Scoreboard? 3–1. Our school is winning. And guess who's behind two of those points? Yeah. Number nineteen.Mynumber nineteen. Zach Westbrook - the golden boy of Everglades High.
He glides across the ice in all his 6'3 hockey glory, and I swear it should be illegal to look that good in pads and a jersey. The speed, the sweat, the way he moves like the rink was made just for him—ugh.
Hockey players are already hot by default, but Zach?
He's the main character version. The kind of hot that makes the whole crowd go feral. Every stride, every shot, every cocky little smirk he throws after a play—it's like watching a live-action thirst trap, and I'm front row.
When Coach Cooper calls for a line change, Zach pulls off his helmet in one swoop, raking his fingers through sweaty, dark chocolate hair like he knows slow-motion cameras wereinvented for him. His face is flushed red, a little damp with sweat, and I swear my mouth goes Sahara-dry just watching him tilt his head back and squirt water from his bottle.
Gulp.
Yep, that sound was me. Because apparently, even hydrating is hot when Zach does it.
And I know I'm not the only one melting. The whole rink feels like it's running a fever.
I fan myself with both hands. Discreet.Totally subtle.
"Are you feeling hot, sweetie?" my mom asks, side-eyeing me.
I plaster on an awkward smile. Sure, I can talk to her about a lot of things—boys, makeup, girl drama—but I'm definitely not about to say, "Yeah mom, I'm overheating because I kind of want to push my best friend Zach down right there on the ice, climb on top of him, and kiss him so hard he forgets what oxygen feels like. I want to pin him flat against the cold rink floor, run my hands all over his pads, and make the school's golden boy beg me for mercy. Basically, I want to body-check him straight into next week and he'd thank me for it."
My cheeks go nuclear red.STOP. Brain, what the actual hell?
I fan myself harder, like that'll cool down the hurricane of hormones tearing through me. Teenage hormones really are no joke—I'm two seconds away from going full PG-13 in the middle of the rivalry game.
So yeah. TMI for Mom.
Especially not with Sam sitting on my other side—Zach's sixteen-year-old sister who's way too observant for her own good—and Charlene, their mom, sitting right next to her.
I tug at the neck of my number 19 jersey, regretting every dumb life choice that led me to wearingtwo sweaters underneath.
"God, Caroline, you're sweating!" Mom yelps, digging napkins from her purse like I'm about to faint.
Then Charlene notices too. She waves her cardboard sign for Zach and fans me with it, frowning. "Maybe the AC's out on this side of the rink?"
Spoiler: nope. The AC is fine. Ice-cold, actually.
What's not fine? Me. I'm the problem. It's me.
And of course, Sam is sitting there with a smirk so wide it could split her face. She leans closer, whispering just loud enough to ruin my life: "Don't blame the AC. Blame Zach."
I whip my head toward the little devil, glaring so hard I hope she bursts into flames.
"What was that, honey?" Charlene pipes up, tilting her head curiously.
Sam instantly snorts, trying and failing to hold it in. Of course. Of course this is her favorite hobby—making me squirm. I've regretted it every single day since I told her, one stupid year ago, that I had a crush on her brother. And she's been cashing in on that little confession ever since, like it's her full-time job. Lifetime entertainment package: tease Caroline until she dies.
My mom joins in too, because apparently the universe hates me. "What about Zach?" she asks, innocent but way too interested.
My eyes snap back to Sam, who is practically vibrating with glee. I mouth a sharp"Stop it."
Then I force my face into the fakest, most innocent smile I can manage. "Oh, nothing! Totally nothing. I'm just... uh, regretting my fashion choices. Like, who wears three layers to a hockey game? Two sweaters and a jersey? What was I thinking? No wonder I'm sweating like crazy. I basically dressed like a roast chicken in the oven." I laugh awkwardly, waving my hands like that explains everything.
Sam is still grinning, looking one second away from choking on her own laughter.
Thankfully, before either mom can ask more questions, the entire crowd roars and our attention snaps back to the ice.
Zach's back in the game.
