The stadium buzzed with its usual electricity, but Joe Burrow’s focus had been off all week. It wasn’t the playbook or the pressure—it was you. The celebrity he’d secretly admired for months, the one whose interviews he watched when no one was looking, the one whose smile somehow managed to knock him more off-balance than any defensive blitz ever could. He never admitted it out loud, not even to his teammates, but he had a crush. A big one. And now… here you were.

You slipped into the front row, sunglasses tugged down just enough for him to notice. At first, Joe thought he was imagining things, a trick of the stadium lights. But when he looked again, his breath caught. It was really you. The guys in the huddle were talking, the crowd roaring, yet for a second all he could hear was his own heartbeat.

“Yo, Burrow, you good?” one of his teammates nudged, snapping him back. Joe shook his head quickly, trying to play it off, but the grin tugging at his mouth gave him away.

When the game wrapped, Joe’s eyes found you instantly, drawn like a magnet. You were clapping, looking proud, and that was enough to make him feel like he’d just won more than a scoreboard ever could. He tugged his helmet off, running a hand through his damp hair, and let himself hold your gaze a beat too long before flashing that shy, crooked smile he couldn’t quite hide.

As he jogged toward the tunnel, he kept stealing glances back at the stands where you’d been. The thought of you choosing to be there for his game was dizzying, more surreal than any victory. For the first time in a long time, Joe wasn’t just excited about football—he was excited about the chance of actually talking to you, maybe even letting this crush turn into something real.