CHAPTER TEN #3
"Bring the girls," someone else laughs, glancing at the cheerleaders already glued to half the team.
The guys all start hyping it up—talking about keg stands, blasting music, "first win of the season, boys!"—the usual.
And Zach?
Still has Cici hanging off his arm like a leech, twirling a strand of her hair around her finger like she thinks it's some kind of siren call.
He keeps trying to peel her off—shaking his shoulder, shifting his arm—but geez, she's like gum stuck to a shoe. The more he pulls, the more she clings.
I roll my eyes so hard I nearly sprain them. Cici has this idea that because she's cheer captain and Zach's hockey captain, the universe destined them to be Everglades High's it couple. As if titles make her his girlfriend.
Please!
I huff, crossing my arms. My inner sass-monster wants to scream: that title is mine. Technically, it already is. I'm Zach's girl-friend.
Okay, fine—I'm a girl and a friend. Big deal.
But we both know how this ends. Sooner or later, those two words will crash together. It's inevitable.
Tyler's rambling to him again about Jacob's party. I silently groan. Any day now, Westbrook. I'm literally right here.
Zach looks like he's only half alive—his eyes are darting, scanning the crowd like he's searching for air in a suffocating room.
And then—bam—his eyes catch mine. Silver, but not ordinary silver. No, these were molten galaxies, spun from stardust and lightning, shimmering like they'd been carved by gods too bored with perfection.
His whole face lights up, relief flooding in as if he's just spotted the one person he's been dying to see.
"Sugarplum!" His voice is all warmth and affection, and finally—finally—he shakes Cici's claws off and cuts straight past his teammates.
His eyes hit me so hard I swear I blacked out for a millisecond. Everything else went fuzzy, like someone pressed the background blur filter, and suddenly it was just him—those laser-beam orbs hijacking my nervous system like I'd been hardwired to him.
My lungs clocked out. My heart staged a riot.
Those eyes weren't just looking at me—they were claiming me, dazzling me straight into oblivion.
So much so, I didn't even register he'd moved. Not a step, not a shift—nothing. One second he was across the hall, the next...
"There you are," he breathes, right in front of me now.
I nearly choke.
Damn those stupid, unfair, hypnotic eyes. Always doing this—turning me into a glitching robot every time he looks at me.
"Hey," I perk up the second his shadow falls over me, way too fast, like one of those pathetic puppies that nearly break their necks racing to the door when their owner comes home. That's me, every damn time Zach shows up.
Subtle? Absolutely not. I might as well have a neon sign blinking hopelessly in love across my forehead.
"Where's Mom and Sam? And your mom? Weren't we supposed to go to Giuseppe's together?"
"About that... uh, they had to head home right away."
"Why?" His voice dips with the slightest tinge of disappointment, but I catch it.
"Sam wasn't feeling so good right before the game ended," I say, concern lacing every word. "I think her fever spiked up again."
Sam had been running hot two nights ago, but nothing—nothing—was going to keep her from her brother's game. She would've crawled in on her hands and knees if she had to. Missing Zach's first game of the season just wasn't an option in her mind.
He could be playing in a backyard scrimmage and she'd still act like it was the Stanley Cup finals. That's just how she is about him—he takes the ice, she's there, no excuses. Always.
Zach's expression shifts instantly, worry cutting across his features. "What?" His voice pitches higher.
His hand adjusts the duffel strap on his shoulder, then rakes up to press against his forehead, like he's trying to steady the rising panic he can't quite keep down.
"Is she… she's okay, right?"
I step closer, laying my hand on his upper arm. "She's fine, Zach. Really. She was still making her usual sassy jokes before they left."
What I don't mention is that the joke was about how shamelessly I was drooling over him earlier. That one she filed under sister blackmail material.
The relief that washes over him is almost comical—shoulders loosening, air leaving his chest in a heavy sigh as his mouth quirks into a half-smile. Yeah, he's smiling now, but I know him.
I've known him literally since before we could walk—hell, our moms practically handed us off like two-for-one newborns in the hospital. So I can read him better than anyone, and right now that smile is covering the fact that he's dying to bolt straight home.
"Let's go," I say, nudging him. "We should head home."
His brows pinch. "What? No. Weren't we going to Giuseppe's?"
"Pffft." I flick my hand like he's ridiculous.
"You really think I don't know what's going on in that thick hockey skull of yours?
I'd bet a dollar that what you really want to do right now is barge into your little sister's bedroom, stick a thermometer in her face, slap on one of those cold patches, and then hover over her like some wannabe doctor until she kicks you out. "
Zach makes a face. "Hey, I never hover."
I smirk. "Uh, yes, you do, Westbrook. You're like... the human version of a drone."
Zach squints at me, mock-serious. "You do realize it scares me sometimes how well you know me, right?"
I spread my arms. "What can I say? I pay attention."
"Yeah, because you're a stalker."
"Excuse me—observant."
He smirks. "Obsessive."
"Over protective," I counter.
We just stare at each other for a beat before we both crack up, laughter bouncing between us until Zach finally sighs, rolling his eyes.
"Fine, fine—you win. Like always."
"Obviously." I tilt my chin smugly.
He shakes his head, but there's a smile tugging at his lips. "But... are you sure it's okay we're not going to Guiseppe's? It's our tradition."
I lift one shoulder, scrunching my nose in a playful shrug. "We can always go next time. Missing one day isn't the end of the world. Pretty sure Guiseppe won't cry himself to sleep over it."
That earns me a snort.
Then Zach steps closer, his presence filling up every inch of space, and casually slings an arm around my shoulders, tugging me snug against his side. "You're my best girl ever, you know that?" he murmurs, pressing a quick kiss to the top of my head.
And just like that, I melt.
Completely.
Like ice cream under the sun—zero chance of holding it together. My lungs tighten, my stomach flips, and all I can do is breathe him in.
He smells stupidly good, like clean laundry mixed with cedarwood and a hint of something darker—musk and maybe his cologne—that makes my brain short-circuit.
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 screams cornered. 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.
I always know.