“Hey,” I say before my brain can catch up to the fact that my mouth is moving.
Jacob turns his head toward me, and when he smiles I actually feel my brain short-circuit a little.
“Oh, hey,” he replies. His voice is so deep and so smooth. It kind of just rumbles through you.
“How’s your semester going so far?” I ask, trying not to sound like an awkward middle schooler.
Jacob gives a soft little hum and leans back in his seat slightly, the motion effortless and far too graceful for a guy wearing a hoodie with a stain on the sleeve. “It’s good. Busy but good. You ready for the game this weekend?”
That question flips a switch in me becauseyes. Game talk is my zone. My safe place. I can talk hockey and completely ignore the fact that Hughie’s brother is hot as fuck.
Immediately, I light up like someone pressed play on my highlight reel. “Yeah, man. We’ve been practicing systems all week, and it’s been clicking better than it has all season. The energy in the locker room’s actually solid for once. I think we’re gonna show out.”
Jacob nods, clearly interested even if I know I’m rambling. “Sounds like it’s gonna be a good one.”
I grin. “I mean, we still have to get through a game without any of our teammates fighting but…I have my hopes up.”
He laughs, and I have to actively stop myself from looking at his mouth when he does it.
The professor walks in then, calling the class to attention with the usual whiteboard click and shuffle. I’m just about to shift into Notetaking Mode when he drops a bomb.
“For your upcoming project, you’ll be partnered with whoever you’re sitting beside.”
A few students groan at the announcement. There's a soft shuffle of panic across the lecture hall as backpacks rustling, chairs creaking, and that one girl in the front row audibly whispering “shit” as she eyes the guy beside her like he just personally ruined her GPA.
Some people move. A couple try to swap seats like it’s musical fucking chairs.
But me?
I glance sideways at Jacob, heart weirdly thudding against my ribs like I’m about to be picked for dodgeball in elementary school and I really want to be on the cool kid’s team.
He’s already looking at me.
And when our eyes meet, he gives this half-smile and shrugs like,guess we’re stuck with each other now.
And okay, it shouldn’t feel like winning the goddamn lottery, but it kind of does.
“I guess we’re partners,” I say, trying to sound chill while my insides are doing cartwheels.
“Guess so,” Jacob replies, tone light. “You free Sunday?”
“Uh…” I mentally scan my calendar, which, let’s be real, is just hockey, lifting, and trying not to flunk Econ. “Yeah, Sunday works. We’ve only got evening skate, so I’m free during the day.”
He nods with a knowing smile because he obviously knows the hockey teams schedule. “Cool. Let’s plan to meet up late morning, maybe around eleven?”
“Sounds good,” I say, and then realize I sound too eager, so I cough like an idiot and throw in a way-too-casual, “Cool, yeah.”
We gather our stuff as class wraps and Jacob’s shoulder brushes mine as we move into the hallway, and the contact is brief but electric, like static shock that zings straight to my spine.
He waves at me before turning down a different hall, and I swear my brain short-circuits for a second becausewhat the actual fuck is happening to me?
I’m walking toward the locker room, grinning like a dumbass over a group project. I think I need a cold shower. Or maybe a reality check. Probably both.
11
Jacob
I’ve changedmy shirt four fucking times.
