I never thought I'd get caught up.

Not in a girl, anyway. Not like this.

I mean, yeah, I’ve been around. No point lying. Half the campus knows my face and not just from football posters. But I never lied to anyone, never promised things I couldn’t give. I treated them well. Respect, always. Just didn’t do the whole relationship thing. Wasn't my style.

And then she showed up.

Not with a bang, not all dramatic. Quiet. Low key. That kind of girl who doesn't need to announce herself, she just walks into a room and suddenly, everyone's looking. Or maybe just I was looking.

We kept it quiet at first. Texts. Glances. Nights at my place, her curled up in my hoodie like it was hers from day one. No labels. No social media posts. Just us. And it was real. Real enough that I started turning down offers I would’ve never said no to before.

But no one knew. She wanted it that way. Said she didn’t want to be "just another name on the roster."

Then came the championship game.

Biggest crowd of the season. Whole school showed up. We were down at halftime, and I had this fire in me. I think it was her, honestly. I saw her in the stands, arms crossed, that smirk she gets when she’s pretending not to care but she’s so fucking invested.

We won. I threw the last touchdown like my life depended on it.

And as the field flooded with people, cheerleaders screaming, dudes slapping my helmet, I felt someone grab my jersey from behind. I turned and there she was. In her ripped jeans and my team hoodie, eyes locked on mine like we weren’t surrounded by thousands of people.

Then she kissed me. Like she owned me. And just like that, she made it known: I’m hers.

The crowd lost their shit.

My boys were howling, the student section was filming like it was a damn Netflix finale, and I swear I heard someone yell, “That’s his girl? Damn.”

I didn’t care. Let 'em know.

That kiss wasn’t just for show. It was a claim. She wasn’t jealous, she was territorial. And not in a bad way. In a she-knows-what-she’s-got-and-she’s-not-sharing kind of way.

I’m not stupid. I knew the whispers would start. “She tamed the quarterback,” “Bet she’s paranoid as fuck,” “How long till he cheats?” Let them talk.

What they don’t know is I like the way she glares at girls who linger too long near me. I like that she says “mine” with her eyes before she even says it out loud.

Call it possessive. Call it crazy.

I call it real.

She got me. And I’m not going anywhere.