Ezekiel's POV
Everyone thinks being me is a cakewalk.
They notice the varsity jacket, the captain's badge, the cheerleaders who slip phone numbers through my locker vents, the professors who overlook my tardiness because I'm carrying the team to state. They witness the game footage, the scoring drives, the confidence I wear like armor.
Sure, I lean into that reputation. It's worked perfectly since I was a freshman.
But there's something they miss completely, something I'd never confess to anyone. The highlight of my entire day isn't crossing the goal line. It's not the stadium erupting or even bringing home victories.
It's watching Ximena Garcia lose her cool when I push her buttons.
I know I shouldn't get this much satisfaction from it. She's Anton's sister, his twin actually. That should make her completely untouchable. But damn, she makes it irresistible. The way her face turns crimson, how she grips things so tight her knuckles go white, those razor-sharp comebacks she fires back. Ximena's walking around with zero emotional armor. Vulnerable as they come.
And I can't stop myself from seeing how much pressure it takes before she explodes.
This morning proved my point perfectly.
Anton and I were supposed to head straight to morning drills, but I convinced him to stop at home first. Stepping into their kitchen always feels strange. I can't pinpoint exactly why. Maybe it's because I can sense how badly Ximena wishes I'd evaporate.
She stood at the island, attacking a piece of bread with butter like it had insulted her family.
Baggy sleep shirt, tangled hair, toes curled against the cold floor. For a heartbeat, I considered keeping my mouth shut.
Just a heartbeat.
"Good morning, beautiful," I said, propping myself against the doorframe.
Her spine went rigid immediately. Like touching a live wire.
"Stop calling me that," she said through gritted teeth, refusing to meet my gaze.
"What's wrong with a friendly greeting?"
She practically threw her eyes back so hard I thought they might stick.
Anton chuckled, completely missing the tension. "Just ignore her attitude, man."
But ignoring her was never an option for me. Never would be.
That's when I spotted her breakfast and couldn't help myself. "Loading up on carbs again?"
She dropped the butter knife like she wanted to launch it at my head.
"God, do you have nothing better to do than monitor my meals?"
And there it was. That spark of fury in her dark eyes, the way her voice went up an octave on nothing.
She had no clue she was feeding me exactly what I craved.
Her focus.
Here's what Ximena doesn't get about me. She assumes I mess with her because I'm bored, or because cruelty comes naturally to me. But it's way more complicated than that.
I'm aware of her.
More aware than is smart.
And being this tuned in to her presence is playing with fire.
Because Ximena isn't like the other girls who orbit around me. She doesn't giggle when I pass in the halls or flip her hair hoping I'll notice. She doesn't want a single thing from me.
Except maybe my complete absence from her life.
And that only makes me want to needle her more. It makes me crave her attention, even when that attention comes wrapped in irritation. When she's furious with me, at least I know I exist in her world.
School gives me even better opportunities.
During lunch, Anton and I had the entire offensive line dying over some ridiculous story when I caught sight of her across the cafeteria. Always the corner table, always trying to blend into the background with Glenda, like invisibility is her superpower.
But I don't let her stay invisible.
"Yo, Anton!" I called out loud enough for half the room to hear. "Better protect your lunch money or your sister will clean out your wallet at the vending machine."
The guys cracked up. Mission accomplished.
I watched her shoulders curl inward, saw her hand freeze with the fork halfway to her lips. She kept her head down, but I knew my words hit their target. Knew they stung exactly how I intended.
Maybe that does make me a complete bastard. But something about her silence drives me crazy.
Like she's bottling up all these feelings, and I'm the only person who knows the combination to unlock them.
Anton's completely blind to it. For him, Ximena is just background noise.
His twin, his quiet shadow, the sister he takes for granted. He doesn't catch the way she flinches when people laugh, or how she wraps her sweatshirt around herself like protection.
But I catch everything.
I notice it all.
And sometimes I think maybe that's exactly why I keep pushing her boundaries. Because if I stopped, she might disappear completely, and nobody else would even realize she was gone.
Afternoon practice should have cleared my head of everything Ximena-related. Usually does. Once I'm between the lines, the rest of the world fades away. The sound of cleats on turf, the impact of tackles, the guys shouting plays, it all becomes white noise.
Except today was different.
Today, even during wind sprints, all I could think about was the way she looked at me over her breakfast, cheeks burning, eyes blazing with frustration.
And then I remembered something else. Something that's been eating at me.
The way her gaze had wandered. She thought she was being sneaky, but I caught her checking me out.
Her eyes had drifted across my arms, my torso.
She assumes I'm oblivious, but I see everything when it comes to her.
And that realization follows me home, sticks with me through dinner, keeps me awake.
That night, staring at my ceiling, I try convincing myself it doesn't mean anything. Ximena's just reactive, that's her nature. She responds to me because I know which buttons to press. If she didn't react, I'd probably get bored and move on.
But I'm not getting bored.
The opposite is happening.
I'm becoming obsessed.
I want to discover her breaking point. I want to see what happens when she finally stops holding back all that fire.
I want to know if that intensity burns just as bright when it's not anger driving it.
The following morning, I catch her looking again.
She doesn't think I notice. I'm laughing at Anton's joke, head thrown back, and when I glance her direction, her attention is fixed on me. Not with hatred. Not with annoyance. Just pure observation.
For one dangerous moment, it feels like she actually sees me.
Not the star athlete. Not her brother's best friend.
Not the guy who won't stop tormenting her.
Just Ezekiel.
Our eyes meet, and something shifts in the air between us. She looks trapped, exposed.
For once, I don't smirk or make a joke. For once, I just hold her gaze.
But then reality crashes back, and I fall back on old habits.
"Enjoying the view, sunshine?"
Her face goes nuclear. "You wish."
But I heard her breath catch. I saw how long it took her to look away.
And that's when the truth hits me like a blindside tackle.
Tormenting Ximena Garcia stopped being entertainment a long time ago.
Now it's a compulsion.
And eventually, it's going to destroy everything.