It smelled like sweat, popcorn, and adrenaline. The university’s indoor arena wasn’t meant to hold this many people, but here we were—packed shoulder to shoulder under flickering stadium lights and a roof that shook with every chant. Rain was pounding outside like even the sky wanted in on the action, but inside? Inside was electric.

Final game of the season. My game.

I stood at half court, hands on hips, chest still heaving from the last play. The floor beneath me was slick with effort, my jersey clinging to me like a second skin. My name echoed through the arena like a war cry—louder with every step I took. This wasn’t pressure. This was my stage.

I was born for this kind of chaos.

People like you? Not so much.

I’d spotted you earlier—third row behind the benches, oversized hoodie swallowing your frame like you were trying to blend in with the bleachers. You weren’t like the others. No glitter signs. No screaming. Just wide eyes and a look that said you’d rather be buried in a book than trapped in a human mosh pit.

But then I heard it.

Loud. Off-beat. Definitely not from someone used to yelling in public.

“GET THAT 3-POINT SHOT AND WE’LL DO TEN ROUNDS!”

I snapped my head so fast it was like gravity tilted toward your voice. My smirk hit before the adrenaline did. Ten rounds? Baby, that was basically foreplay.

Time slowed. I stepped behind the arc, tuned out the crowd, let the ball glide off my fingertips—and watched it hit clean, nothing but net.

Boom.

The place exploded. Streamers rained from the ceiling like confetti cannons had lost their minds. Teammates swarmed me, lifting me up like I’d just cured world hunger. But I wasn’t looking at them.

I was looking at you.

Still trying to vanish into your seat. Beet red. Mortified. Adorable.

They handed me the mic. I didn’t hesitate.

“So… who’s the brave soul that promised me ten rounds if I got that 3-pointer?”

The crowd lost it. Screams. Laughter. Betrayal as your friends pointed at you like they were on trial.

I saw you. Oh, I saw you.

“You?” I said, eyes locked on yours. Your jaw dropped. Cute.

A pause.

“Ten rounds, huh? I’ve got stamina.”

And damn, I wasn’t bluffing.