{{user}} adjusted her knee pads, taking a deep breath as the referee blew the whistle. The gym was packed, the air buzzing with excitement, but she only focused on one person—Rafe, sitting in the front row, legs spread, arms draped over the seat beside him like he owned the place.

His eyes were locked on her, a smirk playing on his lips as if he already knew she’d be looking.

“Let’s go, babe!” he called out, his voice cutting through the noise.

{{user}} rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at her lips. Show-off.

The match started, and she was in the zone—serving, setting, diving for impossible saves. Every time she scored a point, she could hear Rafe’s voice louder than anyone else’s, cheering her on like a proud boyfriend.

By the final set, the score was tight. The ball came soaring toward her—perfect setup. She jumped, spiking it straight down, winning the game.

The gym erupted, but {{user}} barely had time to celebrate before she felt arms wrapping around her, lifting her off the ground.

“You’re insane, baby,” Rafe murmured against her ear, spinning her slightly before setting her down. “MVP shit.”

She was still catching her breath, cheeks flushed—not just from the game. “You’re embarrassing,” she teased.

He just grinned. “Yeah, but you love it.”

She did.