“Nah, man, she’s stuck on him. I’ll put my money on Tiffani and Caleb breaking up. Girl looked thirsty at practice yesterday.”
Someone behind me snorted. “You’re all idiots. Only bet worth making? Which cheerleader’s gonna be wearing my jacket by Friday.”
They laughed. It was clear the cheerleaders weren’t girls to them, just trophies with ponytails.
I didn’t join in. Mostly because I didn’t give a damn about their bets.
Partly becauseI was too busy staring across the field.
She was there—the cheerleader with a smile that looked like she’d stolen it from a summer day. Navy blue bow in her sun-kissed hair. Hands on her hips. Not a ponytail trophy. No, she stood too divine for that. She watched practice with a laser focus that made it feel like she saw everything.
Including me.
But she won’t look at me.
Dio mio, I’d been at this preppy school for all of three days. Nothing. Not a look. Not a word.
Not even when I left flowers in her locker, hid them in her books, or dropped them on her lap during class.
The feral, possessive part of me wanted to run up to her, drape my arm around her shoulder, and make sure all these sweaty fuckers knew that she was mine.
Mine. Per sempre.
The whistle blew. I tore my eyes away and locked into formation.
“Set—hut!”
The ball snapped, lines crashed, and I broke free of the defender clinging to my jersey. The QB launched a perfect spiral. It smacked into my hands. I tucked it and sprinted.
Someone lunged for me. He missed.
Another dove low. I hurdled over him.
A third tried to grab my shoulder pads and got dragged six feet before giving up.
The whistle sliced the air. The field went dead quiet in its wake.
I shook myself off, watching as bits of turf fell to the ground. Risking a peep toward the girls, I saw the flock of pretty birds gaping at us—at me.
The boys started to mutter.
“Holy shit.”
“Who the hell is this freak?”
“Bro—BRO—did you see that?”
Coach didn’t say anything at first. Just stared like he was recalibrating the whole season’s strategy in his head. Finally, he pointed at me.
“First string. Get over there.”
And that was how it was done.
That waswhen the cheerleaders cheered—not for the team, but for me, definitely for me. The way the golden smiled? It hit different. It was a secret, knowing smirk playing on her glossy lips.
The jocks kept talking smack, still placing bets like idiots. But I didn’t care.
I was here to win.
