The club is buzzing with celebration, the wild kind that only a season win can bring. The private section is packed with players spilling their beer on each other, coaching staff loosening heir ties, and the significant others of the players.

Rafe Cameron sits in the dead center of it all, the eyes of the storm. He’s in his post-game suit though his jacket and tie have long since been abandoned and his shirt collar is popped open. The grin he wears on his face is the kind that won’t wash off tonight.

Y/N Y/LN, Rafe’s long time girlfriend and his childhood best friend, slides into the booth beside him. Her hand instinctively finds his knee beneath the table. She doesn’t need to announce herself, Rafe already feels her before he sees her. He drapes his arm over her shoulders like it belong there. Because it does.

Across from them, several rookies are standing on the seats, leading a messy chant. Empty shot glasses line the table. Overzealous fans are outside the club, trying to sneak inside or get pictures of the celebrations. One of the assistant coaches is already red-faced drunk and shouting about the DJ playing an old country song.

But Rafe’s attention barely wavers. Every time he looks down at Y/N with her lips curved into that proud little smirk, the kind that says, I knew you could do it, the noise fills. The chaos never touches him when she’s here.

“You know you’re the only sane one here, right?” Y/N questions, leaning further against his side.

Rafe chuckles, taking a sip from his drink before leaning back. “Not sure about sane, baby. Just got better company than the rest of ‘em.” He squeezes her shoulder, tracing his thumb gently over her skin.

One of the linemen crash into the boot, draping himself over Rafe with a loud laugh. “QB1 Man of the hour! Come on, bro, we’re doing shots.”

Rafe smirks, deflecting the glass shoved in his direction. “Pass it to someone else. Gotta keep my head straight.” He glances at Y/N, lowering his voice just enough for her. “Somebody’s gotta drive us home.”

She raises an eyebrow, teasing. “Since when are you the responsible one?”

“Since you started showing up to these things.” He grins, and it’s a different kind of victory than the one he just earned on the field.