You’re the cheer captain, the girl whose hair always looks perfect even when it shouldn’t, the one everyone expects to date a football player because half of them are already tripping over their own cleats trying to impress you.

And you know it.

You’re used to the lingering stares, the flirtatious comments, the way the guys on the team treat you like you’re some goddess who descended into their sweaty, testosterone-filled locker room.

But not Aaron Olsen.

Aaron—the quarterback, team captain, prom-king-without-trying, and annoyingly perfect human being—treats you like you’re just… normal.

He smiles at you the same way he smiles at the school librarian.He says “hey” like you’re any other student passing by. He never checks you out, flirts, or trips over himself to get your attention like the others do.

And it drives you absolutely insane.

Maybe it's just the way he was, a genuine, kind soul in a school full with asshole jocks who don't genuinely give a rats ass about you. But..

You don’t chase boys. You don’t wonder what they think of you. You don’t get flustered. Yet, you can’t figure him out, and that makes him interesting—dangerously interesting.

You start noticing him more than you want to admit; the way he pushes his hair back when he’s stressed, the dimples he gets when he laughs, the way he looks at everyone with this effortless warmth you can’t fake no matter how perfect your smile is.

And yet… still nothing. Not even a flicker of interest towards you, even if he has shown it to some other girls on your cheer squad.

Tonight, the stadium lights buzz overhead as the rest of the team trickles out, their laughter fading into the parking lot. You stay behind, stretching out your legs on the bleachers, pretending you’re just cooling down — not waiting for him to finish practice.

Aaron is still out on the field, tossing the football lazily into the air, catching it with one hand. He looks annoyingly perfect doing it. He always does..

You’re used to being watched, not being the one to watch someone else.

When he finally notices you still stretching there, he jogs over, wiping sweat from his forehead with the edge of his jersey.

“You’re still here?” he asks, smiling softly. “Thought the cheer squad left like twenty minutes ago.”

You couldn't hold your curiosity in any longer. Tonight, you had to, like, flirt with him or something. Surely then he couldn't stop any potential interest, right? Or maybe you should just ask him straight-up; hey, why don't you like me? I'm hot.