A stiff arm, a quick cutback, and then there's nothing but open field. I can hear the crowd losing their minds, feel my teammates sprinting to catch up, but all I focus on is the end zone ahead.
I cross the goal line, sealing the game, cementing our perfect season.
The stadium is wild, bodies packed in every seat, fans screaming so loud, it rattles in my chest. The scoreboard flashes bright, the final seconds ticking off as the ref signals touchdown.
My touchdown.
The last one of the regular season.
The one that guarantees our undefeated record.
A wave of noise crashes over me—cheering, music, my teammates swarming in, smacking my helmet, yanking me into their excitement. I should be soaking it in, should be celebrating, should be letting the weight of what we just did settle in my bones.
But I'm already looking for her.
My eyes cut to the stands, searching, scanning, like I'm on autopilot, like I already know exactly where she is.
And the second I find her?—
I run.
I don't stop to think about cameras, or reporters, or what anyone might say. I barely hear my teammates yelling after me. All I know is that Madison is standing at the railing, eyes locked on mine, lips parted, her hands gripping the metal like she doesn't even realize she's bracing herself.
Like she knows what's coming.
I reach the sideline, grab the railing, and haul myself up.
Her gasp barely makes it out before I crush my mouth to hers, kissing her like I just won the whole damn world.
Because I did.
Madison stiffens for half a second before melting, her fingers clutching at my jersey, pulling me closer, holding on. She tastes like cherry ChapStick and something uniquely her, and I swear, I could get drunk on it.
The noise around us swells—cheers, whistles, laughter from my teammates who are losing their damn minds—but I don't care.
Because she's kissing me back.
I pull back just enough to rest my forehead against hers, my breath coming hard and fast. "Told you you're my good luck charm."
She rolls her eyes, but her lips curls up into a smile, her fingers still tangled in my jersey, like she's not ready to let go yet.
Neither am I, but I have to.
I drop down, sending her one last look before jogging back toward the tunnel, my pulse still racing, but for an entirely different reason now.
This season? It's everything I ever wanted. I'm playing the best football of my life. We're undefeated. My name is all over draft boards.
But none of it—none of it—compares to her.
—--
The energy post-game in the locker room is contagious.
Guys are hyped, music is blasting, everyone riding the adrenaline of this perfect season. Coach gives his speech, pride evident in his voice as he tells us how far we've come, but he reminds us our work isn't done yet. Playoffs are a whole new season, he says. Everything resets to zero.
But tonight? Tonight, we celebrate.
I'm stripping off my pads, still feeling that buzz from the field, from her, when I hear it.
