FALLING FOR THE BAD BOY❤

falling for the bad boy

_Written by Mary_

_Chloe:_

The detention room smelled like old erasers and regret.

And Jax Carter, sprawled in the back row like he owned the place.

Trouble. That was my one rule: avoid it.

So of course Mrs. Alvarez paired me with Trouble personified to save my scholarship.

“Tutor him or lose your funding,” she’d said this morning. “He needs a C to stay on the team. You need an A to stay in school.”

Now he was here. Dark hair, darker eyes, leather jacket despite the August heat. The kind of boy moms warn you about and girls ignore warnings for.

A motorcycle helmet sat on the desk beside him. Scratched. Black. Same one from behind the gym last year.

He looked up from his phone. Slow. Like he had all day and I was wasting his time.

“Honor roll,” he drawled, eyes dragging over my cardigan, my second-hand skirt, my _Stay Focused_ pen. “Come to slum it with the delinquents?”

*Grumpy x Sunshine, activate.*

I dropped my bag on the desk across from him. Not next to him. Across. Two feet of scratched wood between us felt safer. “I’m here to make sure you don’t flunk. That’s it.”

He smirked. The one that broke hearts by Friday, according to every girl in homeroom. “We’ll see about that, Sunshine.”

My cheeks went hot. I hated that. Hated that he noticed.

“Chapter three,” I said, flipping open _The Great Gatsby_ like it could shield me. “Page 47. Out loud.”

He didn’t move. Just kept looking at me. Not my book. Me.

“Why?”

“Because you can’t pass if you can’t read.”

“I can read.”

“Then prove it.”

He leaned back, kicked his boots up onto the desk between us. Dirty soles inches from my notes. “Make me.”

_Jax:_

She smelled like vanilla and bad decisions.

Chloe Hayes. 4.0 GPA. Never late. Probably never been kissed. The principal’s favorite teacher’s pet.

And now she was stuck with me, two hours a day, until I passed English.

Should’ve been annoying. Instead, I watched her pull out color-coded notes and a highlighter like she was going to war.

Cute.

She thought she was in control because she had a syllabus. She didn’t know I’d been kicked out of three schools before Ridgeview. Didn’t know detention was my homeroom.

Didn’t know I remembered her from the library.

Didn’t know I’d thought about her since.

“Make me,” I said again, just to watch her jaw clench.

Her cheeks went pink. Not angry pink. _Flustered_ pink.

Interesting.

Most girls in this room wanted something from me — status, a ride, a story to tell Monday.

She just wanted me to pass.

For the first time in years, someone looked at me and didn’t see the detention king.

They saw a failing grade she could fix.

And I hated how much I didn’t hate that.

*He’s Soft For Her Only — seed planted.*

“Page 47,” she repeated, quieter. “Please.”

The _please_ got me.

I dropped my boots. Sat up. Grabbed the book.

“In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice…”

My voice sounded wrong in the quiet. Rough. Used to yelling, not reading.

She didn’t laugh. Didn’t correct me when I stumbled on _vulnerable_.

Just followed along with her finger, nodding.

Like I wasn’t a joke.

Like I was worth listening to.

_Chloe:_

He passed me on the way out after two hours. Didn’t speak. Just dropped something on my notebook.

A single red rose. Thorns still on.

And a detention slip with his number on the back in black Sharpie.

_Call me if you want to actually pass, Sunshine._

_To be continued..._

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