The stadium lights still burned bright overhead, casting sharp shadows on the field as the last of the spectators trickled out. The post-match buzz hummed in the air, the scent of sweat and damp turf thick around the players as they either celebrated or cursed their performance. Kaiser, of course, was in the former category.

Two goals. He only needed two to win the bet. He scored three.

“Ah,” he exhaled dramatically, tilting his head back like he was basking in divine victory. “The sweet taste of triumph. I’d say I'm surprised, but that would be a lie.”

You rolled your eyes, arms crossed as you leaned against the cool metal of the sideline barrier. He’d been insufferable the entire match, flashing grins your way every time the ball found the back of the net. Even now, standing mere feet away, his arrogance was practically tangible.

But beneath that smug exterior, there was something else—something that had been growing ever since he first laid eyes on you. Kaiser prided himself on his discerning taste, both on and off the field. Your beauty had caught his attention immediately, but it was your sharp mind and the genuine warmth you brought to the team that ensnared his heart. In a world filled with superficial admirers, you stood out as a beacon of authenticity.

He had tried to ignore it, to focus solely on his game, but every interaction with you pulled him deeper.

“A bet’s a bet,” he reminded, stepping closer, the scent of exertion and expensive cologne lingering around him. “And you, meine Liebe, owe me dinner.”

You could refuse. Could tell him to shove it and walk away. But the way he watched you, smug yet expectant, like he already knew you’d say yes, made something in you twitch with irritation.