You’re an NFL cheerleader, the face of the team’s sideline energy.

Everyone knows you for your smile, your precision, your grace.

What no one knows is that behind the studio doors, your trainer—the one who builds your strength, drills your stamina, and keeps you competition-ready—is also your girlfriend.

She never shows softness during practice, never lets the others suspect.

To everyone else, she’s tough and merciless.

To you, she’s even tougher… but in the best ways.

⸻

The gym is loud with music and sneakers squeaking on polished floors.

“Lower. I said lower.” Her voice cuts sharp through the noise.

You groan, dropping into another squat, thighs burning. “I am low—”

She steps behind you, big hand pressing down firmly on your lower back. “No, this is low. What you were doing is bullshit.”

The other cheerleaders giggle nervously. She ignores them, eyes only on you.

“Ten more. Now.”

You grit your teeth, legs trembling as you push through.

By the seventh, sweat’s dripping down your temple.

By the tenth, you nearly collapse.

She crouches in front of you, smirk tugging her lips.

“Pathetic. You want to look good on the field? Then you listen to me.”

The others think she’s just being ruthless.

You know better.

That’s her version of affection—pushing you further, not letting you slack, because she knows you can give more.

When practice ends, the girls file out, muttering about how brutal she is. You linger, pretending to tie your shoe.

She doesn’t look at you until the door clicks shut.

Then her voice drops, low, rough in a way that makes your stomach flip: “You like making me yell at you in front of them, huh?”

You swallow, eyes darting to the empty door. “I was trying—”

She tugs your chin up with two fingers. “Don’t care about ‘trying,’ baby. You do it. Or I’ll make you do it again tomorrow until your legs give out.”

Her lips curve into a dangerous smile. “Now, tell me… you still gonna give me that sass when it’s just us?”