His Curvy Obsession

Chapter 4

The gossip network in a high school hallway moves faster than a puck on fresh ice.

The moment my eyes landed on that black hockey puck with the word RESERVED scrawled in silver ink, the air in the room evaporated.

Asher didn’t look away. He leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers against his desk in a slow, rhythmic pattern that felt like a countdown.

His dark eyes were filled with a smug, territorial satisfaction that made my blood run hot and cold all at once. He really thought he owned me just because he’d let me feel his heartbeat yesterday.

“Is this seat taken, or are we staging a hockey intervention?” a smooth, unfamiliar voice baritone drawled from right behind me.

I whipped around so fast my backpack slung sideways, nearly taking out a girl’s pencil case.

Standing in the doorway was a guy who looked like he had just walked off a high-end sports magazine cover. He was tall—easily matching Asher’s height—with messy sandy-blonde hair, sharp gray eyes, and an easy, effortless grin that was a stark contrast to Asher’s brooding scowl. But it was his jacket that made the entire classroom collectively hold its breath.

It wasn’t our school’s navy and gold. It was the crimson and black varsity jacket of Silverwood Prep—our fiercest, most bitter rivals on the ice.

“You’re in the wrong school, aren’t you?” I blurted out before my brain could filter my mouth.

The blonde guy chuckled, his gray eyes crinkling at the corners as his gaze swept over me, lingering just long enough on my face to make a sudden warmth creep up my cheeks. “Just transferred in today, actually. Family moved across the district line.” He extended a hand, his grin widening. “I’m Cole. Cole Sterling.”

Cole Sterling. The name hit the room like a lightning strike. Even I knew who he was. He was the star forward who had single-handedly broken Oakridge’s winning streak in the state qualifiers last season. He was Asher Vanguard’s ultimate nemesis on the ice, and now he was standing in our AP English classroom.

“Elena,” I murmured, reluctantly shaking his hand. His grip was warm and firm.

“Well, Elena,” Cole said, his eyes shifting past my shoulder toward the back row, his smile turning distinctly teasing. “It looks like the local wildlife left a toy on that desk, but I don’t see a name on it.”

Before I could reply, the heavy sound of a chair screeching violently against the floorboards echoed through the room.

Asher was on his feet. The playful, smug expression he had worn a second ago was completely gone, replaced by a raw, volatile hostility that made him look twice as large and ten times more dangerous.

He strode down the aisle, his heavy boots thudding against the floor until he stopped right beside me, his shoulder brushing mine as he stared Cole down.

“Sterling,” Asher spat, his voice dropping into a lethal, low growl that vibrated right through me. “What the hell are you doing in my school?”

“Living rent-free in your head, apparently,” Cole replied smoothly, not flinching an inch. He dropped his duffel bag onto a nearby desk, entirely unbothered by the heavy aura of violence radiating off the hockey captain. “I go here now, Vanguard. Try to keep up.”

“You don’t sit there,” Asher said, pointing a rigid finger toward the empty desk with the puck. His eyes flicked down to me, a fierce, obsessive darkness swirling in them. “And you don’t talk to her.”

Cole raised an eyebrow, a mocking glint in his gray eyes. “Oh? Is she your girlfriend?” He looked back at me, his voice softening into a deliberately charming tone. “Are you with this caveman, Elena? Because you look a little too smart to be handling his baggage.”

A few students gasped. Nobody spoke to Asher Vanguard like that. Nobody.

My heart was pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs. I was trapped between two towering hockey gods who looked ready to tear the classroom apart, and every single eye in the school was watching the drama unfold.

The sheer tension of it made my skin prickle, but the sheer absurdity of them fighting over a desk—and over me—ignited a spark of defiance.

“I am not anyone’s baggage,” I said loudly, stepping directly between them, forcing them both to look down at me. “And I don’t belong to either of you.”

I marched straight past Asher, walked to the back row, and stared down at the black hockey puck sitting on the desk. Asher turned around, watching me with a tense, unreadable expression, his chest heaving under his shirt.

With a tight smile, I picked up the puck, tossed it lightly in my hand, and dropped it right into Asher’s open palm as he walked back to his seat.

“Thanks for saving the seat, partner,” I said clearly, making sure the whole class could hear. “Now sit down before Mrs. Gable gives you another detention.”

A collective murmur went through the room. Asher stared at the puck in his hand, then up at me, a dangerous, thrilling smirk slowly fighting its way onto his lips. He liked the fight. He liked that I didn’t just bow down to him.

“As you wish, Vance,” he murmured, his voice laced with a dark, private promise that made my stomach do a wild flip.

He slid into his chair, his knee intentionally brushing against mine under the shared space of our desks, sending a jolt of electricity straight up my spine.

Cole watched the exchange from the front of the room, his gray eyes narrowing slightly before his easy, confident grin returned. He took an empty seat across the aisle, catching my eye and giving me a slow, playful wink.

Just as Mrs. Gable walked through the door, slamming her briefcase onto the podium to start class, my phone buzzed in my hoodie pocket.

I surreptitiously slid it out beneath the edge of the desk. It was an unknown number, but I knew exactly who it was the moment I read the text.

Unknown: I told you to sit next to me. I didn’t say you could flirt with the trash from Silverwood. You’re mine to torment, Elena. Remember that.

I felt a heavy stare burning into the side of my face. I looked over. Asher was staring at me, his fingers resting casually on his jaw, his dark eyes locked onto mine with a fierce, unyielding obsession.

Before I could even think of a reply, another shadow fell over my desk. A small, folded piece of notebook paper slid across the wood from the left aisle. I opened it tightly under my desk.

In neat, cursive handwriting, it read:

He looks like he’s about to bite. If you need a rescue from the monster after school, I’ve got a much faster car. - Cole

My breath hitched. I was firmly caught in the crosshairs of the two biggest rivals in the state, and senior year had just become a war zone.

Just then, the school intercom suddenly crackles to life, and the principal’s voice echoes through the room: “Will Elena Vance and Asher Vanguard report to the main office immediately. Bring your belongings.”

Asher’s jaw drops as he looks at his phone, a sudden flash of genuine panic crossing his face.