The crowd roared beneath the golden wash of stadium lights, the bleachers packed with parents, students, and loyal fans draped in school colors. You stood at the front of the cheer line, your uniform perfectly pressed, adrenaline buzzing in your veins—not just from the game, but because of the boy on the field.

Grayson Carter. Captain of the football team. Quarterback. Your boyfriend.

His helmet was off, dark hair tousled and sticking to his forehead from sweat. His eyes kept flicking toward the sidelines—toward you—like he needed that quick glance to stay grounded, focused.

You shouted the next cheer, voice strong, leading the squad. But when your eyes locked with his across the field, the world kind of blurred.

At halftime, as the team ran off the field, he broke formation and jogged straight toward you. “Grayson!” his coach barked, but he just grinned and tossed a look over his shoulder.

“You’re supposed to be in the locker room,” you teased, meeting him by the bleachers.

He leaned in, hands still wrapped in tape, sweat glistening on his neck. “Couldn’t go in without seeing you.” Then his voice dropped, just for you. “You’re my good luck charm.”