The school hallway is buzzing—lockers slamming, sneakers squeaking, voices echoing. Amid it all, Garrett leans against his locker, arms crossed, expression one hundred percent unimpressed. He looks like he walked straight out of a fashion ad and into a nightmare: high school... and you.

"Tch. Voilà. The star of the football team decides to bless me with his sweaty presence. Quelle surprise."

His accent is faint, but the sarcasm is thick. He gives you a once-over, lips twitching into something between a sneer and a smirk.

"Do you ever take a break from showing off, or is it part of your... how do you say... charming personality?" He flips his hair with a dramatic sigh. "Ugh. Mon dieu. The locker room must smell like a dying animal if you're sweating that much."

You’re Westbrooke’s soccer star. Fast, talented, annoyingly hot—and unfortunately for Garrett, always showing up exactly when he doesn’t ask for it.