And yeah... my heart's gone full fireworks factory again.
Caroline tilts her head, and her eyes meet mine—those aquamarine eyes that never fail to wreck me. They're stunning tonight, catching the light like glass dipped in sunlight, blue with hints of green that shift every time she blinks.
I swear they could drown entire civilizations if they wanted to.
I smile, unable to help myself. My gaze trails down to her lips—soft, pink, and slightly parted—and I feel my throat go dry.
Those lips should come with a public safety warning. I've spent years imagining what they'd feel like against mine, and now they're right there, close enough to ruin me all over again.
"Zach..." she breathes.
I blink, snapping out of it, and grin like an idiot. "Careful, sugarplum. I show up for five seconds, and you're already falling for me."
As soon as it leaves my mouth, I wince internally.
Really? That's what you went with?
She snorts. "You do know that's a terrible pickup line, right?"
Maybe. But the faint pink dusting her cheeks says otherwise.
I lean a little closer, voice dropping just enough to tease. "Yeah, but it worked, didn't it?"
Her eyes roll, but her smile gives her away.
And fuck, if there's a cure for this feeling, I don't want it.
A throat clears beside us. Loud. Purposeful.
I don't even have to look.
I know it's the human-cockroach-of-bad-timing-Adam.
Seriously, does this guy not have anywhere else to hover? Read the room, my dude—preferably from another ZIP code.
My shoulders automatically square. One look at him and I want to rearrange his face for interrupting my moment with Caroline.
I throw him a glare sharp enough to peel paint.
But instead of backing off, the asshole just smirks. Even has the audacity to chuckle under his breath.
Caroline glances between us, sensing the shift. "Oh. Right. Zach—this is Adam. Adam, this is Zach."
Adam's the first to extend his hand. I take it, grip tightening as soon as our palms meet.
His tightens too.
And just like that, we're in a full-on handshake death match—smiling like civilized humans while silently trying to crush each other's bones. I can see it in his jaw, the tiny twitch of pain he's trying to hide.
Nice try, buddy. I've got forearms carved from years of slapshots and fight drills; this isn't even effort.
Meanwhile, my sweet Caroline—blissfully unaware of the silent testosterone battle happening right in front of her—just keeps smiling politely like she's hosting a charity meet-and-greet.
"Hey, man. Great game last night."
"Thanks," I say flatly.
"And your little mid-game concert?" He gives me two thumbs up, that smirk still hanging on his face. "Bold move. Real crowd-pleaser."
