Chapter 5

Zach's POV

Hell NO! 

The rest of our course mates exited the class, leaving just us two. I didn't even wait for the last person to leave, I just ran to the professor and begged, begged as if my life depended on it. Which it did, especially my sanity.

“Professor, please,” I started, my hands gripping the edge of his desk. “You have to reconsider. Anyone else, literally anyone. I’ll take Jake, I’ll take Rita, I’ll even take that guy who vapes through his sleeve in class. But not him. Je-bal!”

“Get in line,” Ryder growled behind me, stomping down the aisle like an angry gorilla. “This isn’t happening. I’m not wasting a year babysitting someone, a queer nerd who can’t even keep his emotions in check.”

I turned to face him, my fists already curled. “You mean someone you humiliated in front of the entire school? Someone you outed for a joke?”

“Oh, give it a rest,” he snapped. “You’re still on that? It was years ago—”

“Yeah, and trauma has a longer expiration date than milk, Ryder.”

“Gentlemen!” Professor Staks tried to interject, but we were already going head-to-head, almost nose-to-nose.

“You’re not better than me,” I hissed. “You just walk around like you are.”

“I don’t need to act like anything,” he shot back. “You’re so busy playing the victim, it’s pathetic. Maybe you were the victim, just stop whining about it already, bitch!”

That did it. My vision blurred red. My hand twitched. For one second, I didn’t care if he was Ryder “Golden Boy” Jameson, hockey prodigy, or if we were in a damn classroom. I was going to hit him.

But Professor Staks moved fast. Faster than I thought a man with loafers and a retirement beard could. He stepped between us with surprising force, slamming his palm on the desk.

“One more step from either of you, and you both flunk,” he said sharply, eyes darting between us. “I’ve seen enough of your playground theatrics. You think you hate each other? Fine. But if you let that interfere with your academic responsibilities, I’ll make sure neither of you gets the recommendation letters you need for your post-grad programs. Are we clear?”

Ryder’s jaw locked. I backed off,

“I said, are we clear?”

“Yes,” we both muttered.

“Good,” he said, walking back around to his desk and calmly picking up his mug of tea like none of that had just happened. “Now get out. And figure out how you’re going to survive the year without killing each other.”

Ryder stormed out first, shoving the door so hard it slammed into the wall. I followed, slower, my hand still burning with the urge to swing.

This wasn’t going to work. And if it did, I was going to need therapy. Lots of it.

______

My face was red. My eyes probably dilated with fury. He followed behind me, hot on his heels as I quickly wanted to get away from him.

But he caught up fast, his hand on my shoulder making me almost spit bile.

"Look, I don't like this anymore than you do. But if we don't do this, if we don't find a way and work togeth—"

I spat. 

"I'd rather suck a smelly wrinkly old man's dick than do that."

He raised a brow. “Figured. Kinky queer shit.”

I clenched my teeth, forcing myself not to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

He continued walking, hands in his pockets like this was just another damn Tuesday. “Staks said we fail if we don’t pull this off. But honestly, I don’t care. My dad will sort it out either way.”

Of course he would. I gave a bitter laugh. “Well, not all of us are born into money. Some of us actually need to pass this course to graduate. You might get a free ride for being your daddy’s son, but if I tank this class, my GPA drops. And that affects everything.”

He looked at me with that smug, vacant stare. “So you’re saying we have to work together.”

“No,” I said. “I’m saying you are going to work with me, whether you like it or not. Because I’m not letting your entitlement ruin my record.”

He rolled his eyes. “Fine. Whatever. Your place or mine?”

I blinked. “What?”

“For the project, genius. Unless you’re planning on doing the entire thing via brainwaves.”

“My place?” I scoffed. “Please. I know how these stories end. You lure me over, strangle me with a hockey sock, and bury me in your backyard.”

He smirked. “Tempting. But I am not that stupid. If you disappear, guess who everyone, especially your body guard Gigi will be pointing fingers at?”

“You.”

“Exactly. So, relax. You can come to my place. There will be no murder, no bloodshed. Probably.”

“Wow, that’s so reassuring,” I muttered.

We stood there awkwardly for a beat.

“Tomorrow. Around 5pm,” he said.

I nodded, still not liking it. “Text me the address.”

“I don’t have your number.”

“Not surprising,” I said, pulling out my phone with reluctant fingers. “What’s yours?”

He gave it, I typed it in, and just as I hit send.....

“What the actual hell is this?!”

The voice cut through the hallway like a blade. We both turned, obviously startled. Gigi was wide-eyed, holding a printed photo like it was evidence from a crime scene.

“Tell me this is photoshopped,” she demanded, shoving it into Ryder’s face.

I blinked, confused until I saw the image.

Ryder and me.

Kissing.

Full-on. Eyes shut.

Passionate.

Messy. All of the above.

“What the—” I snatched the photo from her, my heart plummeting to my knees.

My mouth opened, but no words came out. I looked at Ryder. He looked back at me. And for the first time all day, he looked just as shocked as I felt.

“What the fuck is this?” I muttered, staring at the photo. It felt real as fuck.

Not some blurry edit or AI crap. The angle, the lighting, the damn details, Ryder’s fingers knotted in my hair, my hand clenched around the collar of his hoodie, our mouths definitely kissing like it was the last thing on Earth to do.

“I....this never happened,” I said, holding the paper like it might burn me. “I’d remember this.”

Gigi folded her arms, jaw clenched tight. “Then explain it, Zach. Because this, this is circulating the group chat already.”

“What group chat?!”

“All of them.”

Ryder snatched the photo back, glaring at it like it personally offended him. “How did they get this?"