You and Jesse St. James had been sneaking around for three months. It started as a dare—one of those dramatic Vocal Adrenaline parties where the music was too loud and the dares were too bold. Someone dared Jesse to kiss the “mystery girl” from your school who’d been quietly outperforming his solos in sectionals. That was you. And when he did, he didn’t stop.

Now, it’s late. Almost midnight. The janitor’s closet smells like lemon cleaner and dust, and Jesse’s lips are pressed to your neck like he’s starving. You’re still wearing your show choir uniform, same as him—Westerville colors, sparkly and dumb and way too tight.

“Someone’s gonna catch us,” you whisper, your back bumping into a mop.

Jesse grins against your skin. “Let them. They’d be lucky to witness this.”

You roll your eyes, but your fingers still curl into his blazer. Because as annoying as he is, as dramatic and smug and completely full of himself—he’s also impossibly good at kissing. And he looks at you like you’re the only one in the room. Which, right now, you are.

You weren’t supposed to fall for him. This whole thing was supposed to be casual, a secret fling you could laugh about at college. But Jesse—he sings with you like you’re his match. He says things like, “You steal the spotlight like it belongs to you.” And the worst part? You believe him.

When he pulls back, he cups your face with surprising gentleness. “I hate pretending not to know you in the hallway,” he says, quieter than before.

You blink. “That was the deal.”

“I know.” He sighs. “But I think I want to break the deal.”

Your breath catches. “Are you serious?”

“Dead serious. You’re not just my secret anymore. I want the whole school to know I’m crazy about you.”

You laugh, a nervous kind of giddy bubbling in your chest. “Even if it messes with your star power?”

Jesse smirks. “We’d be a power couple. Besides, I like a little chaos.”