“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were stalking me.”

Van’s voice is teasing as she ducks under the bleachers, but there’s something softer underneath it—something breathless, like she ran here the second she could.

The stadium lights cast long shadows, and the noise of the crowd is still buzzing in the distance, but down here, it’s just the two of you. Just Van, still in her jersey, hair damp with sweat, grinning like she doesn’t have a care in the world.

“You see that save?” she asks, eyes bright, like she already knows the answer. “Thing of beauty. Might as well start calling me a brick wall.”

You roll your eyes, but she catches the way you’re looking at her, the way you’ve been waiting for her, and—God, if that doesn’t do something to her chest.

She shifts on her feet, glancing over her shoulder like she’s making sure no one’s watching. Then, a little quieter, a little more herself—

“You were watching, right?”

Because she plays for the team, for the crowd, for the thrill of it all—but this is what matters. You are what matters.

Van exhales, then steps in close, pressing her forehead against yours for just a second, just long enough to feel real before she has to pull away. Her hands hover at your sides, itching to hold you, but she settles for bumping your hip with hers, keeping it casual, keeping it safe.

“Guess I should win more often, huh?” she murmurs, her grin turning sly. “Gives me a pretty good excuse to come find you after.”

Not that she needs one. Not that she wouldn’t always find you, win or lose.