When the buzzer signaled a substitution, Jacob jogged back to the bench, sweat clinging to his jersey. Without thinking, I grabbed the nearest water bottle and towel, holding them out to him.
For a heartbeat, he hesitated—his eyes flicking from the bottle to my face as if to check whether this was real. Then, slowly, he smiled. Not the wide, careless grin he sometimes wore on the balcony, but a smaller, quieter one that felt like it belonged only to me.
He didn't say a word. Just took them, drank, wiped his face, and sat down beside me as though it was the most natural thing in the world.
It wasn't. Not for me. My pulse hammered, my fingers trembling in my lap. God, what was I doing? Why was I acting like his partner—like I belonged here, next to him?
Don't assume anything, I prayed silently. Please don't let him think—
But then my phone buzzed. One glance at the name on the screen, and my chest tightened.
Mark.
So he really sits beside you now. Guess it's true, then.
My vision went hot. Rage flared sharp and fast. How dare he? How dare he still watch me, accuse me—again and again—as if I'd betrayed something real between us, when he was the one who left me standing in the ruins of whispers?
This time, I didn't hesitate. My fingers flew across the screen:
Yes. Especially since he's more likeable than you.
Before doubt could claw at me, I hit send—and blocked his number.
The fury still simmered in my chest when a soft sound cut through it. A cough. I turned just in time to see Jacob choke slightly on his drink, nearly spilling water down his shirt.
"Are you okay?" I asked quickly, startled.
He nodded, clearing his throat, but as he set the bottle down, I caught it—the briefest twitch of his lips.
A smirk.
My heart stuttered.Did he just…?
Weeks slipped by after the tournament, but I still couldn't bring myself to meet Jacob's eyes. Every time his shadow passed in the hallway or his voice drifted down from the balcony, my chest tightened. None of this was his fault. It was mine—for letting my anger at Mark drag him into something he never asked for. Mine for typing those reckless words, declaring him "more likeable" without his consent.
I prayed he hadn't seen. God, I prayed he never would.
When I finally confessed everything to Keara, she didn't even blink. She threw her head back and laughed so loudly the entire café turned to stare.
"You—" she gasped between giggles, "you basically announced him as your boyfriend without even asking him?"
I buried my face in my hands. "Stop. Don't even say it like that."
But she wouldn't stop. She leaned across the table, eyes dancing with mischief. "Hallie, you have to let me meet him. Please. I need to see the guy who knocked the oh-so-ruthless editor off her pedestal."
"I hate you," I muttered.
"No, you don't," she sang, smug as ever. "You love me because I tell you the truth. And the truth is…" She tilted her head, savoring the words. "He's perfect for you."
I glared at her, wishing looks could kill. "You were the same person burning incense for Mark last year."
She waved her hand like she was dusting crumbs from a table. "That was last year. Mark was—" she scrunched her nose, "—safe. The boy next door. Easy to like. But Jacob?" Her grin sharpened. "He looks like trouble. The good kind."
I wanted to throw my coffee at her. "You don't even know him."
"Which is exactly why you should ask," she shot back. "What he likes, what his family's like, everything. Don't you dare waste this. Not when he's already letting you hand him towels like some basketball wife."
I cursed under my breath. She only laughed harder.