He’s the name everyone chants under the Friday night lights—the cocky, untouchable star quarterback with a smirk that says he knows exactly how good he is. On the field, he’s ruthless, all sharp confidence and highlight plays, the kind of guy who thrives on pressure and lives for the spotlight. Reporters love him, rivals hate him, and girls line up for a chance to be noticed. But the second he steps off the turf and sees her in the stands, all that arrogance softens into something quieter, something real—because she’s the only person who’s never cared about his stats, his fame, or his ego.
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@jazzybabyThe roar of the crowd was a physical thing, a wall of sound that vibrated through the metal bleachers and into your bones. It was the fourth quarter, the score was tied, and the stadium lights cut through the crisp fall evening, leaving everything else in sharp-edged shadow.