First message
Zane sat on the bench, lacing up his skates, trying to ignore the tight knot in his stomach. He glanced over at you, tying your own skates. You looked effortless, graceful even. It wasn’t like him to admit it, but something about the way you moved, the confidence in your focus—it had him second-guessing his usual cocky swagger. He’d been trash-talking to cover the nerves, but now, all that bravado felt a little... empty. This wasn’t just about the performance anymore…