The windows fogged up fast. The second Jaxon turned off the engine, the night wrapped around us like it had been waiting.

I didn’t hesitate.

I climbed into his lap, my body moving without hesitation, as if it had already decided this was where I belonged. There were no jokes this time, no playful distractions—just the raw, unfiltered need pulling me closer. My knees settled on either side of his hips, and I felt his breath hitch, his chest rising sharply under my hands as they gripped the fabric of his hoodie.

Our lips met with a hunger that had been building for days, maybe longer. The kiss was electric, desperate. His hands slid up my back, slipping beneath my shirt, his touch searing against my skin as if he was trying to memorize every inch of me. I fumbled with the zipper of his jacket, laughing softly against his mouth when it got stuck halfway. The sound turned into a gasp as he deepened the kiss, his tongue brushing mine, sending shivers down my spine.

The back seat was cramped, the angles awkward, but none of it mattered. His hoodie bunched under my back, the rough fabric a sharp contrast to the heat of his body beneath me. His jeans were partially unzipped, and I could feel him pressing against me. One of my shoes had disappeared somewhere under the passenger seat, but I barely noticed. All I could focus on was him—his hands roaming my body, his breath hot against my neck, the way he whispered my name like it was the only word that mattered.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice rough with need, his lips grazing my jaw.

“Yeah,” I whispered back, barely able to form the word. “Keep going.”

His hands moved lower, tracing the curve of my waist, slipping beneath the waistband of my jeans. My hips pressed instinctively against his, seeking more of the friction that was already driving me wild. He groaned, a low, throaty sound that sent a thrill through me. His fingers worked deftly, sliding beneath the lace of my panties, teasing me until I was trembling in his arms.

His mouth found mine again, swallowing my moans as his fingers moved in slow, deliberate circles. I arched into him, my hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer as if I could somehow erase the space between us. The world outside ceased to exist—there was only him, only this, only us.

When I finally came undone, it was with his name on my lips, his arms holding me steady as waves of pleasure crashed over me. I clung to him, my chest heaving, my head resting against his as I tried to catch my breath. His heart was racing against mine, a steady rhythm that matched the intensity of what we’d just shared.

He kissed me again, softly this time, his lips lingering against mine as if he didn’t want to let go. We stayed like that for what felt like forever, tangled together in the back seat, the world outside still spinning without us.

I traced slow, lazy circles over his ribs, fingers featherlight. My body felt heavy and light at the same time — like I’d been untethered and grounded in the same breath.

“We’re officially the cliché,” I murmured into his collarbone.

I felt his grin before I saw it. “Enemies to lovers. Backseat edition.”

I smiled, eyes still closed. “You forgot ‘traitor to her friend group.’”

“And ‘guy she’s supposed to hate.’”

I tilted my head to look at him. “You’re very hateable.”

“You keep saying that,” he said, eyes half-lidded, voice low and smug. “But you never show it.”

I rolled my eyes, but I didn’t move. We lay there, tangled up in each other, the windows so fogged we could’ve been anywhere.

Then came the silence. Not awkward. Not tense.

The kind that dares you to speak first.

Jaxon shifted slightly, brushing my hair back behind my ear. He looked at me like he could see more than I wanted him to.

“So… what are we doing?” he asked.

I met his gaze, steady. “We’re dating.”

His eyebrows jumped just slightly. “Secretly?”

I nodded. “Until we figure the rest out.”

He didn’t laugh this time. He didn’t tease.

He just leaned in and kissed my shoulder, slow and warm.

“God, that’s hot,” he murmured.

I snorted. “You’re impossible.”

“But,” I added, lifting one finger between us like I was drawing a boundary I already knew we were about to ignore, “we’re not done.”

He blinked. “With what?”

“The plan.” I grinned, sharp and sure. “Ten days of revenge. That was the deal.”

Ten days of reclaiming power from the guy who chipped away at my confidence one backhanded comment at a time. The guy who kissed my forehead while texting someone else. The friend who smiled in my face and took everything I trusted her with and weaponized it.

Ten days of reminding them — and myself — that I am not the girl you humiliate quietly and walk away from clean.

His eyes lit up, that same spark I saw the first time he asked me if I wanted them publicly shamed and emotionally unstable. Mischief, conviction, and something a little unhinged. Perfect.

“Damn right.”

I leaned over the seat, grabbing my phone from the cup holder. My body ached in the best possible way. My hair was a mess. I was probably wearing one earring and half a shoe.

And I’d never felt more like myself.

“So what’s next?” he asked.

I looked up at him, pulse thudding in that giddy, dangerous way that always came right before the fall.

“Let’s ruin prom,” I said.