CHAPTER TWENTY-seven #7
My thoughts scatter instantly, wild and traitorous, sketching a crystal-clear image in my mind: Zach stepping out of my bathroom, hair wet, steam curling around him, water sliding down his chest, a towel hanging low on his hips.
Heat rushes up my neck so fast it makes me dizzy.
My knees press together under the desk, like that'll stop my brain from going places it absolutely should not be going right now.
I tear my gaze back to my notes, gripping my pen so hard it nearly snaps, anything to keep from looking at him again — but he's still there, close enough to feel, that cocky grin telling me he knows exactly what I'm thinking.
"Sugarplum," he drawls, clearly reading every thought on my face. "You're blushing."
"I am not," I snap, but it comes out too soft, too breathless.
The corner of his mouth tilts up, a slow, almost sinful curve that sends a shiver racing down my spine. "You so are. You're thinking about it, aren't you?"
I whip my head toward him, cheeks blazing, ready to deny it—but the professor walks in, clapping her hands for everyone to settle, and just like that — poof — the moment's gone.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
ZACH
Class finally ends, and thank God, because I was two seconds away from clawing my own eyes out.
I'm not even supposed to be here — Theater History isn't exactly on my course load — but sitting through ninety minutes of the driest lecture known to mankind might be a new personal record for torture.
And that's saying something, considering I once had to sit through a mandatory NCAA compliance seminar on tax filing.
But somehow, I didn't even think about nodding off.
Couldn't.
Because Caroline was right there.
Every time she leaned over her notebook to scribble something down, my eyes followed. Every time she tucked her hair behind her ear, I caught myself staring like a creep.
God, it was like high school all over again. Me, sitting next to her in every class, passing notes, getting kicked under the desk because I was making her laugh too hard.
Only now it hits different. Stronger. Like I've been starving for this for three years and just remembered what it feels like.
The second the professor dismissed us, I was on my feet, falling into step with her before she could escape.
"Alright, hear me out," I say, jogging a half-step to keep pace as we head toward the door. "Dining hall. Lunch. My treat."
"Zach—" she starts, already giving me that tone, the one that means no way in hell.
I press a hand to my chest like I'm swearing on the Bible. "Thirty minutes max. Promise. I'll even set a timer on my phone."
Caroline glances over her shoulder at Lucy, who's trailing behind us, clearly trying not to eavesdrop and failing spectacularly.
"I can't just ditch my friend, Zach," she says. "And don't you have a class in, like, forty minutes?"
"Lucy can come too," I say without missing a beat.
I flash her the signature Westbrook smile — the one that's gotten me out of trouble with professors and into pretty much every girl's good side.
"Right, Lu? You'll eat with us."
Lucy blinks like she's been caught in a spotlight. Then, just like I knew she would, she nods quickly, cheeks pink. "Uh—yeah. Sure."
I gesture between them, triumphant. "See? Lucy's in. So that's two yeses — which means you're outnumbered."
Caroline folds her arms, skeptical but not completely unmoved. Her lips twitch like she's trying not to smile, which is as good as a victory lap in my book.
"Come on, sugarplum," I coax, waggling my brows for good measure. "It's just lunch. You sit, you eat, you make fun of me for ordering three entrees — which, let's be real, is inevitable — and then you can go back to ignoring me for the rest of the day. Everybody wins."
Lucy actually laughs, covering her mouth, and I catch Caroline fighting her own grin before she schools her face back to neutral.
Caroline opens her mouth — and I swear she's this close to saying yes — when some guy appears on her other side out of nowhere, sliding into step like he's been there the whole damn time.
"Hey, Care," he says, flashing her this easy, soft smile that makes my stomach twist.
Before I can even process what's happening, he's got an arm hooked casually over her shoulders like he owns the right.
What. The. Actual. Hell.
Naturally, I wait for her to shove it off. Roll her eyes. Do something.
Except... she doesn't.
Instead, she beams at him.
"Adam!" she says, all bright and happy, like she just found a puppy. "Where were you? You missed class!"
Oh great. Adam. Of course he has a name.
The guy — Adam — grins, all sheepish like he's charming and not currently ruining my life. "Slept through my alarm."
"Again?" she teases, bumping her shoulder into his — like this is a thing they do. "You're lucky Professor Chen wasn't in the mood for a pop quiz today."
Adam pumps a fist. "See? I told you this week was my lucky week!"
She actually laughs. Laughs. Like the cute, light, bell kind of laugh that's supposed to be reserved for me.
My blood pressure spikes so hard I'm pretty sure I can hear my pulse in my ears.
Who the hell is this guy?
My fists curl so tight my knuckles ache. His arm stays there, casual as hell, and every second it does feels like a personal attack — like I'm standing here watching him spray-paint his name across her back.
I have to fight the urge to break it clean off.
Because why the hell does he get to do that — touch her, get that close — when I can't? When I haven't earned the right back yet?
Finally, Adam glances my way, totally unfazed by the death stare I'm giving him.
"Hey," he says casually, like we're just two bros chilling. "Westbrook, right? You're on the hockey team?"
"Yeah." My voice is flat.
"Cool, man." He nods, then promptly turns his attention right back to Caroline, like I'm wallpaper.
And that's when I catch it — the way he's looking at her. His gaze lingers too long, softens too much, like he's memorizing her face.
My jaw locks, heat flaring in my chest. Oh, hell no. I know that look.
That's the look of a guy who thinks he's got a shot. The kind of look that says he wants one.
Every muscle in me tenses, fighting the urge to grab him by the hoodie and slam him against the lockers. To snarl, she's not yours to look at like that. She's mine.
Okay, technically... she's not.
Not yet.
But she will be.
And there is no universe where I just stand here and let some random dude give her heart-eyes like he's auditioning for boyfriend of the year.
He checks his watch. "So, should we head to the studio now? I think Callahan's already there."
Caroline's eyes go wide. "Oh god, you're right." She taps her forehead. "I totally forgot we're supposed to meet her at noon."
She glances at me then, hesitant, and I already know what's coming. My shoulders sag.
"Uh, Zach..."
I force a grin, casual as I can make it when what I really want to do is throw Adam into the nearest trash can. "It's cool. Rain check?"
"Rain check," she says softly, and just like that, she's walking away — arm still under Adam's.
Perfect. Just perfect.
I stand there like an idiot for a beat, watching them go, my jaw so tight it could cut glass.
Great. Now I get to spend the rest of the day picturing that guy's arm draped over my girl while she laughs at all his dumb jokes.
I shove my hands into my pockets before I do something stupid, like march over there and rip his arm off at the socket.
Nope. Can't do that. Bad idea.
What I can do?
Figure out who the hell Adam is.
Full name. Class schedule. GPA. Favorite cereal. Blood type. Every single embarrassing post he's ever made on social media — I want it all.
Hell, I might just run a full FBI-level background check on this guy tonight.
No — scratch that — full-blown CIA operation.
I need to know what I'm up against. If I'm going to fight for Caroline, I'm not walking in blind this time.
I want his stats, his hobbies, the last time he got a haircut, his entire dating history — I wanna know if I'm going up against a choir boy or a closet heartbreaker.
Because I'm done standing on the sidelines, waiting for someone else to shoot their shot with her. Look how that turned out last time — total disaster.
Not again.
This time? I'm staking my claim. Loud. Unmistakable. The kind of obvious that makes every guy on campus take one look at her and know she's already spoken for — even if we technically aren't. Not yet.
Hell, I'll make a damn PowerPoint presentation if I have to. "Why Caroline Is Already Taken — Featuring Yours Truly."
Yeah. Totally not losing it. Totally normal.
And it hits me — is this how she felt?
All those times she saw me with other girls — at parties, in the hallways, flirting, laughing — did it feel like this? Like her chest's in a vice and her brain's screaming to go punch a wall just to get the pressure out?
God. It had to have been worse for her.
Adam's probably just a friend and I still want to throw him into a locker. Caroline thought every single girl I was with was my hookup.
I drag a hand through my hair, jaw tight.
I deserve this — every spike of jealousy, every second of this slow burn eating me alive — because I'm just now getting a taste of what I put her through for years.
I stalk off in the opposite direction, jaw still tight, every step buzzing with pent-up frustration. Screw sulking alone — I need backup.
I yank out my phone and open the PUCK BUDDIES group chat.
ME
Boys. We have a situation.
LUKE
Uh oh. What did you do this time?
ME
Not me this time. Some dude might be trying to steal my girl.
CODY
??????
KENTARO
Then deal with it.
ME
Wow, thanks for the emotional support, Kent.
KENTARO
??
LIAM
Hold up. Your girl? Since when did you have a girl?
LUKE
Yeah, last I checked you were single.
LIAM
So wait... is this Taylor we're talking about?
ME
It's not Taylor. Jesus. It's Caroline. My best friend.
CODY
Bro. You're tapping two chicks? Taylor AND your best friend? Respect. ??