Then, suddenly, the big screen lit up right on me. I wasn’t surprised. In fact, I was shocked it didn’t happen earlier. My face filled the screen, my name echoing across the stadium speakers.
“Ladies and gentlemen, platinum-selling, award-winning artist, Ellie Miles!”
The crowd roared like I was center stage at one of my own shows. As if that wasn’t surreal enough, they started playing one of my songs.
My face flushed as Sawyer’s head snapped to the screen. He squinted into the lights, scanning the suite level until he found me. And the smile that spread across his face? Yeah, that would’ve made my knees weak if I weren’t already sitting down.
Rachel giggled and leaned in, cupping a hand over her mouth. “I think he might be a little smitten with you.”
I groaned under my breath, trying to keep my expression neutral. “Must you say that when my face is up there for thousands of people to see?”
“Of course.”
The music faded, and the players moved into position. I didn’t know much about football other than the basics. All I could see was that Sawyer was back on the field, all huge and focused.
He was like a damn boulder that had somehow sprouted legs and said,You know what? Maybe I’ll try the NFL.
They froze for a beat, and the stadium was weirdly quiet. Then, the ball snapped. Everything exploded into motion.
I had no clue what was happening.
There was yelling. Crashing. Bodies slamming into each other like a choreographed demolition derby. Then, someone dropped the ball. I was pretty sure that wasn’t supposed to happen.
One of the announcers bellowed over the loudspeakers. “Ball’s live! Ball’s on the ground!”
A collective gasp rippled through the crowd.
Players scrambled. People shouted. My heart launched into my throat.
And then, Sawyer grabbed the ball. Just…picked up the ball and ran.
Wait. He was running.
With the ball?
The announcer’s voice cracked with disbelief. “And it’s—number seventy-one, Sawyer James? The left tackle has the ball! It’s a live ball, and he’s running with it!”
I was on my feet before I realized it.
“Go, go, go!” I yelled, as if he could actually hear me over thousands of people screaming.
He bulldozed through one guy and twisted past another. It wasn’t graceful. It was wild, messy, and borderline impossible, but he kept going.
Twenty yards. Ten.
And—he was in the end zone.
Touchdown.
The entire stadium erupted. Fans were jumping, spilling drinks, and losing their collective minds. Teammates tackled him in celebration.
And me?
I was frozen.
Sawyer pulled off his helmet, chest heaving, sweat-slicked and grinning like a kid on Christmas morning. He did a silly little dance, and then he looked up right at me.
He blew me a kiss once again, as if we were the only two people in the entire stadium. Heat erupted over my entire face, down my neck, and Rachel clutched my arm.
