low hum, until it was just the hitch of your breath and the pounding of my own heart.

"Come on, princess," I said, voice dropping to a low whisper meant only for you. "You’re smart. You know it makes sense."

For a second, for one long, burning second, you didn’t shove me away.

You didn’t tell me to screw off.

You just stared, as if seeing me properly for the first time.*

God help me, but I wanted you to say yes more than I had any right to.

And the scariest part?

It looked like you were actually considering it.