Love me like a sin stepbrother

CHAPTER ONE

The male lead had just pinned the heroine to the wall when my alarm went off.

"No." I groaned, swiping at my phone. "No, not now."

Just two more paragraphs to see where this was going. My eyes raced across the page.

*His hand slid up her thigh, rough fingers catching the hem of her skirt—*

The alarm went off again. I'd hit snooze. "Oh Emery, you're like an idiot." I muttered to myself.

"Shit."

I dog-eared the page. I know, I KNOW, it's a crime against books, but desperate times y'know. I shoved the paperback into my oversized cardigan pocket. It barely fit, the pocket sagging under the weight. Whatever. I didn't have time.

Ten minutes until game time. If I didn't leave now, someone might take my usual seat at the front row.

The one I'd claimed every home game for the past six months, where Zayn Blackwood might actually notice me.

I caught my reflection in the mirror above my desk as I grabbed my bag. The freckles stared back at me—covering my nose and cheeks like they always did. My hair, which could only be described as tragic. The fact that I was sixteen and still hadn't been kissed, and probably wouldn't be until I was thirty.

I touched my face like pressing hard enough would make the freckles disappear.

But those stupid tiny things didn't.

My phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number.

*"I know what you're doing, freak. Stop going to his games or everyone finds out."*

My eyes flew wide. There was a photo attached. It was me, sitting in my usual seat from last week's game, staring at Zayn.

Someone was watching me.

I should stay home, lock my door, delete every photo. But my fingers were already grabbing my bag.

Screw whoever this was. I wasn't going to live in fear.

Outside, the late afternoon sun was already fading. I could hear the buzz of students heading toward the rink. If I ran, I could actually make it.

So I ran.

I got to the rink, my lungs burning, my sneakers bouncing as I hurried down the pavement toward the entrance.

I breathed out in relief when I saw my seat empty.

"Phew," I said as I positioned myself in the seat.

I glanced around nervously. Was someone actually watching me right now? Taking another photo to prove I didn't listen?

Whatever. Let them watch.

My eyes scanned the ice, hoping I'd catch a glimpse of Zayn warming up. He'd probably be adjusting his helmet while licking candy, those broad shoulders that filled out his jersey, and the way he tapped his stick three times before every face-off.

I blushed to myself. I knew him too well.

God, how could I not, when he looked exactly like my favorite book boyfriend.

My blush turned into a big frown when I realized something.

Number seventeen. I searched the ice, the bench, everywhere. Nothing.

Are you kidding me? The only