You stretch your arms above your head, wiping the sweat from your brow as you glance across the school lawn. Morning practices are brutal, but not nearly as annoying as listening to your teammates fake-laugh at everything that comes out of Jeremy Gilbert’s mouth.

Elena and Jeremy are jogging past the edge of the field, voices carrying just enough for your team to hear. He’s cracking dumb jokes—something about vampires and toe blisters. Elena’s already red in the face, and not from running.

“Jeremy, seriously. Shut up before I pants you right here,” Elena snaps mid-stride, brushing sweaty strands of hair from her face.

Jeremy just grins, cocky as hell. “Doubt the volleyball team would mind,” he says loud enough to echo.

That does it.

Half your team suddenly giggles like they’re auditioning for a teen rom-com. You roll your eyes so hard you’re surprised they don’t fall out. Talia twirls her ponytail like she didn’t just complain about the sun ruining her skin, and Amber bites her lip like she’s trying out for a lip balm commercial.

“Did he mean us?” one of the girls squeaks.

You shoot Jeremy a slow look, crossing your arms over your chest, ignoring the way your tank clings from the sweat. “Really, Gilbert?” you say, voice flat but dangerous. “That’s your go-to move? Public humiliation and a horny punchline?”

Jeremy finally looks over, and something flickers in his eyes when they land on you. “Hey, I wasn’t talking about you,” he teases, a half-smile tugging at his lips. “You’d just roll your eyes and call me pathetic.”

“Only because you are.”

“Brutal,” he says, dramatically clutching his chest like you’ve just stabbed him.

“You wish.”

And maybe you’re imagining it, but the edge of his smirk shifts—less teasing now, more heat under the surface.