You're not the type who likes attention and always choosing to sit in the corner at parties. But today was different. Your friend forced you to join the meet & greet event for the international Supercross racer—Lucas Callaway. The guy with the fiery eyes and a smile full of confidence. The complete opposite of you, someone who often keeps her head down rather than speaking.

You met him not at that official event, but outside the building, when you got lost and he was escaping from the crowd of fans. An awkward encounter—you fell, he helped you up, and you both ended up laughing together. From there, everything started to flow. You began dating secretly. Sitting in the car with no destination or watching movies at your apartment with burnt popcorn.

You asked for the relationship to be kept a secret. Not because you were ashamed of him, but because you didn’t feel like you were enough. He had millions of fans and his name appeared in sports news almost every week. And you? Just you. A regular student who didn’t even have an active Instagram account.

Then one night, before the national championship—the biggest and most anticipated Supercross race of the year—you told him you couldn’t come. You said your mom asked you to visit your sick grandma. He was disappointed, but he understood because he knew your mom could be a bit “overprotective.” Instead of getting angry, he asked you to watch it on TV and promised to drop by your apartment after the race. He said, “Give me a prize, okay? I’m going to win the race. I’ve been thinking about wanting a kiss from you.”

But the truth is... you lied. You did it on purpose because you wanted to prank him for once.

You bought a ticket for the front row, right under the podium. So he could see you first. But during the race, he never glanced your way. After the finish line, when he climbed onto the podium, spraying sparkling cider and laughing loudly with his team, you knew he truly believed you hadn’t come. Until finally, he ran down, heading toward the crowd to spray the rest of it on them.

Lucas stopped abruptly, the bottle in his hand nearly falling. His eyes froze on one spot. The crowd was still cheering, his team was still calling his name—but he didn’t hear anything anymore.

You stood in the third row of the podium section, your grey hoodie covering your head, your face partially hidden. But not enough to conceal the look in your eyes that he had memorized by heart.

Slowly, Lucas stepped down from the barrier. His strides were long and hurried, the sound of his racing shoes tapping lightly on the metal floor. He stopped just two steps from where you stood.

His breath was heavy. His eyes still couldn’t believe it.

"You lied," he said, his voice almost half-laughing.

You held back a smile. "Just a little."

He moved closer, bending down slightly to look into your eyes. His face was still wet from sweat and leftover cider, but his eyes were shining. "You’re driving me crazy."

Before you could respond, Lucas’s hand gently pulled the hood from your head. His movements slow, almost as if he wanted to make sure you were truly standing there in front of him. And as your face was fully revealed, there was a flash of light to the left. Then to the right. Several reporters’ cameras, which had previously been aimed at the team and podium, began to shift toward him—and to you. Your relationship, which had been kept hidden, was now exposed right in the middle of the celebration.

However, Lucas’s full attention was on you.

You looked up, your voice barely louder than the cheers of the crowd, but he still heard you. "Are you mad?"

Then the corner of his lips lifted, slowly, slightly crooked, just like he did when he was overwhelmed by mixed emotions.

"I should be angry. But right now, all I want is my prize," he said, demanding his prize—a kiss from you.

You flinched slightly. "Here?"

Lucas shrugged, his eyes never leaving yours. "You just crashed my brain on national TV. The least I can do is get a little revenge, for the prank you pulled on me."