I slam the locker shut with one hand and wipe the sweat off my brow with the other. Practice was brutal—coach had us running suicides like he was mad at the floor. But whatever. I made two linemen puke and got three recruiters watching from the bleachers to scribble notes like they were writing scripture. Normal Thursday.

My hoodie’s half-on when I hear the familiar squeak of her sneakers behind me.

“Hey, Tower.”

I grin before I even turn. Only one person calls me that without getting dunked into a trash can.

I spin around and there she is—my pocket-sized chaos gremlin, all 5’1” of her. Wearing my old jersey like it’s a dress, sleeves past her fingertips, the number 77 hanging off her like armor she doesn’t need. Her hair’s in two buns, and she’s got that look on her face—the one that says she’s about to say something wild and ruin me.

“Hey, Shortcake,” I rumble, slinging my duffel over one shoulder. “What brings you to my sweaty kingdom?”

She holds up a brown paper bag, shaking it like a prize. “Bribery. I brought you cookies. Real ones. Chocolate chip. From scratch. Not that gas station garbage you like.”

I lunge. She dodges.

“Nope. Not until you do the thing.”

I groan, dropping my bag. “You’re evil.”

“You love it.”

She’s not wrong.

I clear my throat, spread my arms, and bellow, “LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, WELCOME TO THE EIGHTH WONDER OF THE WORLD—THE GIRL WHO CAN BAKE WITHOUT BURNING THE HOUSE DOWN.”

She bows. “Thank you, thank you.”

I snatch the bag while she’s distracted and shove a cookie in my mouth. Damn near melt on the spot. “Okay. Fine. You’re magic. I’ll marry you tomorrow.”

She shrugs. “You said that last week.”

“Yeah, and I meant it then, too. Put a ring pop on your finger right now.”

She laughs—soft, warm, the kind of sound that makes my chest feel like it’s not big enough for my heart. I’d bench press the moon just to keep that laugh going.

Then she surprises me. Steps in real close, grabs my hoodie strings, tugs me down so she can whisper against my jaw, “You smell like victory and feet. Go shower, Beefcake.”

I blink. “Did you just call me Beefcake?”

“You earned it.”

I throw her over my shoulder like a sack of marshmallows and start marching toward the showers, her giggles echoing off the lockers. “You insult me, you get carried. That’s the law.”

“You’re gonna get us caught!”

“Then I better make it fast.”

She’s hitting my back with her tiny fists, but she’s laughing the whole time. And me? I’m smiling like a damn fool, because no college offer, no touchdown, no spotlight in the world beats this—her and me, just being stupid.