Chapter 112 HATING THE HOCKEY CAPTAIN PART 2

Chapter 112 HATING THE HOCKEY CAPTAIN PART 2
Sara’s POV
He strolled in like he was walking a red carpet. His bag slung lazily over one shoulder, that confident smirk on his face, and his messy black hair falling perfectly over his forehead like it had been styled by the wind itself. He didn’t even look guilty for being late. Of course he didn’t.
The teacher barely glanced up. “Ah, Mr. King,” she said, smiling faintly. “Take a seat.”
That was it. No scolding. No lecture about punctuality. Nothing.
I stared in disbelief. If I had walked in late, she would’ve made me explain myself in front of the entire class. But Archer? He got a free pass—as always.
He looked around the room, searching for a seat. There were at least three empty ones, all not near me. So when his eyes found mine, my stomach dropped.
Please no. Please not here.
I tried to glare at him, hoping he’d get the message. But instead, that infuriating smirk stretched wider across his face, like he’d just found his favorite seat in the house.
He walked right toward me, slow and confident, and dropped into the empty chair behind mine.
Perfect. Just perfect.
The teacher kept talking, her voice blending with the sound of chalk against the board, but my mind was a mess. I could barely hear a word she said. My heartbeat was loud in my ears, steady and annoying, like it was trying to remind me that Archer was sitting just a few inches behind me.
I started tapping my pen against my notebook—tap, tap, tap—just to focus on something else. Anything else.
Then it happened.
A light kick against the back of my chair.
I froze. Maybe it was an accident. Maybe he moved his leg. I told myself to ignore it and bent down over my notes, pretending to write.
A few seconds later, another kick. Harder this time. My pen slipped, drawing a shaky, ugly line across the page.
I shut my eyes for a second and took a slow breath. He was doing this on purpose. Of course he was. I could practically feel him smiling behind me.
Finally, I turned halfway around in my seat and whispered, “Cut it out.”
He leaned forward slightly, his breath brushing the side of my neck. I caught that same cologne again—rich, dark, like smoke and something expensive I couldn’t name. It made my chest tighten, which only made me angrier.
“You’re tense, Sara,” he whispered, his voice low and teasing. “Maybe you need to relax.”
I glared at him, whispering back through gritted teeth. “Maybe you need to mind your business.”
He just smiled, slow and smug, before leaning back in his seat like he’d accomplished something.
The next few minutes dragged. I tried to listen to the lesson, but every sound he made—every shift, every quiet laugh under his breath—made it impossible to focus. I kept telling myself to ignore him, but then I felt a light tap on my shoulder.
I turned, already ready to snap at him, but stopped when I saw the small folded paper he was holding out.
Of course.
I snatched it from his hand and unfolded it under the desk. His handwriting was messy, slanted, confident—just like him.
Party tonight at my place. You should come.
I almost laughed right there.
Was he serious? Did he actually think I’d show up to one of his ridiculous mansion parties? The kind where all the spoiled rich kids pretended to be perfect while drinking cheap alcohol out of expensive glasses?
Not a chance.

I grabbed my pen and scribbled a big, angry NO across the paper, pressing so hard the tip almost tore through it. Then I underlined it once. Twice. Three times. Just to make sure he got the message. My heart was thudding, partly from irritation and partly because, deep down, I knew he’d probably find this funny.
I turned slightly in my seat, ready to toss it back at him, when a sharp voice cut through the air.
“Sara.”
Oh no.
The whole room went dead silent. I froze, my hand still halfway in the air.
The teacher was staring right at me, eyebrows raised and arms crossed. “Passing notes in my class? To your boyfriend, I assume?”
A few people snickered. My stomach dropped.
“What? He’s not—” I started, my voice shaky, but she didn’t even let me finish.
“Both of you. Detention. After school.”
The words hit me like a slap. Laughter spread through the classroom—low whispers, muffled giggles. I could feel my face heating up until I was sure I looked like a tomato.
I turned around slowly, glaring at Archer. He just leaned back in his chair, looking way too calm for someone who’d just gotten detention. Then, of course, he smirked.
“Guess we’re spending more time together,” he whispered, eyes glinting with amusement.
I wanted to throw my pen at his head.
I had never been in detention before. Not once. I was the quiet one, the rule-follower, the girl who teachers liked because she didn’t cause trouble. And now—because of him, the arrogant, stupidly handsome hockey captain who thought the world revolved around him—I was stuck in detention. On a Friday.
The rest of the class dragged on forever. Every tick of the clock felt louder than the teacher’s voice. My notebook stayed blank, my thoughts spinning around one annoying, impossible truth:
Archer King was trouble.
And somehow, I’d just gotten myself caught right in the middle of it.