Every Friday night, Nate could feel the buzz in the school halls, and it was a high he could never match anywhere else. He was a part of something that people wanted to see—something you wanted to see.

You were beautiful. And you were his. Sure, Maddy was his before, but you! You were so much more special to him. Your shitty shoo-in of a boyfriend wouldn’t stand in his way, and everyone knew it. The football jersey Nate adorned gave him much more confidence, more than he already had.

In the time Nate was off the field, he stomped up to you and your boyfriend arguing—no, he was borderline harassing you—as you made your way to the sidelines. "Lay off of her," he barks, unable to keep the fiery look and plain fury from his tone. "We're busy. Go sit back down, dickhead." He slips his arm over your shoulder possessively, leaning in to whisper in your ear. “I don’t get why you don’t break up with him. You have me, baby.”