God, I could stay like this forever.
In his arm where I fit too perfectly, like I was meant to be here all along.
My heart's doing cartwheels, my cheeks are aching from trying not to smile like a total idiot.
Best girl.I know what he meant—friendly, harmless, platonic.
But what's the harm in pretending it could mean something more? Just for a second.
Just for me.
My little fantasy shatters the second a group of voices gets closer. Zach's arm slips off me as he turns, casual like it never meant anything.
Tyler's the first one I see—of course. He's got one arm clamped around a cheerleader's waist like she's an accessory he picked up on sale, the other hand twirling his car keys just to make sure everyone notices the Audi logo.
His letterman jacket hangs open to show off the fitted shirt underneath, muscles on full display like he's auditioning for a fitness ad. His smirk is the same one he always wears—lazy, smug, like he knows exactly how good-looking he is and thinks that's all the currency he'll ever need.
Tyler has that brand of arrogance people can spot a mile away—the kind where he doesn't have to say a word for them to know he thinks he's better than everyone.
Everything about him screams entitlement: the perfect fade haircut he probably checks in the mirror every period, the way he stands in the middle of the hall like traffic should just flow around him, and that permanent half-grin that looks less like a smile and more like he's daring the world to worship him.
"Yo, Z, you comin' or what? You're the captain, man—can't be bailing. Whole team's waiting on you." His eyes drag over me, slow and sharp, before he scoffs under his breath.
He's never liked me. Probably thinks I'm dragging Zach down from his perfect pedestal, messing with his golden-boy rep.
Status is currency to guys like him, and I'm definitely not in the right tax bracket.
Cody and Thomas chime in too, all hyped up.
"Dude, everyone's going to Jacob's. Come on."
"Yeah, we're celebrating. You're not bailing tonight, man. Not again."
Zach just chuckles, leaning back like it's nothing. "Can't. My best girl and I already have plans." He jerks his head toward me, and I swear my stomach somersaults.
That's when Cici struts over, arms crossed so tight you'd think she was trying to cut off circulation. She's got that resting queen-b look down to an art—chin tilted high, brows practically touching her hairline like she's judging the entire human race at once.
Her eyes land on me, and the snark practically drips.
"Oh, come on, Zach. You should come with us and actually celebrate. You guys played insane tonight against Easton. Don't waste your night with..." her gaze flicks over me like I'm something she stepped in, "...a nobody."
Tyler smirks, tightening his grip on Blondie. "Exactly. We destroyed Easton tonight, dude. You gotta admit, watching their goalie's face after that third-period hat trick? Priceless. Best feeling ever. You're seriously telling me you'd rather spend time with her than party with your teammates?"
Zach's jaw ticks.
That look flashes across his face—the one that screamscornered.Like he's stuck in some invisible chokehold, teammates on one side, me on the other. He doesn't say a word, but I know.
Ialwaysknow.
I've had seventeen years of practice reading those stupid, stupid silver eyes. He feels trapped. And he hates it.
And I hatethemfor it.
For making him the rope in their little tug-of-war. Tyler, with his smug, punch-me-now face. Cici, with her Barbie smile sharpened into a knife. Both circling Zach like vultures waiting for scraps.
My fingers curl so tight into my palms I'm pretty sure I've drawn blood. Because honestly? I'd love to swing at both of them. Just once. But no—I'm not violent. (Yet.) And I refuse to crawl into the mud with them. Zach doesn't need me adding fuel to this dumpster fire.
I swear Tyler and Cici are basically the same person. A perfect pair. A match made in heaven.No, that isn't right.More like amatch made in hellfire and cheap cologne.
