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Chapter Text

“The kids are watching us again.”

The deep murmur of Percy’s voice is unexpectedly close to her ear, causing a flush crawl its way up Annabeth’s neck. She casually adjusts her scarf before she glances at him, a little surprised by how close he’s moved to her since the start of the period. They’re nearly bumping shoulders at this point.

“They are not,” she says evenly, looking back down. She uncaps her red pen and marks down a wrong answer she’d noticed before he distracted her. “They have better things to do in study hall than stare at their teachers. Like homework, for instance.”

“Your faith in their productivity is so refreshing,” Percy replies, his voice heavy with sarcasm. “It’s like you’ve never taught teenagers before.”

“Maybe if you taught them more than how to run laps and dodge rubber balls, you’d have a little faith yourself. And,” she adds, checking off another wrong answer, “maybe you’d have something to do during first period besides bug me or come up with conspiracy theories about our students for a change?”

“Hey, I waited until you got halfway through the Algebra II stack to start bugging you today. That’s better than usual. And it’s not a conspiracy,” Percy’s voice, already low so he can’t be overheard by the students at nearby tables, drops to a, well, conspiratorial hiss, “They are watching us.”

Annabeth skims the rest of the assignment for any more missed problems. Finding none, she writes the score up in the corner and places the paper on top of the neat stack of corrected assignments at her side.

“Uh-huh,” she says, picking up the next assignment. “I’m sure our students are just dying to watch you harass me while I grade papers every morning. It’s probably the highlight of their day. I know it’s mine.”

Annabeth’s no slouch in the sarcasm department herself. She’s had the time to hone it since she and Percy started working together at Goode High School last year. Initially, she hadn’t been impressed by the new gym teacher, so their back-and-forth exchanges had much sharper edges to them at first. But coaching the JV volleyball team meant that Annabeth spent a lot of time in Percy’s domain, allowing her to get to know him better and for those jabs to soften into playful, friendly banter instead.

“Ah, so you haven’t heard the rumors then.”

He might’ve sounded blase to anyone else, but Annabeth easily picks out the superior, knowing undertone to his voice. She should just ignore him — who cares what the students are gossiping about now? — but she can’t, not when he knows something she doesn’t. And he knows that, the asshole. It’s why he said it like that in the first place.

Annabeth gives the uncorrected assignment an apologetic glance before heaving a sigh and recapping her pen. If the alleged rumor has anything to do with her, she’d rather hear it from Percy than from one of the kids or, god forbid, an administrator.

“What rumors?” she asks, turning toward him so she can give him her undivided attention.

She regrets it almost immediately. Percy always looks his best in the mornings, when hasn’t spent seven hours teaching gym and he’s wearing something besides his workout gear. Not that she minds the athletic clothes, but she likes the loose fitting flannel shirts he favors more. Especially when he pushes the material up around his forearms, like he did today.

Ugh. She’s the worst, mooning after the cute gym teacher like one of her lovesick students. She should be better than this.

Then again, who can blame her when Percy’s legs and butt look as good as they do in compression pants? He shouldn’t be allowed to wear them as often as he does, really. It’s unfair. The idiot needs to get himself a pair of baggy windbreakers ASAP.

“Your volleyball girls haven’t kept you in the loop? For shame, Chase,” Percy admonished, smirking. “Maybe I should make you ask them instead.”

Annabeth shoves him in the shoulder. “Like I’m going to encourage that. They’re already terrible gossips the way it is. No, you brought it up, so you have to tell me.”

The low, warm sound of Percy’s laugh stirs up that incriminating flush of hers again and Annabeth can’t help the small smile that pulls on her lips either. She props her chin on her hand, waiting attentively for his response.

“All right, all right. But you have to promise not to punch me, being the poor messenger and all.”

“That bad, huh?”

He hesitates, trying to drag out the suspense for just a bit longer, but Annabeth knows he wouldn’t have joked about the rumor if it was something truly awful.

“Depends on how you feel about it,” he says, leaning even closer to her. His arm is fully pressed against hers now and she can smell the fresh, spicy scent of his cologne. “Our students have decided that we’re dating.”

“Us,” she repeats slowly. “Dating?”

Okay, it’s not the most absurd rumor she’s heard about herself in the three years she’s been teaching. It’s not even the most original, though it does explain why her volleyball kids have taken an annoying interest in asking her about her love life this season. And why they’ve been giggling like crazy every time Percy drops by to chat to her during warm-ups.

She’d thought that had been because of the compression pants, honestly. Teenage hormones, good looking butts and giggling tended to go hand-in-hand.

And, yes, she can sort of understand how some of the students could come to the conclusion that they’re in a relationship. She and Percy spend a lot of time together outside of work; they’ve run into enough of the kids when they go out to brunch or shopping or football games on the weekends. But that’s because they’re friends, not because they’re dating.   

“Yup,” Percy confirms, his green eyes gleaming with amusement. “They’ve started a betting pool and everything. That’s why they’ve been watching us so much. They need the proof to cash in.”

Annabeth snorts derisively. “What, do they think we’d make out in front of them if we were? Get real, kids.”

Reminded that she never actually confirmed that they were, in fact, being stared at, Annabeth turns to let her gaze rove over the student tables. The number of eyes that snap back to their books and heads that dive together in giggling, guilty clusters actually surprises her. She’d thought Percy meant one or two kids, but at least half of the fifty some kids in the study hall had been looking at the teacher’s table.

Teenagers.

“Right? They’re dumb.”

“Percy.”

“What? They are,” he insists. “It’s not my fault they don’t know what flirting looks like. And you know they’re going to dissect every little interaction we had this morning for signs of true love or whatever.” Percy’s deep voice changes pitch by a few octaves as he mimics the cadence of some of their students, “Like, O-M-G, Miss Chase touched his hand when she gave him the sign-out clipboard today! They’re totally engaged, I know it.”

Annabeth lets out a loud guffaw, but muffles it with her hands quickly, self-conscious now that she knows her interactions with Percy are being monitored so closely.  

“Whoops, now we’re secretly getting married next week,” he continues. “Way to go, Chase.”

She’s used to being watched, of course; as a teacher, she has to be careful with her public persona. This, however, is something different… and something she and Percy can use to their amusement, she realizes.

“God, how embarrassing,” Annabeth says as the last of her laughter dies down. “It’s a pity accidental hand touching is the only thing they have to speculate on. No one’s going to win any bets with that kind of material.”

Percy arches an eyebrow. “What, are we going to make out in front of them now?”

Is it her imagination or does Percy’s gaze dart to her lips for a split second? She wills her blush not to spread up to her cheeks.

Of course she imagined it. She and Percy are just friends, she reminds herself, and not the kind of friends who make out with each other. Just because they work in a high school doesn’t mean they have to act like high schoolers. 

“No, nothing like that. But I think we should give them something else to talk about. You know, mess with their heads a bit,” she says. “If they’re going to bet on us, it’s only fair.”

“Annabeth,” Percy says with mock sternness. “Are you suggesting we troll our students? What kind of teacher are you?”

“The best kind, obviously,” she replies, her grin turning wicked. “You in?”

“Like you even had to ask. What did you have in mind?”

Chapter Text

The locker room door bursts open with far too much force for as early as it is, but the girls on Goode High School’s volleyball team are used to it. 

None of them react when perpetually late sophomore Mia Hernandez rushes inside and throws her things on the bench in front of her locker. After four weeks, they’ve become immune to her slamming doors and generally making a production of showing up to morning practices just in the nick of time, and there’s more important things to do than give her attention — like getting five more minutes of sleep, if you’re senior Lauren Edwards.

“Holy crap,” Mia says to the locker room at large, shrugging off her jacket, “you are not going to believe what I saw on my way in.”

“A clock?” freshman Hayley Brownstein grumbles to her shoelaces as she tightens them one last time.

Mia gives no indication that she heard Hayley’s comment as she barrels forward with story. “Miss Chase saw me coming in when she was on her way to the gym, and she stopped me to yell at me like usual, but she was sort of acting weird this morning? And I realized why like two seconds after she walked away! You guys, she’s wearing Mr. Jackson’s shirt!”

This pronouncement gets the attention that the slammed door didn’t — girls stop digging in their lockers, heads snap up from their phones, and Lauren Edwards even cracks an eye open from her spot in the corner. Everyone wants to know the latest scoop on the alleged relationship between Miss Chase and Mr. Jackson

“Bullshit,” fellow junior Jenna O’Malley declares, shutting her locker definitively. Jenna is firmly in the Not Dating camp and is usually the first on the team to poke holes in any so-called evidence that’s presented. “How do you even know it’s Mr. Jackson’s shirt in the first place?”

“Because,” Mia says, toeing off her boots and reaching for her gym bag, “it’s a) jersey that’s way too big for her and b) a Mets jersey!”

“And that proves what, exactly?” Jenna persists, despite the chorus of knowing ooohs that echo through the locker room.

“Miss C is a Yankees fan. Everyone knows that. She only wears that old hat of hers, like, all the time,” senior Ariel Kaufman says dismissively, flipping her braids over her shoulder.

“And Mr. Jackson totally has a Mets jersey. He wore it on casual Fridays last year a couple of times. Plus, my brother says his office has pennants and posters all over the place,” sophomore Becca Black adds with a high-pitched giggle. “Do you think she slept over at his house last night?”

“Maybe she was acting weird because she got laaaaaid,” someone calls from the back of the room, setting of a chain of shrieking laughter and excited whoops from the other girls.

Jenna’s repeated protests of, “Miss C wouldn’t do that!” are ignored in favor of rampant speculation from the rest of the team. Is the jersey enough to prove that Miss Chase and Mr. Jackson are officially dating? Of course it is. Why else would she be wearing his clothes?

Though there’d always been suggestive whispers floating among the student body, rampant speculation about the nature of Miss Chase and Mr. Jackson’s relationship hadn’t started in earnest until a few months ago. Like, whatever, they flirted during the school hours. So what? Plenty of the teachers flirted with each other — Mr. Grace and the new French teacher, for instance, had it bad for each other.

But Mr. Jackson and Miss Chase had made the mistake of being caught doing coupley things outside of school.

Mr. Jackson had kicked it off by showing up to the last day of summer volleyball camp just to “hang out” with Miss Chase, and Miss Chase had reportedly been a regular presence during summer swim team lessons for no other reason than to hassle Mr. Jackson. Several kids who were waitstaff at Auntie M’s Burgers said the two of them came in like clockwork on Saturday nights to get burgers, and sophomore Stephen Barnes? He lived down the street from Miss Chase and had personally witnessed and 'grammed Mr. Jackson mowing her lawn several times this summer — shirtless.

And since school resumed, their flirting had increased exponentially. Their heads were always ducked together during first period study hall, with Mr. Jackson trying to make Miss Chase laugh the entire time; Mr. Jackson always let his touches on her arm or the small of her back linger longer than they should; and Miss Chase didn’t even try to hide how she checked out his butt every time she saw him any more.

They had to be dating. Had to.

And, of course, no one had been ballsy enough to ask either of them if they were dating — it’d ruin the fun of speculating. Plus, talk about embarrassing, letting the teachers know you were gossiping about them for a change.

The team’s excited chatter keeps up until the locker room door opens again, and Miss Ramírez-Arellano’s sharp voice cuts through the noise.  

“Ladies, you have two minutes to get your butts on the court or we’ll be running suicides all morning again! Let’s move!”

Locker doors clang shut, bags are kicked under benches, and girls jump to their feet in a flurry of activity as they rush to get out the door — when Miss Ramírez-Arellano threatens suicides, she means business. Mia swears loudly as Hayley trips over her in her hurry and, like any other day, she’s the last of the team out of the locker room.

Once they enter the gym, it only takes a glance at Miss Chase to confirm Mia’s story.

She is wearing a Mets jersey over a long-sleeved black shirt and a pair of skinny jeans. Miss Chase usually wears clothes that are well fitted, so the oversized jersey definitely doesn’t look like it belongs in her wardrobe.

Initially, there’s some nudging and winking between the girls as they line up for warm-ups, but thoughts about Miss Chase and her jersey fade to the back of their minds as practice gets underway. With playoffs set to begin next week, both Miss Chase and Miss Ramírez-Arellano have stepped up the intensity of practices and no one wants to be benched for slacking off or for a poor performance during drills.

That intense focus doesn’t extend to the end of
practice when, during a scrimmage between the JV and varsity teams, Mr. Jackson walks into the gym. The girls sitting on the bench stiffen as one once they see him, trying not to look too excited as he starts to walk their way, but Becca lets out a shrill giggle when she notices that he has two coffee cups in hand and gives them away.

Miss Chase looks away from the court and scowls when she sees Mr. Jackson approaching; in return, he grins rakishly and holds out one of cups for her.

“Lookin’ good this morning, Chase,” he says, lazily perusing her body with his eyes. Mr. Jackson is a serious hottie, and that let’s find a bedroom look he’s sporting is serious business.

Lauren, the team’s best setter, lets a volleyball boink off her forehead in the middle of play in order to watch their exchange.

“Edwards!” Miss Ramírez-Arellano shouts, blowing her whistle. “Pay attention!”

“You are the absolute worst,” Miss Chase snaps, snatching the coffee away from him, apparently unaware that at least twenty girls are watching her every move. “Don’t think getting me coffee will make you forgive you for this travesty.”

She tugs at the collar of the jersey grumpily, and Mr. Jackson chuckles. “Maybe you should root for a better team then, huh?”

“Please. We teach kids older than the last time the Mets made it to the series. At least the Yankees have won this century,” she says, taking a sip of her coffee. “I hope the Mets choke and die, and take all your hopes of a championship with them.”

“I love how bitter losing makes you,” Mr. Jackson replies, his grin widening. “Wanna chance it and make another bet, Chase? I’m feeling lucky today.”

On the bench, Hayley exchanges a glance with Mia and mouths, “Bet?” just in case she heard wrong. Mia shakes her head, looking confused, but a decidedly smug look crosses Jenna’s face. Miss Chase and Mr. Jackson’s intense rivalry about, well, everything they don’t agree on rears its head just as often as their flirtation does.

“Of course! She’s wearing the jersey because she lost a bet,” Jenna whispers, leaning in to talk to the other girls. “I told you Miss C’s not the type to wear her boyfriend’s clothes in public!”

“They could still be dating,” Mia hisses, but it’s too late for that. Disappointment has already settled in a cloud over the bench as the girls realize another solid lead has slipped through their fingers.

Miss Chase sniffs haughtily at Mr. Jackson’s suggestion. “I think I’ve indulged enough of your immature behavior. Now, go away. I’m trying to coach, and you’re a nuisance.”

“That’s cold, Chase. After I bought you a coffee and everything? So ungrateful,” Mr. Jackson tsks, placing a hand on his chest as if she’s wounded him. He turns and appeals to the girls on the bench with a look of carefully crafted innocence. “Do I seem like a nuisance, girls?”

The collected bunch of girls shake their heads eagerly, causing Miss Chase to shake her head in exasperation. “You, stop bugging my girls. And girls, don’t encourage him. He’s terrible, even if he makes good eye candy.”

Miss Ramírez-Arellano blows her whistle loudly, cutting off any reply Mr. Jackson or one of the braver players might have attempted.

“Since Mr. Jackson has clearly decided that flirting with Miss Chase is so much more important than letting us finish on a strong note,” Miss Ramírez-Arellano says dryly, shooting Mr. Jackson a dirty look, “I think we’re done for the morning. Good work, ladies. Now, hit the showers!”

“You had five minutes left,” Mr. Jackson protests to Miss Ramírez-Arellano as the girls gather their things and start to trudge into the locker room. The tips of his ears have turned an adorable shade of pink. “I barely interrupted. And I wasn’t flirting, Reyna. I was gloating! Big difference.”

“Huge,” Miss Chase deadpans, taking another sip of her coffee.

Miss Ramírez-Arellano rolls her eyes, herding any lingering girls along. “Oh, if you say it is. It all looks the same to me. Just do us all a favor and date already, will you?

Perpetually late Mia’s the only one who catches
Mr. Jackson and Miss Chase’s reaction to that parting comment. The two look at each other in surprise, as if thought had never occurred to them before. Miss Chase looks away first, her cheeks turning a bright, tomato red as she murmurs a goodbye, and heads out of the gym; Mr. Jackson watches her go, a wistful expression on his face.

Holy crap.

Mia’s the last one who wants to believe Jenna’s anti-dating propaganda, but that look didn’t lie. Mr. Jackson and Miss Chase weren’t dating. They hadn’t been dating this entire time! But they were perfect for each other! And they were clearly attracted to each other! What were they waiting for?

“Wow,” Mia mutters to herself. “Can they be any more oblivious?”

“Yes,” Miss Ramírez-Arellano says from behind Mia, making the junior jump in surprise. The expression on her coach’s face is nothing short of long-suffering. “Now, get moving, Hernandez. I’m not writing you another pass if you’re late for first period again. I’ve had enough of Octavian’s whining this semester already.”

Chapter Text

“You should ask her out.”

With his attention split between watching the gnarled bartender prepare his drinks and monitoring the scrawl of college football scores on the flatscreens overhead, it takes Percy a moment to realize that comment had been directed at him. He blinks and glances to his left, where Piper McLean is now leaning against the bar with one elbow, a look that he would classify as meddlesome on her face.

“Sorry,” Percy replies, unsure if he’d heard her correctly. “I should ask who out?”

Piper rolls her eyes. “Annabeth, of course. Who else would I be talking about?”

Almost automatically, Percy looks over to the pool tables, where their group had settled earlier. Annabeth’s golden curls are a beacon in the bar’s dim lighting, spilling down her back instead of up in her usual ponytail, effortlessly drawing him in. God, she looks good tonight — hair down, cheeks flushed rosy with victory and laughter, in a blue dress that seems to get shorter and tighter as the night goes on.

On a good day, Percy can barely keep his eyes off her, but tonight? It’s a struggle to look away.

He’s pathetic, honestly, pining after the woman he’s madly attracted to like this. Almost as bad as some of the kids he teaches.

“I’m not going to ask her out,” Percy grumbles, allowing himself to watch Annabeth for one more moment before turning his attention back to Piper. He takes a long pull on his beer. “Why would I do that?”

“Because you’re in love with her, duh,” she replies, causing Percy to choke on his beer. “Oh, don’t act so surprised. I’ve seen the way you look at her when you think she won’t notice. We’ve all seen it.”

Percy wipes his chin with the back of his hand, clearing off any beer spittle, and glowers at Piper, who likes to think the fact that she teaches French means she has a better grasp on romance than the rest of them. This isn’t the first time that she’s cornered him to have a talk about Annabeth and his feelings, though she’s never been this blunt about it before.

“You sound like one of the kids, McLean. ‘Oh, they looked at each other, true love!’ C’mon. Annabeth and I are just friends. You know that.”

The bartender returns with the rest of his drink order. Percy pushes Piper’s whiskey and coke toward her before he pulls out his wallet out of his back pocket and hands over a few bills.

“Yeah, and I also know that you’re both in serious denial,” she says, taking a sip of her drink and humming, pleased. “Don’t tell me you’re scared to ask her. You can’t be, with all that grossly cute flirting you do all the time.”

Percy waves her off. “That? That’s to mess with the students. It’s not real.”

Piper stares at him, entirely unconvinced. Yeah, Percy knows how stupid it sounds — how stupid it actually is — but it’s the truth. Mostly.

“Jackson,” she says slowly, staring at him, “I don’t know if it’s escaped your notice or not, but there are no students here. And that dress?” She points in Annabeth’s direction with her drink. “That is not a dress you wear when you’re out with just friends. That’s a take me home and have your wicked way with me dress.”

Percy swallows, resolutely keeping his gaze away from Annabeth. He doesn’t have to look at her again to know what Piper means; he’s been unable to think of anything other than Annabeth in the dress all night.

She’d short circuited his brain the instant she’d taken her cardigan off, revealing that, in addition to be short and tight, her dress also had no back. He should’ve scaled back on the flirtatiousness, kept his hands to himself, but he hadn’t been able to stop himself — letting his hand linger on the small of her back, brushing his fingertips up her spine, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

It’s all innocent, compared to what he wants to do with her. Wicked way’s only the tip of the iceberg.

And Annabeth hasn’t told him to stop. If anything, she’s been encouraging him with sly smirks and heavy lidded glances; she’s even tried to help him line up a shot when they were playing pool by pressing against him and whispering tips in his ear. He couldn’t blame the influence of alcohol entirely — they were just about to start their third round and Annabeth was no lightweight.

“It is a nice dress,” Percy acknowledges, just to see the frustration bubble up on Piper’s face.

“I’m trying to do you a favor here, Jackson. She’s putting herself out there — for you,” she says, poking Percy in the chest. “Don’t get caught up in whatever dumb act you two have been staging for the last few months, and miss your chance. ‘Cause she might not give you another one.”

This time, when Percy glances over at Annabeth, she catches his gaze. He’s not sure what kind of look he has on his face, but it’s one that draws a surprisingly shy smile across Annabeth’s lips. She tucks her hair behind her ear, a habit he finds irresistible, and turns back to her conversation with Reyna, still smiling.

Piper’s right about one thing, at least. Annabeth’s come out to the bar tonight with a plan for him — for them — and the dress is only part of it.

“If I ask her,” Percy says at last, gathering up the drinks and rising from the bar stool, “then you better do yourself a favor and ask Jason out already.”

The blush that blooms on Piper’s dusky cheeks is faint, but there. Piper’s flirtation with Jason Grace, the world history teacher across the hall from her, is even more blatant and heated than his play flirting with Annabeth has ever been. Half the school’s convinced they’re going to walk in on a make-out session one day, which has led to some awkward and pointed lectures about appropriateness and fraternization from Reyna during the weekly staff meetings.

Piper leans forward, snatching Jason’s beer bottle out of his arms.

“Who says I haven’t?” she says with a wink, before walking back to their table, head held high.

Chapter Text

Okay, so.

Annabeth kinda… sorta… maybe slept with Percy Jackson over the weekend.

And by maybe, she means definitely. And by slept with, she means… well…

Well, it means she got a little tipsy, got a little naked, and had some positively bone melting sex with her handsome best friend slash co-worker into the wee hours of the night.

So there.

It’s not like she regrets it or anything. Honestly, the only regret she has is that the sex didn’t happen sooner because, wow, does Percy know his way around in the bedroom. She could’ve been sexing that man up on the regular months ago if she had just admitted to herself that her feelings for Percy extended beyond friendship. 

She’s (probably) not in love with him, but she does like him an awful lot. Even more now that she knows the feeling is mutual.

Not that they had talked about their feelings like rational adults afterwards or anything — Annabeth had sort of figured that had all been implied by the lazy, mostly naked Sunday they’d spent together. There’d been more fantastic sex, of course, but in-between that, Percy had cooked her breakfast, teased her about her giant owl slippers, curled up with her on the couch while they watched football in afternoon, and tried to steal her egg rolls when he thought she was too caught up grading papers to notice.  

And then there was the knee buckling kiss he’d given her on her doorstep when he’d left that night. Annabeth’s pretty sure he only left at all because he didn’t want to show up to work the next morning in rumpled, days old jeans and a shirt that was missing a few of its buttons. (She might’ve gotten a bit too enthusiastic about getting him naked the first time, all right?)

So, no. She doesn’t regret it.

But now it’s Monday morning and the first bell of the day has rung, Annabeth’s realizing that maybe, just maybe, she didn’t think this entire hook-up-with-a-fellow-teacher thing through properly.

Annabeth’s never slept with a co-worker before, let alone one she has to see first thing in the morning. She probably shouldn’t touch him, so what’s she supposed to say to him? Is it even appropriate to acknowledge it at all in the workplace setting? Should he be the one to bring up?

God help her if she needs to act causal, because she definitely isn’t capable of it today. She’s downright giddy at the thought of seeing Percy again, practically floating on air as she walks from her classroom toward the commons. It’s disgusting how excited she is, in all honesty. Her brain is probably still recovering from all the sex; it can’t be good to have that many orgasms in 24 hours, can it?

And that’s the other thing. How on earth is supposed to sit across from Percy for an entire hour and not think about the other night? About how he was the perfect height for kissing and how’d he’d found all her most sensitive spots so easily? Or how his body felt pressed up against her and moving inside her? Or, god, what his head had looked like between her legs, her hands threaded through his dark hair?

Her body warms at the mere thought of it and a flush crawls up her neck. Annabeth won’t be able to stop herself, that’s the problem. She might as well have a giant F for Finally Fucked Percy Jackson stamped on her forehead because everyone will know by the end of the day that she…

The jolt of horror that races through Annabeth is so powerful, she stops dead in the threshold of the commons, barely feeling the poor freshman who collides with her a second later.

The kids are going to know.

No matter how she acts, the second she and Percy are in the same room, they’re going to know. They’ll use their ridiculous, teenage drama sensing radars to infer that she saw their gym teacher buck ass naked over the weekend and they are going to lose it.

It’ll be pandemonium. The giggling, the gossiping, the texting… not to mention the awful smirks that are going to be on every single one of their faces throughout the day. She won’t be to walk through the halls without getting stared at, let alone be able to teach a productive class.

Oh, hell, she really did not think this through in the slightest.

Maybe it won’t be that big of a deal, Annabeth reasons, as she forces herself to walk toward her table, dread welling in her stomach. The Goode High student body had lost in their supposed relationship a few ago, once they’d noticed the sincerely hot and heavy flirting going on between Jason and Piper. How were she and Percy’s chaste little shoulder brushes supposed to keep up with Piper exchanging dirty French innuendos while Jason’s leaned invitingly against her classroom door frame?

She and Percy were old news. Surely they wouldn’t care now that something had actually happened between the two of them?

Ha.

Yeah, right.

That’s wishful thinking at it’s finest.

Annabeth sets her things down just as the second bell rings, eyeing the students rushing to their seats warily. None of them seem particularly interested in her this morning, which isn’t surprising. It is a Monday, after all, and most of them are probably still half-asleep.

She’s nearly finished through taking attendance when Percy strolls into the commons, herding some tardy seniors along in front of him. She stumbles over the last name (Zou, Charlotte) when she spots him. The sinful once over he gives her as he approaches nearly makes Annabeth drop her tablet.

She blushes furiously and immediately, indignation rising in her. For god’s sake, he can’t look at her like that when they’re in school. Especially not when he’s wearing that long-sleeved, muscle clinging Henley that drives her crazy and he’s all scruffy and grinning at her and ugh.

“Mornin’, Annabeth,” he says as he slides past her to plop into his seat. There’s a husky edge to his voice that makes her ache; the last time he’d sounded like that, he’d had her pressed against the wall, murmuring all sorts of enticing promises in her ear as he moved, thick and heavy, inside her.

Annabeth closes her eyes and takes a deep, steadying breath. How unfair is it that he’s barely touched her and she’s already a quivering mess?

She’s going to deserve a goddamn medal if she makes it through the day without dragging him into a closet to her have her way with him.  

“Percy,” she grumbles, knowing the intensity of her blush is impossible to hide. She checks off the late students and closes her attendance app. “You’re late.”

“Only a little,” Percy says with a shrug, his grin widening and causing a dimple to appear in his cheek. He holds up a large Starbucks cup and shakes it at her. “Besides, I got you some coffee. And one of those giant muffins you like.”

Sweet lord. After yesterday, he brings her coffee and a muffin while looking like that? Is he trying to ruin all men ever for her?

“Think you’ll forgive me for my tardiness?” he teases as she sits next to him. “Or will I have to do something else to make up for it?”

The little flirtation isn’t anything new, but the heat in his tone certainly is. Clearly, by something else, Percy means something irredeemably dirty. He isn’t even trying for casual, dammit, and — yes, that is definitely giggling she hears from the corner where the JV cheerleaders sit.

Percy Jackson is the absolute worst.

And, inexplicably, he’s hers.

It’s a thought that warms her in a totally different way. They still have to talk about it, but Annabeth knows, just knows that Percy is hers — finally. And honestly, she doesn’t care if the entire world knows it, let alone the kids in her study hall.

“The coffee will do. For now,” she says, leaning over to take the cup from him. She lets her fingers linger on his and presses a quick kiss to his cheek; she can practically hear the jaws dropping throughout the commons. “We can talk about the something else tonight.”