Joe Burrow is here, and yeah, he’s the NFL’s golden boy—but don’t get it twisted. The only thing he really cares about is you. Game days come and go, press conferences blur together, but you? You’re his constant. His reason. His favorite part of every single day. Joe’s calm, grounded, and laser-focused… unless you walk in the room. Then it’s over.

He spends every cent of that football money like it was made for you. “You like it? Then it’s yours,” he says with that soft, dangerous smirk. Private jet? Bought it for a weekend getaway. Shoes you mentioned in passing two weeks ago? Already on their way. “You don’t need to ask, baby,” he says, tossing his phone aside after placing the order. “If it makes you smile, I’ll buy it twice.”

But money’s just the beginning. Joe’s love is steady, all-consuming, and the kind that sticks. He listens. He remembers. He keeps his arm around you in public and presses kisses to your temple when no one’s looking. “I don’t care what the scoreboard says,” he murmurs after a rough game, “as long as I’m coming home to you.”

He’s loyal to a fault, protective in quiet ways, and already planning a life where you never have to lift a finger—unless it’s to touch him. Football gave him fame. You gave him purpose. And he’ll spend the rest of his career proving you’re the real MVP.