chapter 3
The end started with the same damn hoodie.
Black. Oversized. Soft in a way hoodies shouldn’t be unless they’ve been lived in. It definitely wasn’t mine, and it definitely smelled like him — like cedar and detergent and something vaguely chaotic.
I wore it to school.
Big mistake.
Macy caught me at my locker before first period, narrowed her eyes, and asked, “When did you start shopping in the Lost and Found?”
I blinked. “This? Oh, yeah. Grabbed it yesterday after gym.”
She didn’t believe me. Neither did anyone else. Not when I tugged at the sleeves, not when I made some weak joke about ‘mystery laundry,’ and definitely not when I caught Jamie watching me from across the hallway like I was a science experiment that just mutated.
But I wore it anyway.
Because I was tired. And warm. And, maybe, just maybe… I didn’t want to give it back.
That afternoon, we met in the library again — same back corner, same unspoken rule of sitting close enough to share screen space but not too close.
Jaxon spread out a mess of highlighters and fake timelines. I pulled up the spreadsheet.
“What did Liam do in freshman year again?” he asked, flipping through notes like we were prepping for a presentation and not emotional arson.
“Depends,” I said. “Are we going for petty or illegal?”
He grinned. “Let’s start with petty and escalate.”
I laughed, leaned closer, our shoulders brushing.
The spreadsheet filled itself in like magic. Detention rumors, grade disputes, the time he tried to flirt his way out of a plagiarism report and failed spectacularly. We were whispering and typing and occasionally arguing about font size when it happened—
I leaned back.
Looked at him.
“You’re not that bad,” I said before I could stop myself.
He froze.
“You say that like it’s not the highest compliment I’ve ever gotten,” he replied, blinking slowly.
I rolled my eyes, but he kept watching me.
Too long.
My mouth.
Not my eyes. Not the spreadsheet. Just… me. I noticed.
And then—he kissed me.
It was one of those stupid movie moments, except we weren’t in a movie, and I was definitely not the kind of girl who kissed chaos in the middle of the library.
But his mouth was on mine, and my brain went offline.
I froze. For half a second. Maybe less.
Then I kissed him back.
Because what else do you do when Jaxon Reed, professional menace and enemy-of-my-friend-group, tilts his head just right and your heart starts sprinting like it’s trying to win regionals?
It was warm. And annoyingly soft. And completely not okay.
And the worst part?
I liked it.
My thoughts were a mess. Static and curses and a single clear line of what the hell am I doing?
We pulled apart, and my breath caught somewhere around my ribs.
“Stress,” I said, because I had nothing else.
His eyes searched mine like he wasn’t sure if I was about to slap him or kiss him again.
“Totally,” he said. “Revenge energy. Highly contagious.”
I stared at the spreadsheet. It made no sense. None of this did. I had a plan. A pact. A reputation. And now I had his mouth memorized.
Fantastic.
And then, because my impulse control was officially dead, we kissed again.
Slower. Deeper. Like we knew this was a bad idea and wanted to prove just how bad it could get.
His hand slid around my hip. Mine curled under the hem of his hoodie. Everything tilted, and then—he pulled back.
Not in a stop-this-now kind of way. More like pause-and-reconsider-life-choices.
He let out a breath, rough and unsteady. “We should… uh…”
I blinked, still dazed. “Focus?”
“Yeah.”
He nodded. Swallowed. It looked like he was trying to remember the alphabet.
“Madison’s next,” he said, tapping the edge of the laptop. The spreadsheet glowed like a lifeline.
“Madison?” I repeated, still catching up.
“She’s already suspicious,” he said. “Time to push.”
I tugged my sleeve down. The hoodie. His hoodie. Right. Still wearing that. Still wearing him.
“You gonna flirt with her?”
He smirked. “Only enough to make her paranoid.”
I snorted. “So… aggressively.”
He grinned. “You know me.”
And unfortunately? I did.
And it was becoming a problem.
