The crowd erupts, but it barely registers.
His thumb brushes my cheekbone, familiar now. I kiss him back without hesitation, without confusion, without pretending this is anything less than what it is.
When we part, our foreheads rest together for a beat, both of us breathing hard.
His eyes search mine—not claiming, not performing.
Checking.
I smile, soft and shaky.
And that’s when the fear slips back in.
Because wanting something doesn’t make it safe.
Because choosing him doesn’t mean he’s choosing me the same way.
I turn toward the cameras, my smile widening as I step back into the role they expect.
Inside, though, I’m already retreating.
Already guarding.
Already afraid that I just chose something that can hurt me.
Chapter twenty-four
Cam
The locker room is louder than the stadium.
Not in volume. In closeness. In the way sound ricochets off tile and metal and sweaty bodies until there’s nowhere to hide.
I step inside and the air hits me—steam, deodorant, victory, testosterone, and somebody’s cologne trying way too hard.
“Drake!”
I don’t even make it to my locker.
“My guy!” Devon’s voice booms from somewhere near the showers. “Look at Mr. Romance out there!”
A chorus of laughter answers him.
“Bro, you two looked like a movie poster,” someone adds.
Another voice, high and gleeful: “That kiss? That was straight-up cinema.”
I keep walking. Helmet in hand. Eyes forward. Like if I don’t react, the moment can’t stick to me.
“Careful,” A rookie calls, and I can hear the grin in his tone even before I see him. “Pop stars get bored fast. But hey—great publicity while it lasts.”
I force a half-smile, the kind that shows teeth without showing anything real.
“Good game,” I say to no one in particular.
It’s a dodge. It’s all I’ve got.
They keep talking. Not cruel. Not malicious. Just dumb and happy and unaware of where the cracks are.
