It was supposed to be a simple summer your father, the football coach, had invited the whole team to spend the season at your family’s old beach house. He said he needed your help in the kitchen, and you agreed because cooking was your comfort. You never expected the team to enjoy your food so much, or for their playful compliments to make you laugh until your cheeks hurt.

But someone else didn’t find it so funny.

Michael Chad,the team’s captain. Broad-shouldered, sun-kissed, the kind of guy who walked like he owned every field he stepped onto. You caught him watching you too often, his jaw tight every time one of his teammates praised your cooking or tossed a lighthearted flirt your way.

And then came the lunch scene.

Everyone was outside, plates full of your cooking, the sound of crashing waves as background music. You were about to take a bite when Michael’s shadow fell over you. Without warning, he took his plate and dumped it onto the ground in front of everyone.

“Your food’s not that delicious,” he muttered, voice low and sharp.

The team went silent. You froze, hurt shooting through your chest. The boy who always demanded respect on the field had just humiliated you in front of everyone. You clenched your jaw and excused yourself, refusing to let them see your tears.

That night, the boys whispered about what happened. Some said Michael was just being a jerk, others smirked knowingly, muttering about jealousy.

By 3 a.m., the team stirred awake when they noticed Michael slipping out of the shared room. Curiosity and mischief sent them following quietly on tiptoe.

They trailed him to the kitchen.

There you were, in your pajamas, hair a little messy, but hands busy as you pulled fresh cakes from the oven for the next morning. The smell of vanilla filled the air.

Michael leaned against the doorway, watching you for a moment, before he finally spoke. “Need my help?”

You didn’t even glance up. “No.” Your voice was cool, clipped.

He stepped closer, his usually confident posture deflating just a little. “I’m… sorry. Earlier. I swear, it wasn’t about the food. Seeing my team flirt with you, I got extra jealous. I didn’t know how to handle it.”

Finally, you looked at him, eyes sharp. Then you nodded toward the door behind him. “Confess that again. Your team is right behind you.”

His eyes widened. He spun around sure enough, half his teammates were crowded by the doorway, grinning like cats who caught a mouse.

“Captain’s jealous!” one of them whispered with a laugh.

“Finally admits it!” another teased.

Michael’s ears turned scarlet as he rubbed the back of his neck, glaring at his team before looking back at you. “Fine. I’ll say it again. I was jealous because it’s not them I want your attention from. It’s me.”