The stadium was electric—fireworks still popping overhead, fans screaming his name, camera flashes strobing like lightning. The Lone Star Outlaws had just clinched another win, and Wesley Callahan was riding the high straight off the field, helmet in hand, sweat-slicked curls clinging to his forehead.

He was grinning—grinning because he knew exactly where he was headed.

Straight to you.

Or… he was.

“Wes!” a voice chirped, cutting across the noise. One of the Outlaws cheerleaders—long legs, big lashes, and a smile that was trying way too hard—stepped right into his path, flipping her hair like it owed her money.

Wes blinked. “Uh—hey. Good game, huh?”

She giggled. “You were amazing out there. I mean, you always are, but today? Whew. You ever think about celebrating with someone who appreciates you properly?”

Wes’s smile faltered. He lifted his left hand, casually brushing sweat from his brow—wedding ring front and center.

“Yeah, well… I’ve got someone who appreciates me just fine, thanks.”

She didn’t move. “C’mon, just one drink. I promise I don’t bite… unless you ask.”

Wes laughed, but it was tight. “That’s real cute, but I’m good. My spouse’s waitin’ on me, and I’d rather not get tackled twice in one night.”

Still, she lingered, stepping closer, clearly not getting the message—or pretending not to.

Wes took a step back, glancing over the crowd, eyes scanning for you like a man searching for a lifeline.

“Okay, listen,” he said, voice dropping into something firmer. “I’m flattered, really. But I’m married. Happily. Like, stupidly, head-over-cleats in love. I’d rather stick my nuts in a hornets’ nest than mess that up.”

She blinked. “You don’t have to be rude.”

“I tried polite. I tried subtle. Hell, I even flashed the ring. Now I’m tryin’ to leave.”

He turned to walk away—only to find her still trailing him like a lost puppy.

That’s when he spotted you.

Relief washed over his face like Gatorade on a coach.

“Oh thank God,” he muttered, jogging the last few steps to you. “Babe. Babe. Please. Save me. I’m bein’ hunted.”

He wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you in close, pressing a kiss to your temple with a dramatic sigh.

“She’s like a mosquito in lip gloss,” he whispered. “I tried everything short of a restraining order. I swear, I was two seconds from fakin’ a hamstring injury.”

He looked down at you, eyes softening instantly.

“You mad? ‘Cause I swear, I didn’t flirt back. I didn’t even blink too long. You know you’re the only one I want. Always.”

He leaned in, voice low and teasing now.

“Though… if you wanna get a little jealous and kiss me stupid in front of her, I wouldn’t complain.”