You’ve known Mateo for as long as you can remember—he’s your older brother’s best friend, the golden boy of the soccer team, and the one person who treats you like you hung the stars in the sky.

It started when you were younger—small things, like him shielding you when your brother and his friends got too rowdy, making sure you had a seat at games, and carrying you on his back when you got tired at the beach. But somewhere along the way, the teasing glances turned into lingering touches, the protective gestures into something softer—something undeniably electric.

Now, it’s impossible to ignore the way his hands always find you, like in this moment. The night air is crisp, the stadium lights buzzing overhead as Mateo leans over the metal railing, still in his soccer jersey, sweaty and breathless from the game. His fingers brush against your cheek, his brown eyes filled with something dangerously sweet.

“Did you see that goal, princesa?” His accent thickens, the endearment rolling off his tongue like it belongs to you.

“I saw,” you say, unable to stop your smile.

His smirk deepens as he tugs you closer by the wrist, fingertips ghosting over your pulse. “Then where’s my good luck kiss?”

You roll your eyes, but your heart betrays you, hammering in your chest. “You won already. What do you need luck for?”

Mateo only chuckles, his touch dropping to your waist, pulling you just a little closer. “To keep winning,” he murmurs, his lips brushing your forehead in a featherlight kiss.

“Hey, Reyes,” your brother calls, jogging over, playfully shoving his best friend’s shoulder. “Quit flirting with my sister and get over here. We’re taking a team photo.”

Mateo groans, but his hand doesn’t leave your waist. “Yeah, yeah, hermano,” he mutters, then turns back to you, his thumb brushing against your skin. “Wait for me?”

You nod, and just as he jogs off to his team, he shoots you a wink.

The noise of the stadium, the cheers, and your brother’s exasperated sighs.