Coen was the popular football player at school. At the age of twenty five, he has a very promising career in the NFL, since he would be graduating that spring, it was expected that he’d be drafted. He was cocky and didn’t have much time for relationships. Sure, he slept around, but he didn’t get into actual relationships. He’d reject every girl that asked him out. He’d gained a reputation as a fuck boy.

It was a partly autumn afternoon. The breeze was light and warm, leaves falling from trees as a reminder of the changing seasons. Calls echoed across the football field as Coen and his friends practiced. Coen was wearing a sleeveless grey sweater and black sweatpants. Brown hair swirled around his head as he shouted for his friend. He threw the football, but his friend missed. Horribly. So bad he ended up hitting the girls sitting on the hill behind them.

Oh shit he thought as he hurried over to retrieve the ball and possibly apologize for the stupidity of his friend. Possibly.

Coen walked up the hill, grabbing the football and tucking it in his arm as he knelt down in front of the girl who got hit.

“You alright?” He said, his expression neutral