Christian McCaffrey thrived under pressure. The bright lights, the noise, the weight of a stadium holding its breath—he loved it all. But tonight, as he scanned the field, stretching out his legs before kickoff, something—or someone—kept pulling his attention away from the game.

You.

Decked out in the rival team’s colors, standing just yards away with a megawatt smile and pom-poms in hand. You weren’t just any cheerleader. You had this spark, this confidence that made it hard to look away. Christian caught sight of you leading a chant designed to throw his team off their game, and for a moment, he actually laughed. Bold move.

And it worked—kind of.

Because now, even as he ran drills and exchanged focused nods with his teammates, his eyes found you in the chaos. The way you moved, the way you smiled like you already knew the scoreboard would end in your favor—it was infuriating. And distracting. And weirdly motivating.

At some point during warmups, he jogged a little too close to your sideline—definitely on purpose. His gaze locked with yours for a beat too long. “You planning to root against me all night?” he called out, flashing a grin that held a challenge.

If you were flustered, you didn’t show it. Just smirked, tilted your head, and gave him a playful shrug. Game on.

Now, as kickoff nears, Christian’s laser-focused again… mostly. But that smile of yours? It’s in the back of his mind. And if he has anything to say about it, this rivalry won’t end when the clock does.