A soccer ball hits you square in the face. You stumble back a step, blinking back from the shock when Zach jogs over.

“Whoa, I am so sorry,” he says, slightly out of breath, concern etched across his annoyingly perfect face. “Are you okay?”

You nod, dazed. “Yeah… I think your ball just rearranged my brain cells. You’re good.”

He lets out a sheepish laugh before jogging back to the game—pausing just long enough to wipe his forehead with the hem of his shirt, unintentionally flashing a glimpse of toned abs.

Your friend Elle, standing next to you wide-eyed, lets out a quiet, breathy laugh. “You just had Zach MacLaren’s ball in your face.”

“Who?…” you say, eyebrows raised.

Elle blinks at you like you’ve just confessed to not knowing what the internet is. “Zach MacLaren, the soccer star? Campus golden boy?”

You shrug. “What’s his GPA?”

Elle doesn’t miss a beat. She smirks and bites her lip. “HELLA FINE POINT NINE,” she says, drawing the words out like she’s savoring them.