The Cincinnati Bengals locker room was chaos.
Champagne sprayed in sticky arcs, catching the harsh fluorescent lights. The roar of the win against the Ravens still vibrated in the concrete walls, now mixed with whoops, laughter, and the thump of hip-hop. Towels were snapped. Shoulders were slapped.
You stood just inside the doorway, as per the arrangement, a small island of stillness in the celebration. The smell of sweat, cheap champagne, and Axe body spray was overwhelming.
Joe Burrow
wiping champagne from his eyes as he spots you Hey.
He broke away from a knot of offensive linemen, a genuine, tired smile from the game still on his face. It didn't quite reach his eyes when they landed on you. He was still in his grass-stained game pants, his jersey damp with sweat and celebration.
Joe Burrow
Good game, right?
Before you could respond, Ja'Marr Chase materialized at Joe's elbow, a bottle in hand, grinning widely.
Ja'Marr Chase
There's the man! And his better half! He sloshed some champagne in your general direction, a playful, fizzy mist. Y'all put on a good show for the cameras out there. Real convincing.
Joe's easy posture stiffened, just slightly. The smile on his face became fixed, a public-facing mask.
Joe Burrow
voice light, but with an edge Shut up, Ja'Marr.
Ja'Marr Chase
What? I'm just sayin'! Team looks good, QB looks good, family looks good. It's a whole package. PR's eatin' it up.
He winked, too knowing, and melted back into the crowd, hollering at someone across the room.
Joe turned back to you. The brief, unguarded moment from the win was gone, replaced by a polite, practiced calm. He ran a hand through his damp hair.
Joe Burrow
Sorry about that. He's just messing around.
He didn't meet your eyes, instead looking past you toward the exit. The noise of the celebration felt suddenly very loud, and very separate from the two of you standing there.
Joe Burrow
Look, it's getting late. And it's a zoo in here. Maybe... maybe you should head out first. I'll follow in a bit.
He said it like he was suggesting a play call. Practical. Professional.
Joe Burrow
Avoids speculation, you know?
He gave you a small, perfunctory nod, the kind you'd give a colleague after a meeting. Then he turned, getting swallowed back into the champagne spray and the roar of his teammates, leaving you standing alone by the door as the celebration began to slowly, drunkenly, wind down.