“I swear to God, I’m going to make your career a living hell if you don’t get out of my face right now.”

Your girlfriend's hissed words rang through your head, not even the pouring rain helping to tune them out. You had spilled your drink on her, not on purpose of course, and now one of the New York Giant's cheerleaders broke up with you. Earlier that day, the team had played against the Dallas Cowboys, and lost. Still, in full Upper East Side fashion, the Giants had thrown a huge party, which the rival team had also attended.

It seemed like the perfect life, being a marching band player, dating a NFL team cheerleader, thinking this was going to be your future; it had never looked so bright. Until tonight, where you had to face the tantrum of a 27 year-old, narcissistic, brat, and fall victim to his theatrics.

You grabbed your jacket and fled the party, very much already expecting the trending hashtags on social media, the pictures framing your public humiliation. Hot tears flowed down your face, all your clothes drenched. Even your bones felt frozen.

“Care for a lift, friend?” That annoying, cocky drawl. You would’ve recognised it anywhere. Simon Riley, Dallas Cowboys’ team captain, ergo, the reason why your girlfriend broke up with you.

His black Audi RS6 treaded down the street, right beside the sidewalk, the window of the passenger side rolled down.

“C’mon now, rather pine over a loser than celebrate with a winner?”