I collapse back into my seat, my heart pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat.
“Holy shit,” Mari whispers next to me, her eyes wide. “Did you just?—”
“Yep.” I can’t stop the smile spreading across my face.
“In front of the entire?—”
“Yep.”
“You know this is going to be all over social media in about thirty seconds, right?”
“Oh, it’s already happening,” Killian says, showing me his phone screen where notifications are lighting up faster than I can read them. “#HaynesDanceParty is trending.”
I should feel mortified. I should want to crawl undermy seat and disappear. Instead, I’m laughing—actually laughing—as Bishop scrolls through comments on his phone.
“‘Quarterback with the moves!’ ‘Who’s the lucky girl?’ ‘Did anyone else hear her yell back?’” he reads aloud. “Oh, and my personal favorite: ‘Is this what they mean by unnecessary celebration?’”
Mari bumps my shoulder. “So much for keeping things private, huh?”
“I guess when you’re dating a guy who makes grand gestures in front of thousands of people, privacy isn’t really an option,” I say, but there’s no regret in my voice. How could there be? This ridiculous, beautiful man just lip-synced a love song to me with his entire team backing him up.
The teams are lining up for kickoff now, and I can see Shepherd being lectured by Coach Wilson, who’s gesturing wildly at him while Shepherd just nods, looking completely unrepentant. I can’t hear what’s being said, but his expression tells me everything I need to know. He doesn’t regret a single moment of that performance.
“I can’t believe he did that,” I say, still feeling the aftershocks of what just happened. “For me.”
“Believe it,” Bishop says. “My brother has never done anything like that for anyone. Ever.”
“Never?” I ask, watching as Shepherd finally jogs down the sideline, putting his helmet on.
“Not even close,” Killian confirms. “Shepherd’s always been the serious one. The responsible one. The guy who follows rules and keeps his head down.”
“Until you,” Bishop adds with a laugh.
My heart feels too big for my chest as I watch Shepherd on the sideline.
“So,” Mari says, leaning close. “When exactly were you planning to tell me you’re in love with him?”
I feel heat rush to my face. “I wasn’t hiding it. I just…I didn’t know until right now.”
“Bullshit,” Killian mutters, grinning like he knows all my secrets. “Admit it. You’ve known for weeks.”
I hesitate, my fingers playing with the hem of my jersey. Maybe I have known for weeks but saying it out loud—especially in front of thousands of screaming fans—wasn’t exactly part of my plan. Then again, when has anything with Shepherd gone according to plan?
“Fine,” I admit, meeting Killian’s knowing gaze. “Maybe I’ve known for a while. But it’s not like I had a timeline for when I was going to say it.”
“Well, you certainly picked a memorable moment,” Mari says, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “Most people just text it or say it over dinner.”
Killian makes a gagging noise beside me. “God, you two deserve each other. Both completely hopeless romantics.”
“Says the guy who cried duringThe Notebook,” Bishop mutters.
“It was allergies!”
“In a movie theater?”
“Fuck you, Hop,” Killian hisses, but there’s no heat in his words as we all enjoy the moment.
I look back at the field where Shepherd is now focused on the game, all business despite what just happened. Even from here, I can see the intensity in his stance, the way he watches every play unfold with complete concentration. He seems unrattled by the spectacle he just created. While I’m still processing what happened, he’s already switched gears, focused entirely on the game ahead. But as engrossed as he is, I can tell the moment he remembers what just happened—what I just shouted—because his posture changes slightly. His shoulders straighten, his head lifts, and I can see he’s smiling.
