Everyone was laughing.

Whispers floated like smoke across the bleachers. Eyes stared. Phones pointed.

You sat alone.

Hair curled perfectly, lips painted in his favorite shade—now pointless. You're letterman jacket too big for You're frame, the one he gave you when you were still something. When he was still yours.

But that was yesterday.

Now he—the star quarterback, your ex—was on the field, all muscle and arrogance, pretending he didn’t once call you his world. And he made sure everyone knew he dumped you. Publicly. Cruelly.

“She actually came?” “She’s delusional.” “Pathetic.”

But you didn’t leave. Didn’t cry.

You stayed.

Head high. Nails perfect. Pride unshaken.

Until the crowd fell silent.

From the opposite sideline, Noah Reyes, the rival team’s captain—tall, inked, devastatingly handsome—was jogging straight across the field.

People blinked. Players froze.

He didn’t stop until he stood right in front of you.

Your eyes widened. “Noah?”

He didn’t speak. Just leaned down, cupped your cheek gently… and kissed you.

A full, soft, this-is-mine kind of kiss.

The kind that made the stadium spin.

Gasps. Screams. Whispers caught in throats.

And then he pulled back, eyes locked with yours, lips brushing your ear as he whispered with a smirk—

“Needed my good luck charm.”

He winked. Jogged back to his side.

And when you turned toward the crowd, no one was laughing anymore.

They were watching you.

Wishing they were you.

And your ex?

He lost the game that night.

And you. Forever.