Two

The rain had turned from a light drizzle into a steady, rhythmic downpour by the time Avery finally packed his things. The school was practically dead, the long corridors cast in a gloomy, fluorescent-lit hum.

In The Sentinel’s tiny, cramped basement office, Maya was still aggressively clicking her mouse, a half-empty energy drink sitting precariously near her keyboard.

"You're going to get lockjaw if you keep grinding your teeth like that," Avery said, swinging his backpack over his shoulder.

Maya didn't look up from her monitor. "If we don't get a solid lead on why Leo Vance skipped the qualifiers, our front page is going to be a thrilling expose on the chess club's budget deficit. Avery, please tell me you got something out of him."

"Just a threat," Avery muttered, adjusting the strap of his bag. "He told me to write carefully."

Maya finally turned, her eyes gleaming with chaotic energy. "Oh, that’s hot. He’s definitely hiding something. Keep digging, Sinclair. My editorial instincts are tingling, and they’re never wrong."

"Your instincts also told you the cafeteria meatloaf was safe last month," Avery countered dryly. "I’m going home. My mom left some leftover lasagna in the fridge, and if I don't eat it tonight, it’ll turn into a biological hazard."

He waved her off and headed up the stairs, exiting into the cool, damp evening.

The air was heavy and thick with the smell of wet asphalt. Avery pulled his hood up, shivering slightly as the wind picked up. He took the shortcut past the edge of the school parking lot, where only a few cars remained.

As he passed a sleek, dark SUV idling near the back gate, the headlights suddenly flashed, blinding him for a split second.

Avery squinted, raising a hand to block the glare. The driver’s side window rolled down with a smooth, mechanical hiss.

Leo was leaning against the leather headrest, one hand resting lazily on the steering wheel. He had changed into a dark hoodie, the hood down to reveal his messy, dark hair. He looked entirely too comfortable.

"Get in," Leo said.

Avery stayed exactly where he was. "I don't get into cars with people who threaten me before fifth period."

"I didn't threaten you. I warned you," Leo corrected, a faint, mocking pull at the corner of his mouth. "And it’s raining. Don't be dramatic. Get in the car, Sinclair. We need to talk."

"Talk here. I like the rain."

Leo sighed, shifting the car into park. He leaned over, opening the passenger side door from the inside. "We can talk here, and I can let my dad know that The Sentinel’s printing room is using unauthorized school electricity after hours. You know he's the head of the athletic board, right? He’s been looking for a reason to repurpose your basement office into a trophy display room."

Avery’s jaw tightened. He glared at Leo, his mind racing. Maya would actually die if they lost the room.

Slowly, deliberately, Avery climbed into the passenger seat and slammed the door shut. The interior of the car was warm, smelling of rich leather and something clean and sharp, like cedarwood.

"You're an asshole," Avery said flatly, pulling his damp hood down.

"So I've been told," Leo replied smoothly. He didn't pull out of the parking lot. Instead, he just sat there, the engine purring quietly under them.

"What do you want, Leo? If this is about the fourth quarter, save your breath. I know you weren't hurt."

Leo turned his head to look at Avery. In the dim light of the dashboard, his dark eyes looked incredibly intense, stripping away the easy-going athlete facade. "You're right. I wasn't hurt. But if you publish that, my dad is going to make my life a living hell. And by extension, I will make yours unlivable."

"Is that your big secret? You're scared of your dad?" Avery let out a dry, mocking laugh. "The great Leo Vance, terrified of a real estate tycoon."

The temperature in the car seemed to drop. Leo’s hand tightened on the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white. For a second, Avery thought he had gone too far.

But then, Leo let out a slow, quiet breath. A slow, dangerous smirk crept back onto his face.

"Actually, I have a proposition for you," Leo said, turning slightly in his seat to face Avery. "My dad thinks I'm getting distracted. He wants me focused entirely on basketball and my image. Squeaky clean. Settled. He's been breathing down my neck about finding a 'good influence' to keep me grounded."

Avery frowned, a bad feeling blooming in his chest. "And?"

"And you need a story," Leo said, his voice dropping to a gravelly, low register. He leaned in closer, invading Avery's space just like he had earlier by the gym. "So, here's the deal. You play the part of my incredibly studious, completely devoted boyfriend. We make it public. My dad stops breathing down my neck because he thinks I'm being tamed by the school’s top academic student."

Avery stared at him, completely dumbfounded. "Are you insane? I would rather drink dishwater."

"If you do it," Leo continued, ignoring the insult, "I’ll give you the exclusive on the fourth quarter.

The real story. The one that will actually make your stupid newspaper famous. And I'll make sure my dad writes a nice, fat donation check to keep your basement office funded for the next three years."

Avery’s heart was hammering. He could feel the warmth of Leo's breath on his cheek, the sheer physical presence of the older boy completely taking over the small cabin of the car. It was terrifying, but beneath the fear, a sharp, electric spark of adrenaline flared.

"And if I say no?" Avery whispered, his voice tighter than he wanted it to be.

Leo reached out, his fingers brushing light as a feather against the collar of Avery’s jacket, just barely tracing the edge of his collarbone. The touch sent a violent, unexpected shiver straight down Avery's spine.

"If you say no," Leo murmured, his eyes locked onto Avery's lips before flicking back up to his eyes, "I'll make sure your little paper is gone by Monday. And I'll make sure you're the one Maya blames for it."

Leo pulled his hand back, settling back into his seat with a self-satisfied grin. "So, Sinclair. What’s it going to be?"

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