I spotted Penn immediately when we arrived. Sandy-blond hair, tall in his saddle, that genuine smile that you can't help but mirror when it's pinned on you. Our eyes met across the field, and just like on our FaceTime calls, my face flushed. Except, this time, our exchange wasn't private; it was public. And his gaze didn't go unnoticed.
It took Trigger Hale exactly one second to track the source of Penn's smile. When his eyes found me on the benches, clearly not in the hall decorating for the dance, something unrecognizable flickered across his face. Our eyes locked for a moment longer than comfortable.
Then his eyes swept over me, slowly, deliberately, and I could practicallyfeelthe path they traced. Heat instantly started blooming across my skin as his attention lingered on the deep V of my navy cap-sleeve body suit. My pulse kicked up even more as his gaze dropped lower, taking note of the light-washed bell-bottoms that hugged every one of my curves in a way the school-issued plaid skirt never could. I watched his jaw tighten almost imperceptibly. He knew. Without a word being spoken, Trigger knew I wasn't here to watch Ridgewood, but instead to watch someone else.
Satisfaction burned through me. I got in his head, but the win was short lived because something else twisted there too.Something I couldn't name because it felt wrong. His jaw tightened as he turned away, shoulders set in a way that looked suspiciously like jealousy. Which was impossible. Trigger Hale didn't get jealous over me.
That thought has had me wound tight the entire game. Trigger Hale can't be jealous. What I saw was anger, pure shock that I ditched my duties for Penn Hadley. I wanted that reaction, planned for it. But anger alone wouldn't keep pulling his eyes back to me, wouldn't have us locked in this silent game of watching and being watched. And the worst part? The idea that he might actually be jealous shouldn't send heat through my chest. But it does.
"Hey, what did I miss?" Emma says, stepping in front of me as she reclaims her seat on my right.
"You mean besides the entire last chukker?" She looks at the scoreboard and then back to me.
"So, nothing. We're still tied."
"What took you so long?"
"There was a line." I furrow my brow, looking past her to the bathroom. There's only one chukker left, and we're tied. A bathroom line seems odd. "Only one toilet was working. So, seven more minutes…" She anxiously drums on her thighs. "And then you get to meet Penn."
"Yeah," I say with a fake smile. I'm notnot excited, but damn it, tonight is not at all going as I thought it would.
Penn is everything I thought he'd be, and I haven't even met him yet. We have the same ambitions, same drive, same ridiculous GPA, and finding that relentless dedication in a guy feels rare. At our age, most guys are chasing other forms of validation.
Then there's Trigger. Every stolen glance burns, everyaccidentaltouch when we're in student council meetings sends electricity straight through me. He's chaos with a heartbeat,turning every shared space into a war zone where I'm my own worst enemy. It's because of him I'm even at Ridgewood. He's always been the opposition. But my traitorous body doesn't seem to care that I hate him. Just because he's the enemy doesn't mean I'm blind to the way he fills out his letterman's jacket, all dark eyes and dangerous edges. Trigger Hale is trouble in human form, and I'm apparently a masochist.
And then there’s my pen pal, who's gone radio silent. Zero texts since the game, which makes no sense, considering the exchange we shared right before the game. I sent him a picture during the divot stomping at halftime, and he didn't respond. The sudden silence has been gnawing at me the entire game, only serving as a reminder of why I've chosen to keep to myself all these years at school. My head is a literal mess, and I'm supposed to be having fun. Instead, I'm sitting in the center of three storms, wondering which one will hit me first.
Emma smacks my thigh and murmurs, "Look," through clenched teeth.
My eyes snap to the field where I catch Penn looking directly at me. He touches the brim of his helmet in the smallest of gestures and flashes me a big smile that has my cheeks instantly warming from the attention.
However, his isn’t the only gaze trained on me. I feel it before my eyes slide over to his. From across the field, Trigger is watching too. His horse stands as still as stone beneath him, but his eyes are fixed on me with an intensity that makes my entire body hum. When he realizes I am looking back, something raw and unguarded passes across his face. He knows I want nothing to do with him, but ever since he's arrived at Ridgewood, he's made it his mission to torment me and drive me crazy. That's when it occurs to me…I'm playing right into his hand.
The goody-goody who doesn't color outside the lines, always following the rules. It never occurs to people that maybe Ichoosestructure. It isn't my prison. It's my power. Every assignment completed, every commitment honored, every goal achieved is something I can stand on later. It won't fade away.
I tear my gaze away from his with a renewed vengeance igniting in my veins. I've taken the backseat and dutifully played the VP role, building my case against him, but I'm done waiting patiently. I'm taking what's mine. Whatever moments I thought existed between us were never really real; they were manufactured to keep me in line.
Penn intercepts a pass at midfield, and I find myself leaning forward as he drives his horse toward the goal. Trigger is thundering alongside him in pursuit. The two of them are perfectly matched, their horses neck and neck, and for a moment, it feels like the entire match has narrowed down to this, Penn and Trigger, racing not just for the goal but for something else entirely.
Then at the last second, Trigger hooks Penn's mallet with his own, stealing the ball. In one fluid motion, he sends it sailing between the goalposts just as the final horn sounds.
"Holy shit!" Emma jumps out of her seat with the rest of the crowd as everyone celebrates our homecoming victory.
I watch as our team heads toward the pony lines, and then I see Penn sitting motionless on his horse, disappointment clear in his posture. No one likes to lose, but when he finally looks up, his eyes once again find me in the stands, and his expression shifts. The loss hitting differently because while he may not have won, at least he gets to see me. He trots over to the pony line and hands his horse off to one of his teammates before crossing the field. They all watch, and the anger I had felt seconds ago fades quickly, replaced with giddy excitement at his grand gesture of running off the field, his destination clear: me.
"I'll meet up with you in a bit. I'm going to go meet up with Philip," Emma says, tucking a strand of hair behind herear and ducking off into the crowd before I can respond. She's been acting sketchy all day. After she told me about tonight and Penn's plan, I thought things would level out, but if anything, she's only been acting more strange.
Big arms wrap around me, lifting me off the ground before I can give it any more thought. "How is it possible you're even prettier in person?" Penn says as he spins me in a circle.
"If you set me down so I can get a good look at you, I might say the same thing," I tease, breathless from the spinning or maybe from the way his arms feel wrapped around me.
"Sorry, I couldn't help myself." He sets me on my feet, steadying me with one hand on my waist while quickly taking a sign from a guy nearby who's gone in a blur. His hair is damp with sweat, curling slightly at his temples, and there's a flush across his cheekbones from the match. "Plus, I needed to give my friend a chance to give me this." He turns the sign around, and I catch the nervous flicker in his eyes before he masks it with that confident smile. "You're my main goal. Homecoming?"
My eyes go wide. "You don't like dances."
"I only said that to throw you off my trail." His tongue darts out and sweeps over his bottom lip. "Say yes."
A big goofy smile takes over my face as warmth floods through me. I nod my head and manage, "Yes," my voice barely carrying over the small crowd around us clapping in celebration. I'm once again swooped up in his arms, and this time, I notice how his heart pounds against my palm where it rests on his chest. "What if I had said no?" I ask on a laugh.
