My theory is proven when I turn up at The Coffee Pod. I'd hoped last night had been a one-off, but the moment I stroll up, I can see him through the coffee shop window.

I pause with my hand on the doorknob. He's sitting in the same patchwork armchair as yesterday, two coffee cups in front of him – one no doubt empty – and clutching the book he was reading at lunch. The fireplace behind him steadily cackles away, casting a faint yellow glow across his cheeks.

The warmth of the coffee house calls me. It's colder outside than it was this morning, and the thick, bitter air feels like ice against my cheeks. The lure of the fireplace and a hot cup of coffee is almost too tempting. But the thought of facing Jake again is enough to make me want to leave.

A gust of wind suddenly whips up my hair, sending flecks of ice into my eyes. I grit my teeth and open the door, welcomed by a wave of hot air. My body tingles as I scan the coffee house, praying Jake won't notice me, but it's too late for that.

As soon I make my way to the counter, he looks at me. I thought I was imagining it at first, him staring in my direction, but this is the second time. I ignore him and give my brightest smile to Amelia.

She must be happy because, for the first time in history, she smiles back. "What can I get you?"

I inspect the black chalkboard like I might order something different. They've added some new options with Halloween next month, like Spiced Caramel latte and Pumpkin Surprise. For a moment, I'm tempted to break away from routine.

"Just a black coffee," I say.

Amelia smirks. "I thought for a moment there that you were going to surprise me."

Ignoring her, I study the counter, praying that when I turn, Jake will be gone. When my coffee is ready, I grab a paper straw, put it in my cup, and take it over to my usual spot. Praying must not work, because Jake is still sitting there, watching me. I ignore him and settle into my usual routine: unzip bag, retrieve sketchbook, draw. I try to get comfortable, but it's hard when someone's watching you.

I sip at my coffee, focusing on sketching the nightmare from this morning. I'm so consumed that when I finally look up and see Jake sitting opposite, I jump. "Gah!"

He studies me intently from over his cup. His face is a lot more chiseled up close, all sharp edges and angles. His jawline is narrow, his chin pronounced, but his bright eyes seem to soften his features, leaving him looking youthful.

"You drink too much coffee," he says.

I blink at him, surprised. "Better than drinking whiskey."

He flashes his perfect Jake Carpenter grin. "I wasn't aware they were the only two options."

I get over my initial shock and carry on sketching, hoping he'll get the hint, but he doesn't move a muscle. Finally, I clear my throat. "Sorry, did you need something?"

"Nope, just enjoying my coffee. What are you sketching?" He leans in closer like he's trying to catch a peek, so I tilt my sketchbook toward me.

"Nothing," I say, "and you're breaking the coffee house rules."

He raises an eyebrow. "Rules?"

"Yes, rules." I'm not trying to be rude, but it's hard not to remember the countless times I've seen Jake Carpenter get his way. He's the school's star quarterback, which means he doesn't seem to have to follow the same rules as the rest of us. Hasn't done his homework? It doesn't matter. Late to school? Quarterbacks need their rest. Absent again? He just needs to recover, the game was particularly taxing last night.

Jake scans the coffee shop before turning back to face me. "Where are these rules? I don't see them written anywhere."

I sigh impatiently. "That's because they're not written anywhere. They're unspoken rules that we as coffee house goers all follow to ensure maximum experience and comfort."

Jake leans forward, clearly amused. "Well, by all means," he says. "Enlighten me."

"Number one, you don't sit near someone else in the coffee house, and you definitely, under no circumstances, sit at the same table as them. It's simple etiquette."

He thinks about this before folding his arms. "What if the place is busy?"

"It's one in the morning, it's never busy at this time. Rule number two, you do not speak to anyone inside of the coffee house except for Amelia."

His eyebrows furrow. "Who's Amelia?"

"The waitress at the counter. Even then, keep it short and snappy. Amelia isn't one for conversation."

Jake lets out an expanse of air, but his eyes shine back with amusement. "I didn't realize so many rules came with ordering a cup of coffee."

I don't answer for a second as I sip my coffee. "The reason people love this coffee shop is because they get to blend into the background. They want to be near other people but not have to talk to them. They want to enjoy their coffee next to a roaring fireplace, without someone invading their space. If that's not you–"

"It is me," he insists, holding up his hands defensively. "How about this? I solemnly swear that from this day forth, I'll follow the coffee house rules. In fact, I'll just sit here quietly sipping my coffee. You won't even notice me."

I falter. "Well, good," I say, lowering my sketchbook. I'm about to pick up my pencil again when he goes and ruins it.

"You come here a lot, you know."

"Your observational skills are astounding. Too bad you can't follow simple rules."

He flashes his typical grin in response. "I thought about it, but following rules isn't really my thing."

"Neither is getting the hint."

He leans forward slightly, not the least bit disheartened. "You know, I get the impression you don't like me very much."

"Hard to believe, isn't it?"

"Well, yeah," he says. "I don't know about you, but I don't make a habit of going around hating people I don't know. Doesn't seem very reasonable."

For some reason, hearing him call me unreasonable does the trick. "I know you're used to getting whatever you want, and I know that you're not usually caught dead talking to girls like me, which leads me with the question: what exactly do you want, Jake Carpenter?"

The tiniest smile starts to tug at his lips. "Fine. I know something about you too, believe it or not. You're smart, Hope. Really smart. I want to make you an offer."

"Gee, thanks, but I'm not for sale."

"I don't mean it like that." His eyes soften. "I mean, you're cute, don't get me wrong, and you've got that smart thing going for you. But it doesn't really do it for me."

My mouth drops. Jake Carpenter is rejecting me. I don't even like him, and he's rejecting me. "I'm glad we've cleared that up," I say. "Are you going to get to your point?"

He leans forward in his seat, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I'm failing English. Well, all my classes really. Coach says if I can't get my grades up, I can't finish the season."

I don't bother to look up from my sketchbook. "That sucks."

Before I know it, Jake pulls the sketchbook from my hands, forcing me to look at him. "I want you to tutor me."

If I'd been drinking my coffee, I'd have spit it out everywhere. So, this was Jake Carpenter's game all along. Here it is, the cosmic imbalance I knew had to exist: the handsome quarterback who gets everything he wants, suddenly needs something from me.

"Sorry," I say, "but no."

He looks up at me through his ridiculously long lashes. "Please?"

I am both horrified and amused. "Does that usually work on girls?"

He flashes a grin. "Nine times out of ten."

"Consider this the tenth."

He sighs a little, trapping my legs between his. "Oh, come on, Hope. What have you got to lose?"

I shake my head. "How much are you even paying?"

He's quiet for a moment like this hadn't occurred to him. "Well, I thought you might do it out of the goodness of your heart."

Unbelievable. "I don't have a heart."

He folds his arms, which makes his muscles look twice their size. "Clearly." He sighs. "Look, I know you don't like me, and I'm not exactly too fond of you either, Hope, but if anyone can get my grades up, it's you. What do you say? I'll pay you for it, all right? Think of all that money you'll have right in time for Christmas."

I fiddle with my hair, mulling his proposition over. Spending time with Jake sounds like my version of a nightmare, but the extra money I'll be getting from it might just make it worth it.

He pauses, and then, in a small voice, "Please."

If it wasn't for the desperation in his voice, I'd have walked out of here by now. Tutoring Jake Carpenter is the last thing I need, but even I can see when someone is at the end of their tether, and Jake Carpenter is most definitely at the end of his.

"Fine," I say, "but there needs to be rules to this thing."

He suppresses a smile. "What is it with you and rules?"

I start to get up, but he grabs my arm to stop me. "Fine, make as many rules as you like. Just help keep me on the football team. Deal?"

After a slight hesitation, I sit back down. This is a mistake, I'm sure of it. "Deal."

I pull out my notepad and pen. It's one of those sparkly pens with a little fuzzy cartoon character on the top. Jake studies me for a second, clearly unimpressed as I write down Jake's list of rules to follow.

"Don't tell me you're writing these rules down," he says.

"How else are you going to remember them?"

He groans. "You are something else. So, what kind of rules are we talking?"

I straighten out my sweater before taking a breath. "Well, for instance, I don't think we should talk at school." I expect him to look offended or a little downcast, but that's not the case at all.

"Trust me," he says. "That's the last thing I want to do, too."

I frown a little before scribbling it down. "You have to listen to everything I say, too. I don't want to put in all of this work if you're not going to take it seriously." I put my pencil down to take a sip of coffee, and when I look up, Jake is watching me with the most annoying expression. "What?"

"Nothing," he says, but his eyes don't scream nothing; they are quietly judging me.

I put down my cup. "No, you have judgy eyes. So what is it, Carpenter?"

He smiles a little and tilts his head. "I've just never seen someone drink so much coffee before. It can't be good for your health."

Great. Not only is Jake Carpenter invading my coffee house, he thinks he's my physician. "I didn't realize you cared so much."

He leans forward across the table, causing me to tense. He must notice my reaction, because he raises an eyebrow and says, "Relax, Hope. You're so jumpy. Anyway, I'm just saying you're like an addict when it comes to coffee. I bet you couldn't go a week without it."

"Yes, I could."

His eyes gleam back with something mischievous; I've fallen right into his trap. "Prove it."

"I don't have to prove it," I say primly. "I'm telling you I could."

Jake raises an eyebrow in that way only good-looking, cocky guys can get away with. "Make it to Christmas without drinking coffee and I'll pay you triple for tutoring me."

I swallow hard. I already know where this is going. "And if I lose?"

His wry smile lengthens. "You tutor me for free."

I shake my head. Of course Jake is already trying to think up ways he won't have to pay me. "No," I say. "Absolutely not."

"Oh, come on," Jake says. "I thought you were certain you wouldn't lose?"

"I am certain," I say, but I don't sound so sure. How am I going to keep myself awake without coffee? And what if I do lose? I'll have spent two months tutoring Jake for free. "I just don't see the point in making a stupid bet."

Jake rolls his eyes. "Because it'll make things more interesting. Don't you ever just let go and have fun?"

I'm truly offended. "I have fun."

"Sure you do." His eyes are mocking. "You stay up late drinking coffee by yourself. What about that screams fun?"

I don't say what I'm thinking, which is that if he wasn't so busy having too much fun, he might not be failing English. "In case you've forgotten, you were in the coffee house during the middle of the night, too."

He shrugs, because of course nothing ever applies to him. "I came here because I thought I'd be kicked off the football team. My dad was ragging on me. I couldn't sleep. I just wanted to get out for a while. Something tells me this isn't a one-time deal for you."

Something tells me he's right, but I don't dare admit it out loud. "Look, I don't want to make a bet. I just want you to pass English so that you can leave me alone."

Jake leans back with his hands behind his head. "I figured as much. You're so predictable."

"What do you mean predictable? You don't even know me."

He's on a roll. "Sure I do. I know you come here at the same time every night. You sketch using the same pencil, order the same coffee, sit in the same seat. You operate like clockwork."

I'm annoyed that he has this perception of me, and I'm even more annoyed that he's right. "Stalker much?"

"And hey," he says as if I'd never spoken, "I get not wanting to make a bet. If I had an addiction like yours, I'd be worried about losing, too."

"I don't have an addiction. I can quit anytime I want."

He flashes a boyish smile in response. "You keep telling yourself that, Hope."

He's getting to me. I don't know why I'm letting him get to me, but he is. It's why I lean forward and say, "You know what? Fine, I'll go without coffee. Easy."

Jake looks at me from over his coffee cup, clearly surprised. "Time for some real rules then." He downs the rest of his coffee and slams it on the table. "Absolutely no coffee under any circumstances until the last week of school before Christmas break. No caffeine, either, even if it's not coffee. And I'll be checking, Hope. I know how sneaky you smart people can be."

I roll my eyes. "Listen, if I agree to something, then I stick to it. I'm not going to lie."

Jake thinks this over. He says, "Well, I don't know that. For instance–" he leans even closer until his face is in mine, "What if you're lying about not lying?"

Good lord, he's annoying. I'll be glad when this is over. "Look, I have some sketching to do, so can we wrap this up?" He makes a face, grabs my phone from off the table, and starts tapping away. "What are you doing?" I ask.

"Adding you as a friend," he says. "We're going to need to contact each other." He looks up now, his eyebrows furrowed in disapproval. "Where are your apps? Don't tell me you're not on social media."

My heart beats once. Then twice. "I'm not." At least, not anymore. After a month of obsessing over finding the video, I'd purged all social media in a bid to claw back some sanity.

He tilts his head. I hold my breath, certain he's going to push further, but he pulls up my contacts, instead. "There," he says, passing it back. "I've sent myself a message so I can save your number. I'll message you when I'm ready for my first session."

Then, without waiting for my response, he gets up, grabs his bag, and strides out of the coffee house without looking back.

Already I know I've made a big mistake.