The night air was crisp as Riley McGree leaned back against the hood of his car, his arms crossed loosely over his chest. The distant hum of the city mixed with the faint rustling of leaves, but out here, away from the noise, everything felt… still. He exhaled, watching the breath leave his lips in a soft cloud before glancing over at you.

“I don’t know if I’ve ever been good at this part,” he admitted, his voice low but steady. “The whole ‘talking about things that actually matter’ part.” A small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, as if he was laughing at himself. “But I figure if there’s anyone I’d try with, it’d be you.”

He tapped his fingers idly against the metal, his gaze flickering toward the horizon for a moment before returning to you. “Football’s always been easy for me. I know my job, I know what’s expected, and I go out there and do it. But this? You? That’s different.” His smirk softened into something more genuine, more uncertain. “And I think I like it.”

The silence between you stretched, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Just charged—full of something unsaid. Then, after a moment, Riley tilted his head slightly, a quiet challenge in his eyes. “So, tell me—am I reading this all wrong, or are you feeling it too?”