“And no need to check the rule book,” she adds with a playful smirk. “There’s nothing saying I can’t play.”
More laughter follows, and I can see her relax a little at the sound.
She takes a breath, and her voice turns more serious. “Resilience isn’t about being unbreakable. It’s about knowing you’re cracked and showing up anyway.”
The room quiets as she speaks, her words landing with weight. She talks about what it means to fight for a spot on the team, to fight for this scholarship, and how the battle won’t end until CSU is in the playoffs. She thanks the donors, saying that without their support, she wouldn’t be standing there, chasing her dream.
By the time she finishes, the room erupts in applause and cheers. I can’t help but beam as she steps away from the podium, her eyes scanning the crowd until they land on me.
I give her a thumbs-up, and she smiles, relief and pride written all over her face.
We mingle a bit more, though it’s clear we’re both ready to call it a night. Coach catches my eye from across the room and gives me a subtle nod—the signal that we’re good to go.
I lean down to whisper in Dylan’s ear. “Still up for tacos?”
She glances up at me, her lips curving into a grin. “Thought you’d never ask.”
We hit up this little taco place not far from the house, tucked into a corner of the street that always smells like grilled onions and fresh tortillas. The minute we walk in, Dylan’s eyes flicker over the neon lights and the buzzing crowd like she’s been craving this exact thing all night.
A waitress swings by, handing us menus we don’t need because we already know the plan.
“Fajitas for two?” I ask, glancing across the table at her.
“With all the extras,” Dylan says, already pulling her hair into a loose bun. “And the virgin margaritas—lime, obviously.”
“Obviously,” I echo, grinning.
“Oh, and the churros,” she adds, like she almost forgot. “With the chocolate sauce. You don’t get to skip that.”
I laugh. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
The waitress jots it down, giving us both a knowing smile. By the time the sizzling fajita platter arrives, we’re half a margarita deep, and the place is alive with conversation and music.
Dylan grabs a tortilla, spreading guacamole over it with the back of a spoon. “So,” she says casually, “what did you think of tonight?”
I shrug, watching her scoop a handful of peppers onto her tortilla. “It was good. I mean, your speech was amazing, so that’s a win.”
“Yeah, it went well, I think,” she teases, shooting me a sly grin. “Hopefully, I at least made a decent impression.”
“Decent? You were charming as hell.”
Dylan snorts into her drink, and I can’t help but laugh with her.
“What about school? You settling in?” I ask, rolling up my fajita.
“Eh, it’s alright. Classes are fine. Professors are boring.” She takes a bite, chewing thoughtfully before adding, “The only real excitement is you and the guys.”
That catches me off guard, and for a second, all I can do is smile. “Same.”
We work our way through the fajitas, talking about professors, classmates, and everything in between. When the churros finallyarrive, we’re leaning close over the table, dipping the crispy pieces into thick chocolate sauce, grinning like idiots.
“These are dangerous,” I say, licking a bit of chocolate off my thumb.
“You’re welcome,” she says smugly, popping the last bite into her mouth.
Once the plates are cleared, I take a slow sip of my margarita, gathering my thoughts. I meet her gaze from across the table, feeling a mix of anticipation and nerves.
“So...” I start, keeping my tone light, “you wanna come back to my place tonight?”
