He laughs, the sound low and breathless. I can't help it; I laugh too. It's ridiculous and perfect and completely mortifying.
Then he leans in and presses a gentle kiss to my forehead. Soft. Tender. The kind that steals every ounce of oxygen from the room.
The crowd loses its collective mind.
"KISS! KISS! KISS!"
The chant starts small, then spreads like wildfire until the whole arena's shaking with it.
My face burns. Zach's cheeks are pink too, but there's that smug grin tugging at his mouth—he's loving every second of this.
"He serenaded you, kiss him already!" someone yells.
Another voice joins: "Give the man what he earned!"
Then a third: "That's our co-captain! Don't leave him hanging!"
Zach lifts both shoulders, eyebrows raised, eyes sparkling with mischief.
He mouths,What should we do about this?
I narrow my eyes at him, muttering under my breath, "Don't act like you're not enjoying this, Westbrook."
His grin widens, cocky and sweet all at once. "Oh, trust me, baby," he murmurs, low enough that only I can hear, "I'm really enjoying this."
The chant doesn't die down. If anything, it gets louder—"KISS! KISS! KISS!" echoing through the arena like a stadium anthem.
And of course, Zach, being the menace he is, decides toencouragethem.
He raises one hand, grinning like a devil in hockey gear, egging them on with an exaggerated pump of his fist. "You heard 'em..." he says, his smile pure, infuriating showmanship.
I groan. "You're impossible."
He only smirks, winking down at me, mouthing,Come on, Sugarplum. Don't leave me hanging.
The crowd screams even louder.
And that's when I do it.
Before I can second-guess myself—before my brain even catches up—I reach up and press a quick kiss to his cheek.
It's soft. Fast. Barely there.
But the second my lips brush his skin, he freezes.
Completely.
His eyes go wide, like someone just told him Christmas came early.
Then—slowly, gloriously—his whole face lights up, so radiant it could outshine the arena lights themselves.
He looks like he's been hit by pure sunlight. Like his body forgot how to process joy in normal doses and is now overdosing on it.
When his gaze snaps back to me, his smile is so wide it's absurd—like a guy who just scored the winning goal, discovered the Holy Grail, and got kissed by his best friend all in the same breath.
The crowderupts again, shrieking, stomping, clapping.
And Zach? He just laughs—loud, boyish, disbelieving—still touching his cheek like he can't believe it happened.
