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honeydippedfiction · 1 month ago

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Kiss Me Slowly, Take My Heart {JB9}

Fourth Installment of Red Zone

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Synopsis: Feelings, hearts, and past love are brought to the table when Joe and Y/N finally discuss what is going on between them. Can Joe accept who Y/N really is and what comes with her? Will their relationship be able to grow if secrets are being withheld?

Warnings: Emotional intensity, Vulnerable and raw moments, Strong romantic themes, Mentions of past character death, Brief mention of sh*oting, Doubt, Joe and Y/N can't function without each other. So much flirting and tension.

Themes: Self-discovery, Reconciliation, Love and vulnerability, Emotional healing, Overcoming fears, Romance, Drama, Contemporary Fiction, Slow Burn-ish, Comedy, Fluff, Romance, Heavy Flirting & Tension, Joe Being Down Horrendous, Mutual Pining, Push & Pull Romance, Man Falls First, Man Falls Hard.

WC: 59.1k

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A/N: This is mostly in third person, thought I would switch it up a bit.

• you DO NOT have my permission to copy my work, upload as your own, translate, or repost on any other website •

⏮️Previous

Joe’s lips lingered against hers for one last moment before he gently pulled away, his breath ragged and heart pounding. Y/N’s eyes fluttered open, searching his, her lips still parted, like she was chasing the warmth of his mouth. But he didn’t close the distance this time. Instead, he gave her a soft, almost apologetic smile, one hand brushing her cheek tenderly. Her brows furrowed, confusion flickering across her face. He kissed her forehead, grounding himself in her closeness, before he whispered, “We need to talk. Really talk. But… it can wait until morning.”

The words were quiet, gentle, but firm. He wasn’t trying to push her away—not after everything—but he needed to be sure this wasn’t just adrenaline or raw emotion talking. She deserved more than that. They deserved more than that. And if this was really the beginning of something real, they needed to build it on something stronger than the chaos of the night.

Y/N hesitated, her expression unreadable for a moment. He saw the flicker of resistance in her eyes, maybe even fear—fear that he was changing his mind, or that he didn’t want this as much as she did. But then, slowly, she nodded, letting out a small, shaky breath. “Okay,” she said softly. “Yeah… morning.”

Relief swept through him—relief that she trusted him enough to wait. He took her hand in his, intertwining their fingers like it was second nature, and gently led her inside. The house was quiet, dimly lit by the soft glow of the hallway lamp. Everything felt still, like the world itself was holding its breath.

Upstairs, his room looked the same as always—simple, lived-in—but tonight it felt different. Alive. Full. Y/N stood at the threshold, and Joe glanced back at her. She looked hesitant again, arms wrapped around herself, as if trying to hold in everything she was feeling. “Come here,” he murmured.

She stepped forward, and he pulled back the covers, letting her slip into the bed first. It was strange—intimate in a way that felt deeper than anything physical. Joe climbed in beside her, the mattress dipping under their weight. When he wrapped his arms around her, she nestled into him like she belonged there. The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was sacred. Their bodies fit together in a way that made his chest ache, as if the universe had spent all this time pulling them apart just so they’d know how much they needed to be back together.

The hum of the HVAC system filled the room, soft and steady, punctuated only by the sound of their breathing. Her hand clutched his shirt like she was afraid he’d disappear again. Joe didn’t move. He didn’t dare.

His heart still thundered in his chest, wild and relentless. He wasn’t even sure how he was supposed to sleep like this—with her in his arms, the past finally behind them, the future still uncertain but somehow... okay.

Y/N was quiet, but he could feel the tension still humming through her. She was overthinking—he could tell by the way her breaths hitched every few seconds. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “You’re here,” he whispered into her hair, like a mantra, like a reminder to both of them. “You’re really here.” She shifted slightly, her voice barely audible. “I keep thinking I’m going to wake up... and none of this will be real.”

Joe tightened his hold on her, his eyes burning with the weight of everything they still hadn’t said. “It’s real,” he promised. “You’re here. I’m here. We’re okay.” And maybe they weren’t completely okay yet—not fully—but in that moment, wrapped around each other in the quiet of the night, they were finally on the same page. No more running. No more hiding. As sleep slowly crept in, Joe held her a little tighter, grounding himself in her warmth, her breath, the soft weight of her pressed against him.

For the first time in a long time, he wasn’t scared of what came next.

♪♫•*¨*•.¸¸❤¸¸.•*¨*•♫♪

The soft morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the empty bed. Y/N’s eyes fluttered open slowly, adjusting to the unfamiliar room. For a second, she felt wrapped in the lingering warmth of last night—his arms, his breath, the way he’d held her like she was something fragile and precious. But when her hand reached out across the sheets and found nothing but cool cotton, her heart lurched.

He’s gone.

The thought was sharp, immediate. Was it real? Her breath caught in her throat, a familiar wave of panic rising as she sat up, the covers falling away from her. Her eyes darted around the room—no sign of him. Her chest tightened. She knew it, she knew it was too good to be true. That maybe she had just conjured it all up in her sleep—some dream stitched together from longing and regret.

But then she smelled it.

Maple. Butter. Burnt edges and batter. Pancakes. And then came the noise—metal clanging against metal, followed by the unmistakable bass of rap music, muffled through the walls. A pan scraped along the stove, and someone swore under their breath.

Y/N let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. She slipped out of bed, the wood floor cool beneath her bare feet as she padded toward the stairs. The music grew louder as she descended, the smell of breakfast wrapping around her like a hug. And when she turned the corner into the kitchen, she stopped dead in her tracks.

Joe was at the stove, shirtless, his hair a mess of sleep curls and his grey pajama pants slung low on his hips. The early sun painted golden light across his back and shoulders, the muscles there shifting as he flipped a pancake with the confidence of a man on a mission. A spatula in one hand, his phone in the other, bobbing slightly to the beat of the music as he checked something on the screen.

She leaned against the doorframe, watching him for a moment, caught in the simple domesticity of it all. For a heartbeat, her mind flickered to Trey—how he used to hum when he cooked, how the smell of pancakes always filled their little kitchen on lazy Sundays. The flash of memory hit her in the chest like a bruise—sweet and aching.

He’s gone.

She blinked and shook her head, grounding herself back in the present. Joe was here. This was real. And eventually, she’d tell him about all of it—the pain, the past, the parts of her that still hadn’t healed. But not yet. Not this second. He finally turned and spotted her, spatula mid-air.

“Well,” he said with a crooked grin, “hope these live up to your expectations.” Y/N smirked, arms crossing over her chest as she stepped into the kitchen. “Oh, no help needed? Didn’t think you were capable of multitasking—music and pancakes?” Joe raised an eyebrow, flipping the last pancake onto the growing stack with a little flourish. “I’m a man of many talents.”

“Oh, clearly.” She bit back a smile as she eyed the slightly uneven pancakes. “So... are they edible, or are you just trying to impress me with quantity over quality?” He feigned offense. “You wound me. These are gourmet.”

She walked up to him, standing close enough to catch the scent of his skin—warm, clean, a little like syrup. Her hand brushed his forearm as she reached for a piece of pancake from the stack and popped it into her mouth. Her brows rose. “Okay... not bad.” He leaned down slightly, voice dropping into that teasing, low tone. “Told you.”

Y/N grinned despite herself. The banter was easy—familiar. It felt like home, like the version of them that had always existed under the surface, just waiting for the timing to be right. And maybe they still had a lot to say. Maybe they were both carrying scars they hadn’t yet revealed. But here, in this little kitchen with sunlight streaming in and music bouncing off the walls, she let herself believe that this was a beginning worth trusting.

Even the broken parts.

♪♫•*¨*•.¸¸❤¸¸.•*¨*•♫♪

After breakfast, the kitchen still smelled like maple syrup and warm batter. Joe stretched, preparing to tackle the mountain of dishes, but before he could even roll up his sleeves, Y/N was already at the sink beside him. “You don’t have to,” he said, nudging her lightly with his shoulder. “I know I don’t have to,” she replied, shooting him a sidelong glance. “But I’m going to anyway.” He gave her a small smile, one of those rare, quiet ones that didn’t reach his mouth but lit up his eyes.

They fell into an easy rhythm—she rinsed, he loaded. Occasionally, their hands would brush, and each time it happened, something warm stirred in Joe’s chest. It wasn’t about the dishes. It was about this—doing something ordinary with her, like they’d been doing it for years. The dishes were clean. The kitchen spotless. The easy rhythm they’d found during breakfast was gone now, replaced by something heavier—something that had been lingering just under the surface since last night.

Joe had just closed the dishwasher with a soft click when Y/N reached for his hand. He turned to her, brow furrowing slightly, the usual light in his eyes shifting into quiet concern. “You okay?” She didn’t answer. Just gave his hand a small tug, leading him toward the couch. They sat side by side, the tension thickening with every passing second. Joe’s thumb brushed against her knuckles, gentle, grounding, even as his chest tightened with the weight of whatever was coming.

“I know we need to have this conversation,” she began, eyes focused somewhere far away, “but before that… I need you to know some things.” Her voice was even, but her fingers trembled in his. “Things that could change how you see me. And if they do…” she swallowed, “that’s perfectly fine.” Joe didn’t hesitate. He placed his free hand over hers, warm and steady. “Nothing could ever change how I feel about you.”

But she shook her head slowly, and then—almost absently—her hand lifted to the necklace around her neck, fingers curling around the ring that hung there like a talisman. Not with guilt. Not with fear. Just… memory. Joe’s gaze dropped to it—and stilled. His breath caught in his throat as realization dawned. It wasn’t just any ring. It was the ring. She let out a sigh that felt like it came from the deepest part of her. “I was in love once… like, movie-type love. The kind you don’t believe in until it actually happens to you.”

Joe stayed quiet. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t pull away. He just listened. “We were engaged,” she said, fingers tightening around the necklace. “This was the ring he gave me.” Her voice wavered, and he heard the tears before he saw them.

Joe gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “His name was Trey,” she said softly. “And he made me feel like I could conquer the universe just by standing next to him. We met in middle school. And God, I thought he was so annoying at first.” She let out a small, choked laugh, eyes glimmering at the memory.

Joe smiled softly, even though something in his chest was twisting. Not jealousy. Not even sadness for himself. It was grief—for her. For the version of her who had lived that whole love story, only to lose it in an instant. “He was my first everything,” she continued. “First love. First kiss. First person I let see every part of me without fear. And I really thought… we were endgame. A house with a big wraparound porch. Grandkids running around in the yard. Matching gray hair and shared coffee in the mornings.”

Joe’s grip on her hand remained strong. Present. Reassuring. She drew in a shaky breath. “What happened to him?” he asked, voice low, like he already knew it would hurt. Y/N turned to look at him then—really looked—and her eyes were shining, glassy with tears. And when she spoke, her voice was steady, but the heartbreak underneath each word made Joe feel like his heart was breaking right alongside hers.

“Trey and I… we were supposed to get married that year. We’d already picked the date. We were planning our future. We were inseparable. Everyone thought we were meant to be—and I did too.” She paused, then added quietly, “I still think we were. In another life, maybe.” Joe’s throat tightened. “He was killed,” she said, the words falling like lead. “Just… a random act of violence. Wrong place. Wrong time. No warning. No goodbye. One second, we were texting about dinner. The next, I was identifying his body.”

The silence that followed wasn’t empty—it was deafening. Joe looked at her like she was made of something rare and sacred. Not fragile. Not broken. But human. Real. Someone who had survived something that could have destroyed her. She blinked, and the tears finally fell. “I thought I’d never breathe right again after that. I stopped believing that I could ever feel anything again,” she whispered. “Until you.”

Joe’s heart clenched. “And that scared me more than anything else,” she confessed. “Because feeling something for someone else felt like betraying him.”

“I wasn’t running from you,” she continued, voice trembling now, but still holding steady. “I was running from everything. From the grief. From the idea of being with someone else, of betraying what I had with him by even thinking I could feel something again.” She looked up at him then, eyes shimmering. “And then you happened. And it scared the hell out of me.”

Joe didn’t speak. He didn’t interrupt. He just… listened, his hand still wrapped around hers. “I didn’t want to bring that pain into something new. I didn’t want to drag it into us,” she whispered. “But it’s there. He’s part of my story. And I need you to know that. I need you to see all of me. Not just the parts that are easy to love.”

She looked down at their joined hands. “But I’m here. And I’m telling you all of this not because I need you to fix it or erase it. I just… I need you to know what you’re stepping into. I don’t have a clean slate. I come with grief and memories and love for someone who’ll never come back.”

Joe didn’t say anything right away. He didn’t try to fill the silence with platitudes or comforting lies. He just leaned forward and pressed his lips to the back of her hand. Then, voice thick but steady, he whispered, “I’m not asking you to forget him. I would never ask that.”

Y/N’s breath caught. “I just want to be the one who’s here now. With you. Through it. Beside it. All of it,” he murmured. “If there’s still room in that heart of yours—I don’t care how messy it is—I’ll take it.” Her tears spilled freely now, but her smile trembled through them. “Joe…” He leaned back, that stupidly gorgeous grin creeping across his face, even as his eyes shone with emotion. “God, Y/N… I’ve been down so bad for you since day one.” That made her laugh—soft, wet, but real. “I mean, look at me,” he added, gesturing at himself with exaggerated flair. “Shirtless, making pancakes at 7 a.m., trying to act cool while internally screaming every time you look at me.”

She shook her head with a sniffle, half-laughing. “You’re such a dork.” “But I’m your dork. Or at least, I’m trying to be.” She bit her lip, that familiar heat rising between them again. The push and pull. The tension that never really went away. “You already are,” she said softly.

His eyes locked onto hers, and there it was again—that magnetic pull that made it impossible to breathe around him. “Y/N,” he said, voice low, serious. “We don’t have to rush. But I’m not going anywhere. Not now. Not ever.” And when she leaned into him, resting her head against his shoulder, he exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for months.

They sat like that for a long time—quiet, close, hearts open.

And Joe? Joe was gone. Absolutely, irreversibly, down horrendous for her.

♪♫•*¨*•.¸¸❤¸¸.•*¨*•♫♪

He could tell the second she reached for his hand—it was time. That moment they’d both known was coming. Y/N’s fingers curled around his with this quiet kind of finality, and Joe’s stomach twisted. Not in fear. In anticipation. He’d been waiting for this. Not to finally get answers, not because he was owed anything—but because she needed it. And if she was ready, that meant she trusted him with it.

So when she tugged him toward the couch, he followed without a word, hand still in hers, grounding her. Or maybe grounding himself.

They sat.

And then she said, “I know we need to have this conversation… but before that, I need you to know some things. Some things that could change your view of me. And if they do, that’s perfectly fine.” His chest ached at that. Like hell it was fine. He didn’t even hesitate. “Nothing could ever change how I feel about you.” And he meant it. Every syllable. But then she shook her head—and lifted her hand to the necklace around her neck. He’d seen it before, always there, never questioned it. But now he saw the delicate chain tug up slightly as her fingers curled around something.

A ring.

It hit him like a punch to the gut—not out of jealousy, not at all. But because it meant something. Something heavy. Something holy. He went still. “I was in love once,” she said. “Like a fairytale that they tell you in the movies and you don’t believe it until it actually happens.”

Joe swallowed hard, breath locked in his chest. His eyes didn’t leave hers. Didn’t dare. “We were engaged. This was the ring he gave me.” She gestured to it, and his heart cracked clean down the middle. Not because she loved someone else before him—but because he could feel the pain in her voice. The weight she’d been carrying around. The ghost that lived in the corners of her smile.

And God, he wanted to do something—say something. But his words felt like they might ruin it, so he just squeezed her hand. Steady. Unmoving. A quiet I’m here. “Trey,” she said. “His name is Trey. And he made me feel like I could conquer the entire universe as long as he was by my side.”

Joe’s throat burned. They’d met in middle school, she told him. He annoyed her. He made her laugh. He was her first everything. And Joe listened—really listened—soaking up every word like it was sacred. Because to her, it was. And all Joe could think was: Of course you loved like that. Of course someone like you had a love that deep.

What stunned him most was how not jealous he was. He didn’t want to rewrite her past. He just wanted to be allowed into her future. And when she smiled through her tears, remembering a porch and grandkids and years stretched out in front of them—God, it gutted him. Not because he couldn’t picture that with her too—but because he hated that her version of it had been stolen. That her whole damn world had been ripped away in a flash.

And then, finally, she looked at him. Her eyes, glassy and pained. Vulnerable in a way that made his heart stutter. “What happened to him?” he asked quietly. Her answer felt like the world cracked open. “Trey was killed. Random. Senseless. One moment we were texting, and the next... I was identifying his body.”

Joe's grip on her hand tightened instinctively. It was all so unfair. Not just the way Trey had died—but the way it had left her suspended. Frozen between who she was with him, and who she was now, trying to figure out how to love again without feeling like she was betraying that memory.

And all Joe could think—through the anger, through the ache—was God, I just want to be what comes after. He didn’t want to replace Trey. He wasn’t trying to. He just wanted to be the next chapter, if she was ever ready to turn the page. “I thought I’d never feel anything again,” she whispered. “Until you.”

And he swore right then and there—if he wasn’t already completely gone for her, that did it. He was done. Joe reached forward and kissed the back of her hand, slow and reverent. Like she was something sacred. Because she was. Then he looked her straight in the eye. “I’m not asking you to forget him,” he said, voice low and tight. “I would never ask that.” She blinked hard, tears spilling now. But she didn’t pull away.

“I just want to be the one who’s here now. With you. Through it. Beside it. All of it.” God, he meant it. He’d meant it since day one. Since the first time she teased him over a pulled hamstring and he’d played it cool, even though she’d already made him a little bit obsessed. He saw the way she hesitated. The way she didn’t believe she could be loved again without guilt.

And so, he did the only thing he could: be the safe place. “I’ve been down so bad for you since day one,” he said suddenly, and the honesty came tumbling out. Her laugh, wet and quiet, cracked through the tension. “You’re such a dork,” she said. He grinned, wide and goofy, because if that was the thing that pulled her from the heaviness, then he’d lean into it for the rest of his life.

“But I’m your dork,” he said. “Or at least, I’m trying to be.” And when she whispered, “You already are,” and leaned into his shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world, Joe knew one thing for certain: He would wait. As long as it took. No pressure. No conditions. No expectations.

Because loving Y/N wasn’t something he needed to earn.

It was something he was already doing.

She looked comfortable. At ease.

Joe wasn’t. He’d barely touched his coffee. The mug, cooling rapidly, rested forgotten on the table. His thumb hovered over his phone screen, tempted to check the latest ping, though he already knew what it would be: that damn picture. Him. A woman. The bar. A moment that meant nothing turned into a thousand speculations.

His stomach churned. “Hey,” Y/N said softly, nudging his leg with her foot. “You okay?” He looked over at her, startled like she’d caught him in the middle of a crime. “Yeah,” he said, too fast. “Just thinking.”

“Dangerous pastime.” He smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. She leaned over to place her mug on the table and stretched, her body language open and unguarded. She was back. After the fight, after leaving for Louisiana without a word for days, she was here again—on his couch, in his clothes, in his world.

He didn’t deserve the calm she was giving him. Not with the truth clawing its way up his throat. Joe ran a hand through his hair, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. His knee bounced restlessly.

Say it now. Just explain. Tell her about the picture, about the story being twisted into something it wasn’t. That he hadn’t asked for that girl to touch his arm. That it was a blip, a non-event blown into a viral headline. That he’d wanted to come home that night and call her. His lips parted.

But nothing came out. Y/N noticed the shift. She always did. She turned toward him, her voice quiet. “You sure everything’s good?” He nodded, a small, tight movement. “Yeah. Just tired.”

The picture would die down. People would move on. The media cycle always did. And what good would it do to drag it all out into the light, now, when the storm hadn’t even reached her yet? She didn’t know. Not really. And part of him—a selfish part—wanted to keep it that way. She was in his home. Back in his arms. And he wasn’t ready to risk that, not again. So he said nothing. And outside the window, the world spun on, whispering rumors in a thousand comment sections.

They stayed like that—quiet, close—for a while. The kind of silence that wasn’t empty, but full. Of understanding. Of choices still to be made. Of two hearts finally aligning, even if a little bruised.

Eventually, Y/N sat up, her head leaving the safe space of Joe’s shoulder, and looked at him with a quiet sort of resolve. “I think we should talk about… everything,” she said gently, her fingers still tangled in his. Joe nodded. “Yeah,” he murmured. “We should.”

She tucked one leg beneath her, facing him fully. “If we’re doing this—if we’re really doing this—I need you to understand that I’m not walking into this like someone with a blank page. My pages are marked up, torn in places, and held together by memories I’ll never stop carrying.”

“I know,” Joe said, his voice soft, but unwavering. “And I’m not asking for a blank page. I just want to be part of the story from here on out.” Y/N smiled, the kind of smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes yet—but was trying. “I don’t want to rush this,” she said slowly. “I’ve spent so long trying to heal, trying to figure out who I even am after everything. And I like where we are right now, Joe. It’s not perfect. But it’s honest.” He nodded, leaning forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees. “No rushing. We go at your pace.” She exhaled, relieved. “That means no expectations. No pressure. No suddenly moving in or changing everything overnight just because we had one emotional night.”

“Right,” Joe agreed, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “No emotional whiplash. Got it.” Y/N arched a brow. “That’s a thing?” “It is now,” he said, giving a soft laugh. Then he sobered, his eyes steady on hers. “We can take this slow. As slow as you need. But I want to be clear about one thing.” She tilted her head. “What’s that?”

“I’m in,” Joe said. “All in. Even if it’s one step at a time. Even if some days it feels like we’re standing still. I want to build this with you. Something real. Something steady. No matter how long it takes.” Her throat tightened at that. “Okay,” she said, her voice smaller than she intended. “Then here’s what I need.”

Joe leaned in a little, listening with the kind of attention that made her feel… seen. “I need communication,” she said. “If something feels off or weird or too much, we talk about it. Even if it’s uncomfortable.” “Done,” Joe said, no hesitation. “I need to still have my own space sometimes. To think. To breathe. To grieve, if I need to.”

“Always,” he said, nodding. “I’ll never take that personally.” She swallowed. “And I need you to tell me if you ever feel like… this is too heavy. Like I’m too heavy.” He reached for her hand again, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “You’ll never be too much for me,” he whispered.

Y/N’s eyes welled up again, but she blinked the tears away this time. Not out of avoidance—but because they didn’t feel like pain anymore. Not entirely. They were something else. Hope, maybe. Or peace. “Okay,” she said quietly. “Then we go slow. No labels right away. No defining anything we’re not ready to define.” Joe nodded. “We just… be. Together.”

“Yeah,” she whispered. “Together.” A long pause followed, filled with something warm and tentative and real. Then Joe grinned. “So… what does ‘going slow’ mean exactly? Like… are we still allowed to kiss, or is that off the table?” Y/N laughed, shaking her head. “You're such a guy.”

“I mean, slow is a relative term,” he said, hands raised in mock surrender. “I just need to know the rules so I don’t mess this up.” She rolled her eyes affectionately. “We figure them out as we go.” “Good,” he said. “Because I’m pretty sure you’re the love of my life, and I don’t want to screw that up by accident.” She stared at him, heart skipping in her chest. “You can’t just say stuff like that casually.” “Not casual,” Joe said seriously. “It’s just… true.”

And somehow, instead of panicking, Y/N just… smiled. Not because she was ready to say it back yet. But because for the first time in a long time, she believed maybe someday she would be. And that was enough for now. They curled back into the couch, shoulders touching, fingers intertwined. Not rushing. Not pretending. Just two people, laying it all out, and deciding to try anyway.

Together.

♪♫•*¨*•.¸¸❤¸¸.•*¨*•♫♪

There was a stillness in the early morning air, one that clung to Y/N’s skin as she stepped out of her car and onto the pavement of the Cincinnati Bengals’ training facility. The sun hadn’t quite made up its mind yet—hovering behind a veil of gray clouds, casting a muted light over the parking lot. Her sneakers echoed quietly as she walked, her duffel bag slung over one shoulder, the other hand clenched around her keycard like it was a tether to the familiar.

It felt surreal to be back.

Her body knew the rhythm of this place—each hallway, each turn, each creak of the old equipment room door—but her heart? That was still catching up.

The keycard beeped against the reader. The door clicked open.

The scent hit her immediately. Turf. Sweat. Fabric softener. A strange blend of grit and routine that she had come to associate with both purpose and distraction. The place hadn’t changed in the week she’d been gone, but she had. She wasn’t the same woman who’d boarded that plane. Something in her had cracked open, shifted, reshaped.

She didn’t hesitate as she turned left and headed toward the equipment room.

That space—cluttered and chaotic, but always organized in a way only those who worked there understood—was home. It was where she felt most in control, even when everything else around her was spiraling. She reached the double doors and pushed them open.

Inside, the fluorescent lights hummed steadily overhead. Imani was perched on a stool near the washers, folding towels with the speed and efficiency of someone who'd done it a thousand times. Keisha was at the workbench, replacing visor clips on a stack of helmets.

Both women looked up in unison as Y/N stepped inside. “Look who finally remembered where she works,” Imani called, setting down a neatly folded towel and standing to her full height. “We were about to put out a missing persons report.”

Keisha cracked a grin, pushing her curls back beneath a Bengals cap. “No lie. I was just saying yesterday, ‘If she doesn’t come back by Friday, I’m calling the league office.’” Y/N rolled her eyes, but a laugh broke free from her chest—soft, but real. It felt good to laugh. Really good. “Y’all are dramatic as hell,” she said, setting her bag down and stepping into the room like she was breathing again for the first time.

Imani didn’t wait. She crossed the space in a few strides and wrapped Y/N in a tight, grounding hug. Keisha joined a beat later, arms circling both of them. They stood there for a long moment, a tangled embrace of sisterhood and silent understanding.

When they finally pulled apart, Imani studied her face closely. “You good?”

“I’m getting there,” Y/N replied honestly, brushing her hands against her jeans. “One breath at a time.” Keisha leaned against the workbench, her tone softening. “You wanna talk about it?” Y/N exhaled, her gaze dropping for a moment as she gathered her words. “It was... hard. But I’m glad I went.”

She hopped up onto the edge of the bench and folded her hands in her lap. “I spent a lot of time with my parents. We talked—like, really talked—for the first time in a while. About Trey. About everything. I didn’t realize how much I was carrying until I said it out loud.”

Imani gave a small nod. “Sometimes you don’t until you’re back around people who knew you before all the heavy.” “Exactly,” Y/N murmured. “I went to the cemetery. Brought flowers. Talked to him for a bit. It felt like... I don’t know. Like I was finally letting go of a knot I didn’t know I had in my chest.” Keisha’s eyes softened. “And his parents?”

“I visited them too. We sat in their kitchen for hours, just remembering him. Laughing and crying and everything in between. I told them about Joe.” Imani’s brow lifted. “Joe Joe? You told Trey’s parents about Joe?”

“Yeah,” Y/N said, rubbing the back of her neck. “I didn’t get into all the details, but... I told them there was someone new. That it wasn’t simple. That I still carry Trey with me, but—” her voice caught slightly, “—I’m trying to move forward.”

Keisha was quiet for a moment. “That’s brave, Y/N.” “It didn’t feel brave. It felt terrifying.” She chuckled dryly. “But they were kind. His mom held my hand and told me Trey would want me to be happy. That he wouldn’t want to be the reason I stayed stuck.”

Keisha studied her for a beat. “And Joe? What’s the situation there?” Y/N’s gaze dropped. There it was—that part she hadn’t said out loud. Not to her parents, not to Trey’s family, and not to them.

Her fingers fidgeted slightly with the hem of her hoodie. “I don’t want to talk about that here,” she said, her tone steady but final. “Not at work.”

Imani blinked, surprised by the shift in tone. “You sure? We’re just—” “I know,” Y/N cut in gently. “I trust y’all. But it’s not just gossip. It’s... personal. Deep. And I don’t want to unpack it in a room full of jockstraps and backup cleats.” Keisha gave a small nod, her eyes narrowing just slightly in curiosity. “Okay. You’re allowed that.”

“Thank you,” Y/N said. “We can talk later. Outside of here. I’ll bring wine. Or tequila.” Imani chuckled. “Definitely tequila. Because now I know it’s good.” Keisha added with a grin, “We’ll be ready. You just say when.” Y/N gave them both a grateful look. She wasn’t lying—she did want to talk. But not now. Not in this room, with its buzzing lights and open doors. That conversation belonged in the quiet. With a drink. With time.

Not here.

Not yet. And so, for now, she slipped back into the rhythm—folding gear, prepping lockers, checking cleats. The comfort of movement, of purpose, steadied her. But beneath it all, she knew: that story—the part where she drove straight from the airport to Joe’s front door—was still waiting. Not hidden. Just... held. Until the moment was right.

♪♫•*¨*•.¸¸❤¸¸.•*¨*•♫♪

The clink of wine glasses echoed off the walls of Imani’s apartment, a cozy two-bedroom. Warm lighting glowed from a salt lamp in the corner, a throw blanket half-tossed over the back of the couch, and the faint scent of sage still hung in the air like a whispered ritual.

Y/N curled her legs beneath her on the couch, a half-empty glass of merlot in one hand and a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. Across from her, Imani was pouring shots of reposado tequila, while Keisha flipped the lid on a takeout container full of empanadas and fries from their favorite late-night Cuban spot. “Alright,” Imani said, sliding a shot glass across the coffee table. “You promised. No more stalling.”

Keisha chimed in, leaning back with her plate balanced on her knees. “Yeah, girl. You left us hanging like the season finale of Insecure. Time to spill.” Y/N laughed, finally. “Okay, okay. Y’all ready for this?”

“We’ve been ready,” Imani said, raising her eyebrows. “Start from the beginning.” Y/N took a breath and nodded slowly, letting herself ease into it. “Well... I didn’t tell you everything earlier because I wasn’t sure I could get through it without crying at my workbench. But back home? It was a lot. Good. Heavy. But good.”

She looked down into her glass before continuing. “First thing I did after dropping my bags was go to Madea’s house. I didn’t even tell anyone I was coming—just showed up. And somehow, it was like they all knew. My mom, Madea, Rachelle... they were all there. It felt like the universe lined it up on purpose.”

She smiled gently at the memory. “I sat in the corner of the living room—the same spot I used to curl up in when I was little. Madea was in her old creaky chair with a mug of tea, Mama was leaned forward on the couch like she knew something was coming, and Rachelle... she was behind me, braiding my hair. Just like she used to when I couldn’t sleep.”

“Damn,” Keisha said quietly, setting her plate down. “That already sounds like church.” “It was, kind of,” Y/N said with a soft chuckle. “Family church. I told them everything. That I was overwhelmed. That I’d been holding a lot in since Trey passed. And then I told them about Joe.”

Imani perked up. “Ooooh. How’d that go?” Y/N mimicked her grandmother’s tone, eyes twinkling. “‘Joe, huh? Tell us about him, baby.’” Keisha burst out laughing. “Yup, that sounds like Madea.” “She had that little sparkle in her eye, like she was already planning the wedding,” Y/N said. “But then my mom... she hit me with the big one. She looked me dead in the eye and asked me: Do you love him?”

The room went quiet. Y/N took a sip of her wine, her voice softer now. “And I didn’t know how to answer. I said, ‘I think I do.’ But I was scared. Scared to admit it. Scared to feel it. Because what if it’s too soon? What if I lose him too?”

Keisha nodded, her gaze heavy with empathy. “That’s real, Y/N.” “My mom said... ‘Love doesn’t come with guarantees.’ She said I had to be brave enough to feel it, even if I was terrified. That I had to stop waiting for some perfect moment where it would all feel safe.” Imani leaned forward. “Your mama’s smart.” “She is,” Y/N agreed. “But of course, Madea had to jump in with her usual sass. She goes, ‘Not everyone can be perfect like your grandfather and I.’ Then she demanded to see a picture of Joe.”

Keisha nearly spit out her drink. “Oh no.” “I swear,” Y/N said, grinning. “I showed her that picture from Imani’s Instagram—you know, the one from the club. Joe’s in it, standing next to me, arm around my waist, looking all chill like he doesn’t know he’s fine.”

Imani howled. “I KNEW that pic was gonna start something.” “They looked at it and my mom goes, ‘Oh honey, he’s fine.’ Then Madea adds, ‘He’s got style... but I might need to have a little talk with him if he’s playing games.’” Y/N shook her head, laughing at the memory. “Y’all, they were cutting up like teenagers.”

“Wait, wait,” Keisha said, holding up a hand. “That’s not even the best part. What did Rachelle say?” Y/N’s face went red. “She waited till the end, then leaned over my shoulder all casual and goes, ‘You know what I like? That man’s booty.’”

“STOP IT,” Imani screamed, slapping her thigh. “I nearly fell off the couch,” Y/N said, laughing so hard tears pricked the corners of her eyes. “My mama gave her that look, but Rachelle just shrugged like, ‘I’m not wrong.’” Keisha wiped her eyes. “That woman is a menace.”

“Y’all, it was the first time I’d really laughed like that in weeks,” Y/N said, quieter now. “And I needed it. I needed to remember I wasn’t alone. That even though I’m scared, even though it’s messy... I have people who love me.” Imani’s expression softened. “And now you’re here.” Y/N nodded. “And now I’m here.”

Keisha leaned forward. “So... what did happen when you saw Joe?” Y/N looked down at her shot glass, then slowly lifted it. “I’ll tell you,” she said, her voice just above a whisper. “But after this.” She raised the tequila. “To beginnings.” Imani clinked her glass. “To brave love.” Keisha added, “And to Joe’s fat, juicy ass.”

They burst into laughter as the tequila hit their tongues and warmed their throats.

The shot of tequila hit her bloodstream like fire and sunlight, and Y/N could already feel the edges of the evening softening. The truth had started pouring out hours ago—quiet at first, tentative—but now it was flowing freely. Imani had kicked off her shoes, Keisha had changed into a giant hoodie, and the only thing heavier than the warmth in the room was the laughter bouncing off its walls.

Y/N set down her empty glass and leaned back against the couch cushion with a contented sigh. “Okay... y’all wanna hear the rest?” Imani and Keisha leaned forward like they were about to be fed the last juicy bite of dessert. “After I told Mama, Madea, and Rachelle about Joe,” Y/N said, “and after they all gushed and roasted me into oblivion... guess who came strolling in with perfect timing?”

“Your dad?” Keisha guessed. Y/N nodded. “Yup. And not five seconds later, Grandpa shuffled in from the porch with his Sunday crossword and his usual mug of black coffee—straight up, no sugar, like a man who’s seen some things.”

“Oh Lord,” Imani muttered, already laughing. “Exactly,” Y/N said, grinning. “I thought I was safe, but nah. The second they heard all the giggling, my dad raises an eyebrow and goes, ‘Okay, okay, enough of all this laughter. Who exactly are we talking about here?’” She mimicked his low, suspicious tone, and Keisha chuckled, already picturing it. “Before I could even answer, Rachelle—because she has no chill—goes, ‘Oh, you know... Thickums!’” Imani nearly choked on her wine. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Thickums,” Y/N repeated, groaning as her face flushed just thinking about it. “She said it like it was his damn government name!” Keisha clutched her chest, laughing. “That’s it. I’m done.”

“Oh, and it gets worse,” Y/N said. “Grandpa leans back, all serious, and goes, ‘I don’t know, Y/N. I think I need to see this Thickums for myself before I can make any judgments.’ Like this was a presidential vetting process.” Imani howled. “Your grandpa called him Thickums too?!”

“Y’all... they were relentless,” Y/N said, giggling helplessly. “So of course I handed my phone to my dad first—thinking he’d be the voice of reason.” “And was he?” Keisha asked. Y/N gave her a look. “He looked at Joe’s picture for maybe two seconds and then goes, ‘Well, I can see why you’re all fired up. Not bad at all.’ Then handed the phone to Grandpa like he was passing a sacred family relic.”

“I cannot,” Imani whispered, wiping tears from her eyes. “My grandpa—my seventy-five-year-old grandpa—holds the phone in those big, calloused hands like he’s inspecting a prize hog at the county fair. Then he says, ‘Mmm. He’s got that charm about him, doesn’t he?’ and WINKS at me.”

“Oh my god!” Keisha gasped. “A wink?!”

“Deadass winked,” Y/N said, cracking up now. “Then goes, ‘Don’t let him hear that Thickums nickname though. But yeah, I can see why you like him.’” They were in full hysterics by now, but Y/N raised a hand. “Wait. It gets worse. Madea was talking about how fine Joe is and grandpa acted a fool. He puts his hand over his chest like he’s scandalized—‘Oh no, might have to break out these big boys.’”

Imani blinked. “What?” “He stands up and flexes—I mean full-on, exaggerated bodybuilder pose. Biceps out, chest puffed, grinning like The Rock in a protein commercial.” Keisha collapsed sideways on the couch. “Noooo!”

“I’m sitting there, dying,” Y/N said, laughing so hard her eyes were glassy. “I literally had to cover my face. And then—THEN—he winks at Madea and says, ‘Can’t have this youngster stealing my lady.’ Like he’s gotta re-secure his spot!” “Your whole family needs a reality show,” Imani said between laughs. “I’d watch every episode.”

Y/N grinned, but her voice softened. “Honestly? That moment... it healed something in me. All of them laughing, teasing, giving me hell—but loving me through it? It reminded me that no matter how scary it is to love again, I’m not doing it alone.”

Keisha reached out and squeezed her hand. “That’s what love looks like. Real love. Not just with a partner—but with your people.” Y/N nodded. “Yeah. I didn’t realize how much I needed to be reminded of that.” She looked down at her glass, then glanced at her two best friends—her sisters in everything but blood. “And Joe,” Imani said softly, “He’s the first guy since Trey who’s gotten this close, huh?” Y/N met her eyes. “Yeah. And that’s terrifying. But it also feels... honest.” Keisha smiled. “Then we’ll be honest with you too. We love you, Y/N. And if Thickums ends up being the real deal... we got your back. And if he doesn’t?” Imani raised her glass. “We riot.” They all laughed, clinking glasses again—this time in solidarity. For love. For family. For the future Y/N was just beginning to see clearly.

Y/N sank deeper into the worn couch, her fingers tracing slow, restless circles along the rim of her glass. The faint clink of ice felt like a heartbeat in the quiet room. She took a deep breath, trying to steady the lump in her throat, then began, her voice barely above a whisper—like she was stepping carefully into a fragile memory.

“The next morning, I went to see Trey,” she said, eyes distant as if the moment replayed in her mind like a fading dream. Imani and Keisha leaned forward, their faces softening with a tenderness that made the air between them almost sacred.

“The cemetery wasn’t far from where Papa and Madea live,” Y/N continued, swallowing hard against the rising tide of emotion. “It was early... the kind of early that still carries the chill of night, but the sun was already starting to spread its warmth, like it was trying to heal the world.” Her voice cracked slightly, but she pressed on. “I sat by his stone for what felt like hours, though it was probably only minutes.”

Her eyes grew misty as she pictured it—the marble slab etched with Trey’s name, the wild grass swaying softly in the breeze, the silence so thick it almost pressed against her skin. “I talked to him,” she whispered, as if speaking too loudly would shatter the moment. “I told him everything I’d never had the courage to say before... how much I missed him—how lost I felt. How confused I was about moving on... about Joe.” She blinked rapidly, chasing back tears that burned behind her lids.

Then came the most vulnerable part. “I asked him for a sign. I said, ‘Please... just one sign that you’re still here with me. That you’re watching. Because I can’t keep going if I don’t know.’” Her voice trembled, the words barely there, soaked with desperate hope.

The room was still except for the low hum of the city outside, but inside, time seemed to stretch and hold its breath with her. “For what felt like forever... nothing. Just the breeze whispering through the trees, the distant rustling of dry leaves...” She shivered, as if recalling the cold touch of that moment. “And then—I saw it. A cardinal. Bright red against the gray marble, sitting there so still, like it was waiting for me.”

Imani’s hand reached out, warm and steady, covering Y/N’s trembling fingers. “It felt like he was really there,” Y/N said, voice breaking now, thick with emotion. “Like Trey sent that bird just for me—like he was telling me, ‘I’m still here, baby. I’m still with you.’” A shaky smile touched her lips, tears spilling free now. “I whispered his name, ‘Trey?’ hoping, praying for a sign. And that bird... it just looked at me. Not like an animal. Like it understood. Like it was answering.”

Keisha blinked hard, brushing away a tear, and Imani’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. “That moment,” Y/N said, voice raw and quiet, “it changed something inside me. I realized... he’s not gone. Not really. He’s still here—in me, watching over me. And maybe that’s enough to keep going.”

She looked up, meeting their eyes, the pain and the peace mingling in her gaze. “For the first time in a long time, I felt... peace. Like I could finally breathe again without it crushing me.” The room seemed to hold its breath with her, the weight of grief and love folding together gently, like a fragile quilt wrapping them all in warmth. Imani squeezed Y/N’s hand, and Keisha nodded, their silence a quiet promise to hold that peace with her.

“Thank you for trusting us with that,” Imani whispered, her voice thick with feeling. “That was beautiful, Y/N. So honest.” Y/N smiled, a tremulous, grateful smile, feeling lighter but raw in the same breath. “I just... needed you both to know. There’s so much I haven’t been able to say out loud.”

Keisha’s voice was soft but steady. “Whenever you’re ready, we’ll be here.” Y/N’s eyes shimmered with tears, but her smile held firm—anchored in hope, in love, in the fragile promise of healing. “I know.”

Y/N leaned forward to sit her wine glass on the coffee table, the familiar presence of Imani and Keisha on either side anchoring her like a lifeline. The afternoon light filtered gently through the window, casting warm patterns on the floor, but inside her, a storm had just calmed—if only a little.

“So…” Y/N began, her voice tentative as she looked between her two friends. “I finally went to see Trey’s family.”

Imani’s eyes widened slightly. “You did? How was it? I’ve been dying to hear.” Keisha leaned forward, curiosity lighting up her face. “Tell us everything.”

Y/N exhaled slowly, searching for the right words. “They’re amazing. Carla—Trey’s mom—she’s got this calm, motherly presence. Marcus, his dad, is quiet but there’s this depth to him. And Londyn, his sister, she’s so full of life and warmth. It felt... real. Like nothing had changed.” Imani smiled softly, encouraging her to continue.

“There was this moment, early on,” Y/N said, swallowing the lump in her throat. “Carla asked me if there was anyone special in my life back in Cincinnati.”

Keisha nodded, already sensing the weight behind that simple question. “And what did you say?” Y/N hesitated, then met their eyes. “I told them about Joe.” Imani’s brow furrowed slightly, as if trying to imagine the courage that took. “That must’ve been so hard to say out loud.”

“It was,” Y/N admitted. “Especially because I wasn’t sure how they’d react. But Carla’s gaze was calm—kind, even. It felt like she already knew. Like she’d seen something in me that I hadn’t fully admitted to myself.” Keisha’s voice was gentle. “What did you tell them exactly?”

Taking a deep breath, Y/N let the memories wash over her. “I said, ‘There’s someone. His name’s Joe. We’ve been spending time together, and it’s more than just friendship.’ My voice was shaky at first, but I couldn’t lie. It felt like finally letting out a breath I’d been holding for so long.” Imani nodded, her eyes shining with empathy. “And how did they take it?”

“That’s the part I didn’t expect,” Y/N said, a small smile touching her lips. “Carla smiled softly and said she believed Trey sent Joe to me. She said, if Trey can’t be here to love me himself, maybe Joe is the way he still can—from wherever he is.”

The room seemed to pause for a moment, the weight of Carla’s words settling around them like a gentle, healing presence. “Wow,” Keisha whispered. “That’s so beautiful.”

Y/N’s fingers found Keisha’s hand and squeezed it. “It was. Marcus said something similar—he told me that Trey would want me to be happy, that I’m not betraying him by moving on. That I’ve carried Trey’s love for so long, but now it’s time to carry my own happiness.” Imani smiled warmly. “That’s exactly what Trey would want.”

Y/N nodded, blinking back tears she hadn’t realized had come. “Londyn, too—she’s so young, but she’s wise. She told me she knew I’d been different lately. That someone was making me smile more than usual. She said she’s proud of me for opening my heart again.”

Keisha gave a soft laugh, wiping her own eyes. “Sounds like they love you just as much as Trey did.” “They do,” Y/N said, her voice thick with emotion. “And it was such a relief. I’d been so scared they’d judge me, or be disappointed. But instead, I felt their love wrap around me like a blanket.” Imani reached over and tucked a stray lock of hair behind Y/N’s ear. “You deserve that love, Y/N. You deserve happiness.” Y/N let out a shaky laugh. “I’ve been holding onto so much guilt. I kept thinking loving Joe meant I was betraying Trey’s memory. But hearing them say it’s okay—it felt like permission to live again.”

Keisha’s eyes shone with tears and understanding. “You’re not betraying anyone. You’re honoring Trey by allowing yourself to heal.” The room fell into a comfortable silence, each woman lost in their own thoughts. After a moment, Y/N spoke again, her voice soft but sure. “Carla’s words stayed with me the most—the idea that maybe Trey sent Joe to me. Like Joe is here to love me in Trey’s place. It’s hard to explain how much that means.”

Imani smiled thoughtfully. “It’s like a sign, isn’t it? That love doesn’t end when someone’s gone. It just changes.” “Exactly,” Y/N said, her smile growing. “And for the first time, I’m starting to believe it’s okay to let someone new in.” Keisha squeezed her hand once more. “We’re so proud of you. And we’ll be here every step of the way.” Y/N’s heart swelled with gratitude, feeling lighter and freer than she had in months. “Thank you—both of you. For listening, for understanding. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Imani chuckled softly. “You’ll never have to find out.”

And as the afternoon sun dipped lower, casting golden light over the room, Y/N felt a small spark of hope flicker in her chest—one that promised a future filled with love, healing, and the courage to move forward.

The three of them lounged comfortably in the softly lit living room, the scent of aged oak and red wine filling the air. Glasses clinked gently as Keisha raised hers in mock solemnity. “I still can’t believe your sister called Joe, ‘Thickums’.” Y/N laughed, the sound light and genuine, a warm glow spreading across her face. “Oh, that was definitely on me. It started as a joke—some teasing about his build—but honestly, it just stuck. Thickums. It fits. Joe has this… presence. Like, he owns the room, curves and all. Can’t help but admire it.”

Imani chuckled, shaking her head in amusement. “I love it. Thickums. You have to keep that going. I’m already imagining how his face lights up when you call him that.” “Yeah,” Y/N smiled, swirling the wine in her glass. “He’s a good sport about it. But there’s more. Imani was right—I was definitely leaving something out. Something important.” Keisha arched an eyebrow, leaning forward. “Now you’ve got us curious. What haven’t you told us?”

Y/N took a slow breath, her gaze drifting to the window where the last traces of twilight faded into night. “It was the night I got home after getting off the plane and sitting right here And I decided fuck it, i got in my car and I drove straight to Joe. My hands were trembling so badly I could barely find the right spot to turn off the ignition. The silence inside my car was almost oppressive—every little sound felt magnified. The rustle of leaves outside, the distant city hum, even my own ragged breathing seemed unbearably loud.”

Imani’s voice softened. “I can only imagine how overwhelming that must’ve been.” “It was,” Y/N said quietly. “I sat there for a long moment, heart pounding like it was trying to break free. Then I forced myself out of the car. My feet barely touched the ground as I hurried up the driveway, each step carrying the weight of everything I’d been holding back and the hope of something new.”

Keisha’s eyes were fixed on her, full of encouragement. “And then?” “The door,” Y/N whispered. “I raised my hand and knocked—just once. The sound echoed into the still night air. And when the door creaked open, there he was.”

Imani let out a breath, her eyes wide. “Joe?” “Yes. He looked… disheveled, hair sticking up like he’d just woken from a deep sleep. His eyes were heavy, filled with that groggy confusion you get when you’re pulled from a dream. But then, recognition spread slowly across his face.”

Keisha smiled softly. “Sounds like a moment out of a movie.”

Y/N nodded, a shy smile curving her lips. “It felt like one. He asked, ‘Y/N? What are you—?’ but I didn’t let him finish. I couldn’t. I just stepped forward, cupped his jaw with trembling hands, and kissed him.” Imani’s smile was tender, almost reverent. “That’s so brave. And so beautiful.”

“It was terrifying,” Y/N admitted, her fingers tightening slightly around her wine glass. “But it was also right. The kiss was desperate, raw—everything I’d kept bottled up for months poured out in that single moment. Joe’s body leaned into mine like he’d been waiting for this too, like this was where we were supposed to be.” “Did you say anything after?” Keisha asked, voice soft. “For a long time, we just stood there—lost in the kiss. When we finally broke apart, our foreheads rested together and I whispered the only word I could manage: ‘Hi.’”

Both women smiled knowingly.

“Joe blinked, like he was trying to believe it was real. He reached up, brushed a stray braid behind my ear, and said ‘Hi’ back. Then he asked me what I was doing there, voice rough with emotion.” Imani leaned closer, eyes shining. “What did you tell him?” “I told him the truth,” Y/N said. “That I was scared. Scared to feel, scared to be there. But I needed to be sure—to finally let go of the fear that held me back.”

“And he?” Keisha asked. “He stepped back just enough to pull me inside. The house was dim and quiet, but warm—like a safe harbor after a storm. Joe looked at me with a softness I hadn’t seen before and said, ‘You don’t have to be scared. I’ve been waiting for you.’” Imani’s voice caught, “Waiting for you?”

“Yes,” Y/N whispered. “Waiting for me to be ready. Waiting for this moment—to be with me.” Keisha reached across the table, squeezing Y/N’s hand. “That’s so powerful. It sounds like you found what you needed.” “I did,” Y/N agreed, eyes shining with unshed tears. “We kissed again—this time slow, tender, full of promises. Neither of us needed to say much. It was the beginning I didn’t think I’d ever have.” Imani smiled softly, her voice warm. “You deserve that, Y/N. You deserve all the beginnings you want.”

Keisha nodded. “And Thickums deserves to know how lucky he is.” Laughter bubbled up again, the kind that heals, that lifts the soul. And beneath the laughter was something quieter—hope, understanding, the knowledge that sometimes, love arrives when you least expect it and opens a door to a future you never dared to imagine. Y/N’s smile lingered, the weight on her heart lighter, the past and the promise of what was to come finally holding hands in a delicate, beautiful balance.

Keisha cocked her head, a knowing smile playing at the corner of her mouth as she leaned back on the couch. “Okay, spill. Did you stay over or not? You can’t leave me hanging like that.” Y/N laughed softly, her fingers nervously twisting the edge of her sleeve. She glanced down for a moment, gathering her thoughts before meeting Keisha’s curious gaze. “Yeah. I did.”

There was a brief pause as the words settled between them. Keisha’s eyes widened slightly. “So… what was it like? Tell me everything.” Y/N took a deep breath, her mind drifting back to that night, replaying the moments that felt so simple but carried so much weight. “When I got upstairs to his room, it looked just like it always did—nothing fancy, just lived-in. The bed was unmade, his posters still up, a few books scattered on the nightstand. But that night… it felt different. Like the room was alive, like it was holding its breath, waiting.”

Keisha nodded, urging her on with a quiet, “Go on.” “I stood at the doorway for a while, hesitant. I guess I was trying to hold everything in—the nerves, the hope, the fear—by wrapping my arms around myself,” Y/N said, her voice soft, almost like she was confessing something precious. “Joe glanced back at me, and there was this look in his eyes—so gentle, so patient—and he just said, ‘Come here.’”

A small smile tugged at Keisha’s lips. “That sounds… really sweet.” “It was,” Y/N agreed, the memory warming her cheeks. “He pulled back the covers like it was the most natural thing in the world, and he let me slip under first. It felt strange at first—intimate, but not in the way you might expect. It was deeper, like we were sharing something more than just space.”

Keisha leaned forward, eyes shining with interest. “Like what?” “Like… trust. Like being safe. When Joe climbed in beside me, the mattress dipped beneath us, and when he wrapped his arms around me, I just… nestled into him. It was the kind of closeness that made me feel like I finally belonged somewhere.” Y/N’s voice softened. “There was this silence after that—not awkward, but sacred. Like the whole world was quiet just for us.”

Keisha’s smile turned a little wistful. “I love that. It sounds like it meant a lot.” “It did,” Y/N nodded. “My hand was clutching his shirt like I was scared he’d disappear again, but he didn’t move. Not even a little. And when he pressed a kiss to the top of my head and whispered, ‘You’re here. You’re really here,’ it felt like a promise. Like I wasn’t alone anymore.”

Keisha’s eyes were bright, full of understanding. “That’s so rare. You’ve got to hold on to that.” Y/N swallowed hard, the rush of emotions threatening to spill over. “The thing is, I kept thinking I was going to wake up and find out it was all just a dream. That none of it was real.” “But it was,” Keisha said firmly. “It had to be.” Y/N nodded slowly. “Yeah. It was real.”

There was a long pause as both of them let the moment breathe. Keisha reached out and gave Y/N’s hand a squeeze. “Sounds like he’s really something special.” “He is,” Y/N said quietly, a soft smile breaking through. “I mean, the next morning was just as real. I woke up to the smell of pancakes and music coming from downstairs. I found him in the kitchen, shirtless and a mess of sleep curls, flipping pancakes like he’d been doing it his whole life. It was so… domestic, so simple, and yet it made my heart hurt in the best way.”

Keisha laughed. “Joe, the pancake master. Didn’t see that coming.” Y/N grinned. “He was totally multitasking—checking his phone, flipping pancakes, nodding along to whatever rap music was playing. And when he saw me, he gave this crooked grin and said, ‘Well, hope these live up to your expectations.’”

“I’m guessing you weren’t exactly worried about the pancakes being good?” Keisha teased. “Not at all,” Y/N replied, rolling her eyes affectionately. “He called himself ‘a man of many talents,’ but honestly, the pancakes were a little uneven. Still, they were edible. Barely.”

Keisha giggled. “That sounds like Joe—doing his best, but making it charming.” Y/N nodded, her smile deepening. “And then we fell into this easy banter—the kind that reminds you why you liked someone in the first place. We even did the dishes together afterward, which is hilarious because neither of us really likes doing them. But it was nice—just an ordinary moment that felt anything but ordinary.”

Keisha’s voice softened. “Sounds like you’re in a good place.” Y/N’s smile faded a little, the weight of what she was about to share settling over her again. “I want to be. But I also told him everything. About Trey, about my past—the love I thought was forever and the loss that broke me. I showed him the ring, and for the first time in a long time, I let someone see all of me.” Keisha’s eyes glistened. “That takes so much courage.” Y/N shrugged, wiping at the tears she wasn’t even trying to hide anymore. “I was scared it would push him away. But Joe—he didn’t flinch. He just held my hand and promised he wasn’t asking me to forget. That he wants to be here, for all of it.” Keisha smiled, a mixture of pride and relief shining in her eyes. “Sounds like you found something real. And the fact you’re willing to take it slow… that means a lot.”

Y/N nodded, a new kind of hope settling in her chest. “Yeah. No rushing. No pressure. Just… whatever this is, at my pace.” Keisha reached over and hugged her. “You deserve that, Y/N. And I’m so happy for you.” Y/N leaned into the hug, feeling lighter than she had in a long time. “Thanks, Kei. Me too.”

A Few Days Later Location: Locker Room Hallway, Just After Practice

Joe found her by the equipment crates, scribbling inventory notes with a smudge of eye black still on her cheek from hauling helmets earlier. “Hey,” he said, a little breathless. Not from practice. From her. Y/N looked up, lifting a brow. “Quarterback. Surprised you survived today.” He grinned. “I’d take a full-body tackle from BJ over the look Coach gave me for missing that route.”

“You did throw into double coverage,” she said, deadpan. “Bold strategy.” “Bold?” He leaned against the wall beside her, crossing his arms with a lazy smirk. “I was trying to impress the beautiful equipment manager standing just outside the end zone.” She blinked once. “Tragic. You missed her by a solid ten yards.” Joe let out a low laugh. “Yeah, well… story of my life.” There was a beat of silence, charged and taut. And then—“Joe,” she said gently, her voice pulling in the reins, “we should talk. Like—actually talk.” His smile faded into something softer. “Yeah. I’ve been waiting for you to say that.”

They found a quiet spot in the team lounge, post-practice rush over, most of the guys already gone. The air smelled faintly of sweat, Gatorade, and that weird eucalyptus body wash the linemen swore by. Y/N sat cross-legged on the couch. Joe dropped into the seat beside her—but left space. For her. For the conversation. For this line they were both toeing. She chewed on her bottom lip for a second—thinking, weighing it—and he had to literally look away to keep from staring at her mouth. “We said we’d take it slow,” she started. “And I meant that,” Joe said, voice soft, sincere. “No rush, no pressure. I’m not here to make your life complicated.”

She gave a tiny nod, thoughtful. “It’s not just about slow. It’s… the job. The setting. You’re the quarterback, Joe. I’m literally taping cleats and dealing with laundry fights between rookies. It’s not a level playing field.” He didn’t flinch. “Then let’s make it one.” She blinked. “I don’t want anything between us that feels imbalanced or shady,” he said. “We set boundaries. We hold to them. We make this work like adults.”

“And if word gets out?” she asked, meeting his gaze. “Then they know I have great taste,” he deadpanned. “And also—boundaries still apply. We’re not making out in the locker room or sneaking around. We keep it professional at work, always. You’re a badass at your job. I’d never want to jeopardize that.”

Her eyes softened. “You’re serious.” “As a pulled hamstring in playoff season.” Y/N snorted. “Okay, that’s grim.” He nudged her knee lightly. “We keep things clean on campus. Off-campus? That’s ours. But you call the shots. If it ever feels like too much, you say the word. I’ll back off.”

“Even if I’m the one who initiated it?” she asked, arching a brow. “Even then,” he said. “I’m not here to win a game. I’m here to earn you.” That stopped her cold. Her breath caught—just a fraction—but enough that Joe noticed. Enough that it made his stomach do a slow, dangerous roll. She paused, then tilted her head at him—expression unreadable, voice light, but laced with meaning. “And… the flirting?”

Joe tried to keep his face neutral, but the smirk slipped in anyway—slow and crooked, like it had a mind of its own. “That depends. You planning to stop looking at me like you want to fuck me and kill me at the same time?” Y/N blinked, thrown for a second, and yep—there it was. That faint flush creeping up her neck. “You’re impossible,” she muttered. He grinned. “Not an answer.” She shot him a look—sharp, but not without heat. “I mean the constant winks. The tragic attempts at pickup lines mid-practice. And the very obvious habit of losing your shirt every time I walk by with a clipboard.”

Joe leaned back slightly, resting his arm on the back of the couch like he wasn’t two seconds away from short-circuiting at the fact that she noticed. “Okay, in my defense,” he said, “I lose the shirt for ventilation purposes.” She rolled her eyes. “Sure.” “And also to see if you'd look.” She did. Every time. But she refused to give him the satisfaction.

“It worked, didn’t it?” he added, voice lower now, teasing, like he already knew the answer. “Barely,” she lied. “But it did,” he shot back, grinning like the damn sun.

“Joe,” she warned again, but it came out softer this time. He raised his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. Here's the truth—I’ve been flirting with you since you threatened to staple my sock labels for being out of order. That wasn’t some new move once feelings got involved. That was me, day one, down bad and trying to play it cool.” That shut her up for a second. Her eyes flicked to his, and the tension crackled like static between them.

“Incredibly unsuccessfully, by the way,” he added, a little quieter. “Playing it cool, I mean. You kind of wrecked that for me.” Y/N’s throat bobbed as she swallowed, her fingers nervously tracing a line along her pants. “And now that things are… different?”

Joe didn’t miss the careful way she said it. Like naming whatever was happening between them too clearly might ruin it. “I don’t want to pretend nothing’s changed,” he said. “But I’m not gonna cross any lines you don’t want me to. I’ll behave. Mostly.” She gave him a sidelong glance. “Define ‘mostly.’” “Still gonna look at you like you hung the damn moon,” he said easily. “Still gonna flirt a little. If that’s still okay.”

Y/N bit her lip, and Joe nearly groaned. That lip-bite had haunted his dreams during the off-season. “So no more ‘Y/N, is it hot in here or is it just your towel inventory’ while I’m logging practice gear?” Joe winced. “Okay, that one was bad. Even I’ll admit that.” She smiled despite herself. “Terrible.” “I’ll tone it down. Promise,” he said, mock-saluting. “Keep it PG. Professional Glances. Maybe a few emotionally devastating compliments if you’re wearing that sweatshirt again.” Her breath caught, and he saw it. That tiny stutter in her chest. That tell.

“I’ll allow emotionally devastating,�� she said finally, trying for casual. He tilted his head, eyes warm. “So the flirting stays?” “Within reason.” “No shirtless stretching unless medically necessary?” “Strictly doctor-ordered.” He sighed dramatically. “There goes my Tuesday plan.” “Burn it,” she said.

Joe laughed, leaning back into the couch, heart hammering and lighter all at once. “Consider it gone,” he said. “But for the record—if flirting’s what got us here, I’m not mad about it. I’d wait a hundred practices to get another one of those smiles.”

That earned him a full-on blush, the kind she tried to hide behind a scoff, but it was too late. He’d seen it. Felt it. “I like the way we are,” she added. “We know where the line is. And we’re choosing not to cross it here—not because we have to, but because we respect it. That means more to me than pretending this doesn’t exist.” “I don’t need some grand gesture, Joe,” she said, more softly now. “I just need it to be real.”

He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, head tilted toward her. “This is the realest thing I’ve ever felt.” Y/N looked at him for a long moment—long enough that his heart started pounding again. Then: “Okay. Here’s what I want.” He straightened, focused. “We keep it low-key for now. No secret rendezvous, but no gossip bait either. No flirty winks at team dinners. No sneaking into each other’s rooms during away games.”

“Rude,” Joe muttered. She gave him a look. He lifted his hands. “Okay, okay. Keep going.” “You don’t use me to vent about bad plays. I don’t treat you differently than any of the guys when it comes to gear. We act normal.” “And when we’re not here?” She paused. “Then you take me to dinner. Like a normal guy who has terrible sock choices and a really bad poker face.”

Joe’s grin was full-on now. “Are you—wait. Are you asking me out?” “Technically, I’m telling you the conditions under which I might let you take me out.” Joe mock-saluted. “Command accepted.” They sat in the quiet for a beat longer, some unnamed thing floating between them—comfort, tension, anticipation.

“I like this,” he said eventually. “The talking.” She looked over. “You sure? Because it’s not the same as me watching you flex shirtless during cooldown stretches.” He groaned. “You noticed that?” “Joe,” she said dryly. “Everyone noticed. You dropped your towel dramatically.” “It was a tactical towel drop.” “You’re not subtle.” “Neither are you,” he shot back, smirking. “Your clipboard slap when I’m being annoying? Brutal. Sexy, but brutal.” She laughed—really laughed this time—and he felt it like sunshine after weeks of cloud cover. “Alright, QB1,” she said, standing. “Boundaries in place. Don’t make me regret this.” He followed her up, gaze warm. “You won’t.”

As she walked away, she called over her shoulder, “And Joe?” “Yeah?” “Nice socks.” He looked down. They were mismatched. Again. He swore under his breath—and behind her back, she smiled.

Yeah. This wasn’t just a game. And they were in it for the long haul.

Two Days Later Location: Equipment Room, Late Afternoon

Y/N had her curls pulled up in a loose, messy knot, sleeves rolled, wrist deep in a box of mismatched mouthguards and replacement chin straps. She was trying—trying—to stay focused. But Joe was leaning against the doorframe again. Casual. Cocky. Stupidly pretty. Helmet under one arm, practice jersey clinging to him like it had a personal grudge. And he was smiling at her like he knew exactly what he was doing. “Need help?” he asked, voice pitched low.

She didn’t look up. “Do you even know the difference between a speedflex and a schutt?” “Absolutely not,” he said. “But I do know I’ve never seen someone make helmet tape look that attractive.” Her hands froze mid-wrap. “Joe,” she warned. “Just an observation,” he said, innocent. “Completely professional.” Y/N huffed a laugh, finally glancing up. “You’re pushing your luck.” He stepped closer, placing his helmet on the counter beside her—deliberately too close. Their shoulders nearly brushed. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

She cleared her throat and reached for the next chin strap, trying to ignore the way her pulse had kicked up. “Did you need something? Or are you just here to torment me?” “Both,” he said easily, then leaned in slightly—not touching, not even close, but just enough that her breath hitched. Joe caught it. Of course he did. “Gotta say, Y/N…” he murmured, “you’re really holding it together well for someone who told me two days ago she liked it when I flirted.” Her head snapped up, and he was smirking now—dangerously pleased with himself.

“You’re annoying,” she muttered, cheeks pink. “You’re blushing,” he countered. She glared. “I’m overheated. I’ve been in this sauna of a room for hours.” “Mmm. Sure. Has nothing to do with me at all.” She shot him a look, but the corners of her mouth betrayed her, twitching toward a smile. “You’re lucky we set boundaries, Quarterback.”

“God, I know,” he said dramatically, tossing his head back with a groan. “Do you have any idea how hard it is not to kiss you when you start bossing me around in those god-awful gym shorts? Gives me the whole teacher fantasy.” “Joe.” “I’m suffering.” She tried to hide the smile—tried so hard—but he saw it, and his grin stretched wider. “You’re impossible,” she said, tossing a roll of tape at his chest.

He caught it easily. “And yet, here you are. Flustered. Cornered. Slightly breathless.” “I’m not breathless.” He arched a brow. “I’m not,” she insisted, even though she absolutely was. “I just—You’re distracting, okay?” That stopped him. His smile didn’t drop, but something behind his eyes shifted—softer. Less teasing. More real.

“Yeah?” he asked, voice a little quieter now. She hesitated. Then nodded once. Joe stepped back just enough to give her room again—but his expression stayed warm, adoring, like she’d just handed him something delicate and priceless. “I can tone it down,” he offered, genuine now. “Seriously. If it’s too much—” “No,” she said quickly, surprising them both. “I like it.” That got a small laugh from him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she said, cheeks still warm. “Just… maybe not when I’m wrist-deep in a bucket of mouthguards?” He chuckled, backing toward the door. “Fair enough. But hey…” She looked up. His smile turned boyish. Dangerous. Down horrendous. “You get a lunch break today?”

“Why?” she asked slowly. “I was thinking…” He gestured vaguely. “You. Me. Not-a-date lunch. Separate cars, obviously. Plausible deniability.” Y/N bit back a grin. “And if someone asks?” He shrugged. “I’ll say I needed help figuring out what socks go with emotional vulnerability.” She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling now. “Fine. One lunch. You’re paying.” Joe backed out of the room like a man who’d just scored a game-winning touchdown. “Gladly.”

And as he disappeared down the hallway, Y/N turned back to the equipment box, heart pounding. It wasn’t just flirting anymore. It was something real—slow and steady, sure. But dangerously close to the edge of something more. And Joe? Joe was already in free fall.

♪♫•*¨*•.¸¸❤¸¸.•*¨*•♫♪

It started with a look. No—the look. That charged, no-one-else-in-the-room, eye-contact-that-lingers kind of look. The one thick with unsaid things. The kind that burns slow, dares long, and says without words: I know what this is. You know what this is. And we’re both acting like we don’t.

Joe threw it from across the gym, casual as ever, like he didn’t just turn a stretch session into a scene from a low-key romance movie. He tossed the water bottle underhand—effortless. Intentional. Calculated.

Y/N, mid-reach, caught it—but just barely. Her fingers fumbled the grip before she secured it against her chest like it was a secret. Her heartbeat? Absolutely not calm. She could feel eyes on her before she even turned.

Imani was the first to notice, freezing mid-stretch. Her brows rose like a plot twist had just landed in real-time. A second later, Keisha followed suit, one hand still clutching her resistance band, her expression shifting slowly from amused to oh, we saw that. And then Joe backed out of the room—backwards—still grinning like he’d just sealed a game-winning play. Smooth. So damn smooth.

The second the door clicked shut behind him, both women pivoted toward Y/N with the urgency of gossip-fueled prosecutors. “Okay. What we not gonna do,” Imani said, arms folding like she’d just stepped into a courtroom, “is pretend that didn’t just happen.” Keisha tilted her head, lips twitching with restrained laughter. “You gon’ tell us what’s going on, or do we gotta pull up the practice footage like we’re breaking down game tape?” Y/N tried to play it cool. She really did. She snorted, twisted the cap off her bottle, and took a long sip. Too long.

“It’s not that serious,” she muttered, eyes darting anywhere but at them. Imani took a step closer, her tone shifting from playful to pointed. “Girl. That man just fixed his wristband like he was in a cologne commercial. For you. And you damn near dropped a water bottle.” Keisha, deadpan: “And blushed. You only blush when it’s reckless.”

“I do not—” Y/N started, but she already knew it was over. Imani cut her off like she was delivering a final blow in a debate round. “Don’t lie. We’ve been through four-a-days, the rookie hazing scandal, and your post-breakup Beyoncé-silence era. We know your tells.” Y/N paused. Her defense crumbled faster than she wanted it to. Her hand dropped, her gaze softened, and the edges of her mouth curled like the smile was trying to sneak out before she let it.

Keisha gasped, one hand flying to her chest. “Oh my God. It happened. You talked again.” Y/N gave a small, quiet nod. “We did,” she admitted, voice lower now. “Finally. For real this time.” The room shifted then. Teasing fell away like a curtain dropping. Imani stepped in, her stance gentler now, less interrogator and more sister.

“You okay?” she asked, and it wasn’t casual—it was layered. Real. Y/N inhaled through her nose, exhaled slow. “Yeah. I think I am. He knows about Trey. About everything.”

Keisha blinked, the sharp edges of her earlier teasing melting. “How’d he take it?” Y/N’s eyes flicked between them, her voice threading between memory and surprise. “Better than I expected. He didn’t try to fix it. Didn’t make it about him. He just… listened. Like, really listened.” Imani gave a slow, approving nod. “That’s grown man behavior.”

“Exactly,” Y/N said, her tone almost reverent. “He told me he’s not trying to rewrite anything. He just wants to be where I’m at. No pressure. No agenda. Just… showing up.” Keisha’s voice cracked slightly—just enough to hint at emotion she was trying to swallow. “Damn. I love that for you.”

“But we’re taking it slow,” Y/N added quickly, like she needed them to know she still had her feet on the ground. “Like—real slow. No labels. No declarations. Just… seeing what it is. Day by day.” Imani squinted. “Mmhmm. And flirting like you’re on a CW show.”

Keisha pointed a finger. “Facts. Y’all had like, three heart-eyes moments just during cleat check. I was about to give you two some space.” Y/N groaned. “We’ve always been like that!” “Sure,” Keisha said, grinning. “But now it’s mutual. He’s not just play-flirting. That boy is in it.”

Imani clapped her hands once. “And you’re flustered.” “Flustered and glowing,” Keisha added, looping her arm through Y/N’s like she was escorting her down a red carpet. Y/N laughed, shaking her head. “Y’all are too much.” Imani leaned in, voice soft now, rich with meaning. “Just remember… you deserve this. The good stuff. That softness you give everybody else? Let him give some of it back.”

Y/N’s throat tightened. She swallowed the lump, leaned into the hug like it was holding her together. “Thanks,” she said, voice barely above a whisper. “Really.” Keisha nudged her side. “Sooo… is this one of those ‘not-a-date’ things you’re gonna pretend isn’t a date later?” Y/N rolled her eyes and snatched up her clipboard. “It’s not a date. It’s just… hanging out.” Imani raised an eyebrow. “With lip gloss?” “And edge control?” Keisha added, all faux innocence. Y/N was halfway through the door, hoodie zipped halfway, ponytail neat, when she called over her shoulder, “I hate y’all.” “Love you too, boo!” they said in unison, laughter trailing behind her like a second shadow. The door swung shut, but inside, Imani and Keisha exchanged a long, knowing glance. “She gone,” Imani said, shaking her head with a grin that was half pride, half amusement.

“Fully gone,” Keisha agreed. “And he is too.” They sat back, the kind of satisfied silence that only best friends—ones who’ve seen your lowest lows and now get to witness you rising—can share. Outside, the sun was dipping lower in the sky. Practice was over, but something else was beginning. And somewhere near the edge of the lot, Joe was probably already waiting. Not a date. But definitely something.

And this time, they were both walking into it—eyes wide open.

♪♫•*¨*•.¸¸❤¸¸.•*¨*•♫♪

Location: Joe’s apartment, early evening.

Y/N hadn’t even raised her hand to knock when the front door swung open, like the moment had been waiting on her arrival. “Hi,” Joe said, grinning like he hadn’t just spent the last thirty minutes sprinting through a panic-clean of the downstairs. His hoodie was slightly crooked, sleeves shoved halfway up his forearms, and he was already barefoot—the universal sign of I want you to be comfortable, even if I’m faking how calm I am right now.

Y/N arched an eyebrow as she stepped onto the welcome mat. “This place has a gate. And a call box. I feel like I should’ve worn a dress or brought a résumé.” He smirked, stepping aside. “You’d look good in a trash bag. Come in.” She walked past him, her sneakers squeaking faintly against the polished wood floors, and paused just inside the entryway. The air smelled faintly like citrus cleaner and candle wax—specifically, the candle flickering low on the console table, nestled between a stack of vinyls and a wireless speaker.

The space felt curated but not overdone—sleek slate floors, warm wood accents, open concept that flowed from room to room. On the left, the living room boasted a sprawling sectional that could comfortably seat a defensive line, and a wall-mounted TV that looked like it doubled as a projection screen. Y/N blinked, taking it all in. “Okay. This is not what I expected from a man whose car smells like gym socks and protein powder.” Joe handed her a drink—sparkling water with lemon, her usual—and shrugged. “I contain multitudes.”

He led her into the kitchen with an easy confidence, walking backward like he trusted her to follow. The kitchen looked like it had been pulled straight from a Pinterest board titled modern with a soft flex: matte black cabinets, copper fixtures, under-cabinet lighting that made everything look golden. The fridge probably had a Wi-Fi signal stronger than hers. But it wasn’t the design that got her. It was the counter.

Two takeout containers. Fries, wings, sliders. And sitting right in the center: a bottle of hot honey sauce. She stared. “You really remembered the sauce?” Joe leaned against the island, arms crossed. “You threatened Imani with bodily harm when she took your last one. I took notes.” A laugh slipped out before she could stop it, soft and a little surprised. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously observant,” he corrected. “And ridiculously into you.” She rolled her eyes, but her ears betrayed her, flushing warm. “This still isn’t a date, though,” she said. “Absolutely not,” he said solemnly. “This is aggressively platonic candlelit chicken wing consumption.”

A few minutes later, they were settled in the living room, the food laid out on the coffee table in neat takeout rows. The TV played an NFL documentary on mute—something about rivalry trash talk in the '90s—but neither of them was really watching it. Y/N shifted on the couch, twisting her rings absently. “This is… chill,” she said finally, glancing around. “That was the goal,” Joe replied, resting one ankle over his knee. “Low pressure. Minimal expectations. Maximum vibes.” She raised an eyebrow, grinning despite herself. “Maximum vibes?” “You know what I mean.” He leaned forward to open the fries. “No weird jazz playlist. No artisan charcuterie. Just wings, laughter, and a shared love of Keisha’s tragic fantasy football picks.”

“You say that like you didn’t almost order sushi to impress me.” “I did almost,” he admitted, pointing a fry at her. “But then I remembered you hate cold rice and you once called wasabi ‘hostile guacamole.’”

Her jaw dropped. “You actually remembered that?” He gave her a look like of course I did. “Some of us pay attention.” Y/N blinked, not expecting the warmth curling in her chest. Her smile dimmed, gentler now. “Thanks,” she said softly.

Joe’s teasing edge faded just a little. “Thanks for coming.” They ate between banter and quiet. Their knees never touched, but the space between them felt warm. Comfortable. There was something in the way he passed her the napkins before she asked, how she saved him the last slider without making a thing of it.

The conversation shifted between light and personal. Practice mishaps, inside jokes, a five-minute detour about the best French fries in the city. And then—“So,” she said, licking hot honey from her thumb, “this is… what? Hanging out?” “Exactly,” he said quickly. Too quickly. She gave him a look.

“Two coworkers,” he continued, very seriously, “who flirt. And have wildly obvious chemistry. But are definitely not calling this a date.” “So much denial in one sentence,” she muttered. He picked up a wing like he was presenting evidence to the jury. “Hey. I’m respecting the pace.” “Uh-huh. Is flirting part of your best behavior?”

His grin went crooked. “Depends. You want me to stop?” She didn’t answer right away. Just looked at him—eyes steady, lips curved. “No,” she said finally. “But you have to deal with the consequences.” His eyebrows lifted. “What consequences?” “That I might flirt back.” Joe leaned back slowly, one arm draping across the back of the couch like this was all very casual and not secretly making his pulse spike. “Oh no,” he deadpanned. “Tragic. Whatever will I do.”

The space between them hummed. Not urgent, not awkward—just full. Charged. Familiar. Like something they’d both circled around for a long time without quite landing. Joe glanced sideways at her. The curve of her smile, the way she bit the inside of her cheek when she was trying to stay unreadable. The soft sweep of her baby hairs still slick despite the humidity. “You know,” he said, voice lower now, “I was nervous.” Y/N blinked. “You?”

He nodded. “Not about tonight. About this. Us. About… pushing too far and messing it up.” Her posture shifted slightly. She knew that fear too well.

“I didn’t wanna cross any lines,” he said. “Didn’t wanna make it weird at work. Or worse—lose what we already had.” She was quiet a long moment. Then: “But you still asked me to come over.” He looked at her like he couldn’t not look at her. “Yeah. Because not trying? That started feeling worse.” The silence between them wasn’t empty. It was honest. Something real settling in. Y/N let out a slow breath. “I like this,” she said. “Whatever this is.”

Joe’s smile was quiet, steady. “Me too.”

“You cold?” Joe asked. Y/N nodded, rubbing her arms. Without hesitation, he reached behind them for the throw blanket, wrapped it around her shoulders, then tugged her closer with a gentle touch that felt like asking permission. She leaned in. No hesitation. Her cheek found his shoulder. Her eyes fluttered shut. They sat like that, tucked into the quiet, until her voice broke the stillness. “You know,” she murmured, “this may not be a date…” “But?” he asked, not moving. “It feels like one.” Joe smiled into her hair, lips brushing the edge of her temple. “Good,” he said softly. “Because if it was? It’d be the best one I’ve had in a long time.” She didn’t answer. But she didn’t move away either. And for now, that was more than enough.

After the wings and fries had been picked through, after the takeout boxes had been nudged aside and the drinks replaced with water and quiet laughter, the night slowed. The conversation had meandered into something real, dipping into their childhoods, old dreams, and places they'd always wanted to go but hadn’t yet—Y/N talking about Morocco with a sparkle in her eye, Joe softly mentioning a cabin in Montana he’d stayed at once with his dad, tucked between pine trees and quiet.

Now they were back in the living room. The oversized couch—sprawled with blankets, an extra hoodie thrown over one armrest—had turned into something else entirely. A sanctuary. A place that muffled the rest of the world. Y/N curled up in the corner, legs tucked beneath her, wrapped in the soft throw blanket that still smelled faintly like detergent and his cologne. Around them, the room buzzed low with a kind of easy electricity: flickering candles, the occasional pop of a floorboard, the distant hum of a dishwasher cycling down.

Joe returned from the kitchen, two glasses of water in hand. He set one down near her, then sank into the couch beside her, stretching out with a satisfied sigh. “Alright,” he said, grabbing the remote and offering it like a ceremonial torch, “you get the pick of the movie, since this is definitely not a date.” He smirked. “Obviously.”

Y/N arched a brow, accepting the remote with a slow grin. “Oh, good. I was worried there might be expectations.” “God forbid,” he said, deadpan. She scrolled with ease, fingers knowing exactly where to go. “Bring It On.” Joe blinked. “Wait… what?”

She didn’t even look at him. “Bring. It. On.” “The cheerleading movie?” he asked, incredulous. “With Gabrielle Union?” Y/N nodded with solemn reverence. “It’s a classic.”

Joe stared, lips parted like he was trying to solve a complex math equation. “I did not take you for a cheer movie type. At all.” Y/N’s eyes cut sideways toward him, half-amused, half-challenging. “Why? Because I don’t walk around chanting ‘Brr—it’s cold in here’ every day?” He laughed, full-bodied and surprised, leaning his head back against the cushion. “I mean… maybe a little.” She smirked and clicked play like this conversation wasn’t even worth dignifying.

Joe grabbed a throw pillow, stuffed it behind his back, and shifted to face her more directly. “You know, I was all about the football flicks. Rudy. Friday Night Lights. Remember the Titans. Real heartstring stuff.” Y/N grinned. “Typical.” “Typical?” he repeated, offended. “I mean,” she said casually, “you have that whole ‘sports movie protagonist with a tragic backstory and dimples’ thing going on.”

Joe looked personally attacked. “Wow. I’m not even sure if that was a compliment.” “It was,” she said, eyes twinkling. They turned back to the screen, but the movie had barely made it past the opening montage before Y/N said, almost too casually, “I was a cheerleader.” Joe blinked. “Hold up.” He sat up straighter, pointing at her. “You?”

She nodded, expression unbothered. “High school. College. Captain senior year.” His jaw dropped. “College cheerleading? You were doing high kicks and stunts in stadiums?” She gave him a slow, satisfied look. “Full uniform. Full pep rally energy. Full back handsprings.” He stared like he was seeing her for the first time. “No, see, that explains everything. The presence. The energy. The way you walk into a room like you’re announcing game day.”

“Intimidating?” she asked, one brow lifted. “Impressive,” he corrected, grinning. “Like, damn. I’ve been trying to flirt with a captain this whole time?” She pretended to inspect her nails. “Well. We’re trained to spot potential from the top of the pyramid.” Joe barked a laugh and shook his head. “You’re something else.” “Full of surprises,” she agreed, sipping her water.

As the movie rolled, Gabrielle Union delivering lines like gospel, Y/N leaned further into the comfort of the moment. She started quoting her favorite scenes under her breath, mouthing choreography she clearly still remembered. Joe watched her more than the screen—each smile, each burst of laughter, each time she softly sang along to the background music.

She didn’t notice how he shifted closer, barely an inch at a time. Didn’t notice the way his hand draped near hers on the couch cushion, not quite touching, not quite pulling away. Until she did. And she didn’t move either.

At one point, during a particularly over-the-top cheer sequence, she nudged him with her shoulder. “This was my jam.” Joe leaned in conspiratorially. “You ever drop anybody?” She gasped. “Excuse you! I had spotting precision.” He laughed, and it blended so easily with her own that for a moment, it felt like something inside the apartment clicked into place. Something light. Familiar.

As the final routine played out, both of them a little looser now, Y/N found herself slowly reclining into his side. He didn’t make a move. Just allowed it. His arm behind her, body warm and solid beside hers. When the credits rolled, the house fell into a hush, the TV screen casting pale shadows across the walls. Y/N yawned, her head naturally resting against his shoulder now. “See?” she said sleepily. “Told you it was a classic.” Joe tilted his head to look at her, the softness in his expression unguarded. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I get it now.”

Without thinking, his hand reached for hers. Their fingers brushed, then laced. She exhaled, content. “I used to watch this all the time with my friends. Back when everything felt big and dramatic and possible.” “Still does,” he said softly. She turned to look up at him, eyes sleepy but focused. “You really think so?” Joe nodded. “With you? Yeah. Big. Dramatic. Possible.”

She stared at him a beat longer, like she was deciding something. Then her fingers squeezed his. “I used to feel unstoppable,” she whispered. “On the mat. On the field. Like I could take on the world.” “You still can,” he said, voice low, reverent. “You still do.”

Y/N blinked, suddenly very aware of the weight of those words. The sincerity in them. The way he wasn’t looking at her like she was a possibility—he was looking at her like she was already enough. She glanced down at their joined hands. And then up at him again. “I’m not always confident,” she said quietly. “Sometimes I’m just… good at pretending.”

Joe’s voice was barely a whisper. “Yeah. But even when you’re pretending, you still show up. That’s more than most people do.” Her heart cracked open a little wider at that. She leaned in again, this time letting her head fully rest against his chest. His arm tightened gently around her. “You mind if we… just sleep?” she murmured. “No rush,” he said, kissing the top of her head, barely there. “We’re good here.” And they were. The house was still. The lights dimmed. The world outside kept spinning. But on that couch—two not-dating people falling softly, slowly into something they couldn’t name yet—it felt like everything was exactly as it should be.

Fingers still laced. Heartbeats quiet but sure. Not a date. But maybe the start of something even better.

♪♫•*¨*•.¸¸❤¸¸.•*¨*•♫♪

The morning light spilled gently through the tall windows, golden and diffused, catching on the dust motes dancing in the air like lazy confetti. The apartment was quiet, still wrapped in the hush of early hours. No alarms, no traffic noise yet—just the steady hum of a home at peace.

On the couch, tangled in a nest of throw blankets and body heat, Y/N stirred first. Her eyelashes fluttered against her cheeks as the light warmed her face, and for a moment, she didn’t move. She just breathed. The kind of slow, grounded inhale that comes with waking up somewhere safe. Somewhere good. Her cheek was pressed against something solid—warm, steady, familiar.

Joe.

She blinked sleepily, shifting just enough to register the arm slung over her shoulders, his hand resting against her waist with unconscious confidence. The blanket had slipped slightly during the night, revealing the soft curve of his forearm, and his hoodie had ridden up just enough to show a sliver of skin at his hip. Y/N’s body was nestled against his, her legs tangled with his like it had happened gradually, naturally, over the course of the night. And maybe it had. She smiled to herself, small and secretive. This was the best "not-a-date" she'd ever been on.

His scent—something clean and woodsy, like cedar and laundry detergent—lingered in her hair and on the throw pillow beneath her. She resisted the urge to burrow deeper into the crook of his neck. Then he moved.

Barely.

A sleepy groan rumbled in his chest as his hand shifted on her waist, the weight of it pressing her a little closer. His nose brushed her temple. Then his lips—warm and instinctive—ghosted across her forehead, soft as a sigh. It felt unintentional, like muscle memory. Like he'd done it a hundred times before.

Her breath caught. She could feel his heartbeat now, steady and unguarded. And though he was still half-asleep, Joe held her like she was an anchor, like even in dreams, he wasn’t ready to let her go.

It was stupidly endearing. Y/N let her eyes close again for a moment, letting herself enjoy it. The quiet. The warmth. The illusion that this was normal. That this was theirs. But the clock on the wall ticked forward, indifferent to their cocoon.

And unfortunately, they both had jobs. She shifted carefully, trying not to wake him, but his grip reflexively tightened. “Mmm. Don’t go,” Joe mumbled, voice thick and deliciously rough from sleep. He nuzzled into her hair, groaning like a man clinging to the last seconds of a dream.

Y/N bit back a laugh, the sound catching in her throat. “Joe,” she whispered, trying again to peel herself away. “We gotta get up. We’ve got work today.” He groaned again—dramatic, petulant—and buried his face against her neck. “Work can wait,” he mumbled into her skin. “Besides… I’m not ready to leave this… perfection.”

Her heart flipped at the word. Perfection. He’d said it like he meant it. Like waking up next to her wasn’t just okay—it was ideal. She swallowed hard. “You’re dangerously charming when you’re half-conscious.” “And devastatingly handsome,” he added, eyes still closed. Y/N rolled her eyes, trying not to smile. “The Bengals are gonna be pissed if you’re late for practice.”

That got a reaction. Joe’s eyes snapped open, blinking at the ceiling for a beat before turning to look at her, slightly dazed. His arm was still wrapped around her waist. His legs were still tangled with hers. And now he was very aware of just how close they were.

Still, he didn’t let go. “Shit,” he muttered, rubbing his eyes. “You’re right. Practice.” But then he looked at her—really looked at her, hair messy and cheeks flushed from sleep—and his expression softened.

“Before I go full franchise mode,” he said, lips quirking, “what do you say to breakfast?” Y/N raised an eyebrow, stretching slowly as she sat up. “You really think I’m gonna cook for you?”

He let out a breathy laugh. “No, no. I’m gonna cook for you. Obviously. I’m not a monster.” Her smile curved lazily, amused and skeptical all at once. “You? In the kitchen?” Joe stood, shaking off the last dregs of sleep and stretching his arms over his head. “What, you think I can’t handle breakfast?”

“I think you’re a quarterback, not Gordon Ramsay,” she replied, getting to her feet and wrapping the throw blanket around her shoulders like a robe. He gasped, hand on his chest. “I’ll have you know, I make an elite omelet.” “Uh-huh. Who taught you? Your nutritionist?”

“My mom,” he said proudly, already heading toward the kitchen. “And I was a very enthusiastic student.” Y/N followed, arms crossed as she leaned against the doorway, watching him pull a pan from the cabinet with exaggerated flair. He looked like he belonged there—barefoot, hair tousled, hoodie slightly wrinkled. She hated how good domesticity looked on him.

“Alright, superstar,” she said, lips twitching. “Show me what you’ve got.” Joe cracked the first egg, maybe a little too confidently. “You know,” he said, glancing at her sidelong, “you’re kinda distracting.” Her brow lifted. “Am I?”

He grinned, cheeks coloring faintly. “It’s hard to focus when you’re in the room looking like that.” Y/N smirked, walking closer. “Like what?” He glanced down, taking in the oversized throw blanket and the way her hair fell across her face. “Like a problem.”

She stepped around him, brushing past him just enough to make his breath hitch. “Maybe you’re just bad at multitasking.” He turned to protest—then nearly dropped the spatula when she leaned in close and whispered, “You look a little flustered, Joe.”

“I—what—” He blinked, cheeks burning. “I’m not flustered.” “Sure you’re not.” He turned back to the pan, clearing his throat. “I’m just focused.” “Mm-hmm.” She crossed her arms, watching him with amused eyes. “So focused you nearly burned your eggs.” Joe cursed under his breath and quickly flipped the omelet. It wasn’t perfect, but it was still edible. Probably.

When he plated the food and handed her a fork, Y/N took a cautious bite. Her eyebrows lifted. “Okay… okay. This is actually good.” Joe beamed. “Told you.” “Still doesn’t mean you’re not down bad,” she added, sipping her coffee. He choked. “Down—what?”

She winked. “You heard me.” His ears turned pink again as he shook his head, laughing to himself. “Y/N?”

“Yeah?” He looked up, eyes holding hers like a question he hadn’t figured out how to ask yet. Then he just smiled. Soft and stupid and entirely too sincere. “I’m really glad you came over.” She looked at him for a long moment. No teasing. No snark. Just a quiet little heartbeat between them.

“Yeah,” she said finally. “Me too.” And as they sat side by side at the counter, the sunlight creeping higher, and the smell of eggs and coffee filling the air, the moment didn’t need labels. It didn’t need promises or declarations. It just needed them.

Two people. A couch. A pan of eggs. And a connection that felt like maybe—just maybe—it was turning into something real.

♪♫•*¨*•.¸¸❤¸¸.•*¨*•♫♪

The morning had passed in a blur.

Between meetings, training sessions, and running from one end of the stadium to the other, Y/N barely had time to think—let alone process what the hell had actually happened that morning. The warmth of Joe’s arm still lingered faintly on her waist. The quiet rasp of his sleepy voice still echoed in the back of her mind.

“Work can wait... I’m not ready to leave this perfection.”

She’d heard the words. Felt them settle in her chest like a pebble dropped into still water, sending ripples out in every direction.

But now, mid-afternoon sunlight spilled into the equipment room through a high window, cutting through the scent of detergent, mesh, and turf rubber. Machines hummed steadily around them, and piles of jerseys and towels formed soft mountains across the worktables. And unfortunately for Y/N, this was where her reprieve ended.

Because Imani and Keisha were waiting. And they were sharks. “Alright,” Imani said, her tone suspiciously casual as she expertly folded a towel with military precision. She didn’t even glance up as she spoke. “Spill. What happened last night?”

Y/N paused mid-fold. It was only a second—but Imani caught it. “I—nothing happened,” she said quickly, too quickly, the smile tugging at the corners of her lips giving her away.

Keisha, standing across the table with one of Joe’s cleats dangling in her hand like a prop, gave a slow, dramatic head tilt. “Mm. Girl. Come on. You expect us to believe that?” Imani finally looked up, arching a brow. “Seriously. You went to his place to watch a movie, came in late this morning looking like you barely got two hours of sleep, and now you’re in here pretending like nothing’s changed? You forget who you’re talking to?” Y/N tried to keep a straight face. “I’m telling you, it was chill. We watched Bring It On, he teased me about cheerleading. That’s it.”

Keisha snorted, crossing her arms. “You do know that man looks at you like he’s ready to risk it all, right? Like, he’s one lingering glance away from writing poetry. Don't play coy.” Y/N felt the blush creep up her neck before she could stop it. She focused intently on folding a jersey, smoothing the fabric like it might erase the memory of Joe pulling her closer in his sleep.

“Okay, fine,” she said, glancing up with a laugh. “Yes, we watched a movie. Yes, he teased me. We flirted. But nothing else happened. It was sweet. Innocent.” Imani’s eyes narrowed. “Innocent? You call it innocent when a 6’4”, blue-eyed quarterback holds you all night, cooks you breakfast in his hoodie, and gives you that slow, sleepy smile like you’re his last meal?”

“I wasn’t even that late,” Y/N said weakly, grabbing a stack of towels and heading for the shelves. Keisha followed, smirking. “Please. You missed the gym. That never happens. And don’t even try to say your alarm didn’t go off.”

“I was going to come,” Y/N insisted, cheeks heating. “But Joe... made breakfast.” She said it softly, like it would land easier that way. It didn’t. There was a beat of silence before both girls erupted at once. “Ohhhhhh, hell no!” Keisha shouted, dropping the cleat. “Did she just say—?”

“Breakfast?” Imani cut in, practically glowing. “Oh, she’s in trouble.” Y/N groaned, laughing despite herself. “It wasn’t like that. It was literally just eggs!” “Uh-huh,” Keisha said, eyes gleaming. “But did he make ‘I have guests over’ eggs or ‘this is my woman and I’m about to wife her’ eggs? There’s a difference.” “Definitely wife-her eggs,” Imani confirmed, arms crossed. “You could feel it in the air when he walked by us this morning. That man had the after-cuddle glow.”

“You two are ridiculous,” Y/N muttered, even as her grin betrayed her. “I mean it. We just… talked. Ate. Flirted. That’s all.”

Keisha leaned on the laundry counter, eyes sharp. “Y/N. Babe. Be real with us. How do you feel about him?” That was the part she didn’t want to say out loud.

Because saying it meant it was real. She busied herself stacking towels, trying to ignore the flash of Joe’s face in her mind—the way his voice had softened when he said her name, the look in his eyes when he said, “I’m glad you came over.” Imani’s voice broke through her thoughts, quieter this time. “You like him. You’re scared to admit it, but it’s written all over you.”

Y/N finally stopped moving. She exhaled, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I don’t know,” she said, honest now. “It’s... easy with him. Fun. But also scary. Like, what if this is more than what we think it is and we’re not ready? Or what if we are ready and it still gets complicated? You know how this place is. The second people catch on, it’s all anyone will talk about.”

Keisha gave a knowing smile. “Yeah, but screw what anyone else thinks. The real question is—do you want this to be more?” Y/N was quiet for a moment, her gaze distant.

Then: “I think... maybe I do.”

Imani grinned like she’d won a bet. “Boom. There it is.” “Look,” Y/N said, trying to sound like she still had some control, “I’m not saying I’m in love with him. I’m just saying... he makes it hard not to want more. And I don’t know what that means yet.” Keisha tilted her head. “It means you’re already halfway there, sis. You’re just afraid to fall.”

“Who isn’t?” Y/N replied softly. “True,” Imani said, folding the last jersey. “But the way that man looks at you? Girl... you’ve already fallen. You’re just hoping the landing’s soft.”

Y/N stared down at the laundry table, then laughed, shaking her head. “You two are way too invested in my life.” “That’s what best friends are for,” Keisha said sweetly, giving her a little bump with her hip. “We’ll be here for the wedding planning.”

“Imani’s gonna cry first,” Y/N teased. “I will cry,” Imani said proudly. “But only if he writes his vows. In cursive.” They all broke into laughter, the kind that bounced off the tiled walls and wrapped them in warmth. But even as the jokes faded, the truth lingered—quiet but undeniable. There was something there. Between her and Joe. Something delicate, and new, and maybe a little terrifying. But it wasn’t going away. And deep down, Y/N didn’t want it to.

It was just past noon, and the usual post-practice bustle at the training facility had finally begun to settle. A few voices lingered in the hallway, muffled by the closed door to the break room, and the soft hum of the vending machine filled the space between footsteps. Somewhere down the corridor, a trainer laughed, and the scent of microwaved leftovers drifted in from the lounge kitchen.

Inside, Y/N sat at the far table, her fingers dancing across her phone screen in a rhythm that was half-work, half-distraction. She was trying—really trying—to enjoy a moment of peace, the kind that rarely came during the middle of a chaotic weekday at the stadium. But focus was slippery when her thoughts kept drifting back to that morning.

Back to sleepy eyes and forehead kisses. To low, teasing voices and scrambled eggs that somehow tasted sweeter than they had any right to. She didn’t even hear the door open until she sensed someone across from her. She glanced up. Joe slid into the seat with the kind of grin that could stop traffic—casual, unbothered, but with a glint of something unmistakably mischievous behind his eyes.

“You’ve been looking way too serious lately,” he said, voice low and velvety. “How about a break? Grab lunch with me.” Y/N raised an eyebrow, setting her phone down slowly. “Lunch?” she repeated, pretending to weigh the word like it was a foreign concept. “Aren’t you supposed to be watching film? Studying plays? Doing… quarterback things?”

He shrugged, the motion fluid, boyish. Then stretched his arms over his head in a way that made her far too aware of how good he looked in that fitted training shirt and joggers. “Yeah, yeah. I grind,” he said easily. “But I also believe in balance. And today, that means pulling you away from your phone and getting you to eat something that wasn’t in a vending machine.” “Oh, so this is a wellness check?” she asked dryly.

“No,” Joe replied, smirking. “This is me making the most of my break... and getting some quality time with my favorite equipment staffer.” She narrowed her eyes, but a smirk of her own tugged at the corners of her lips. “You’re laying it on pretty thick, Burrow.” “I call it charming,” he said smoothly, leaning forward on his elbows. “You’re not objecting.”

Y/N snorted. “Yet.”

Joe grinned wider. “C’mon. You pick the place. Somewhere close, nothing fancy. Just you, me, and your unshakable skepticism.” She leaned back in her chair, tapping a finger to her chin like she was weighing her options. “And what’s in it for me? Aside from your company and sparkling wit, of course.” “I’ll let you judge my food preferences. Think of it as scouting,” he said with a wink. “Besides, I owe you after that omelet critique this morning.” “Critique?” she laughed. “I complimented you.”

“You said, and I quote, ‘These are actually good,’” Joe said, mimicking her voice with mock offense. “Which is not exactly high praise.” She rolled her eyes but smiled, the morning’s memory still glowing behind her ribcage. “Fine. You want lunch? You’ve got it. But no whining if I pick something basic.”

“Basic works,” he said, standing up as she did. “As long as I’m with you.” His voice softened on that last line—just enough to make her hesitate before turning toward the door. And maybe she imagined it, but it felt like the room quieted just a little more as they walked out side by side. She could feel the eyes on them—the barely concealed smirks, the curious glances exchanged between a couple of staffers in the hallway.

Joe didn’t seem to notice—or maybe he just didn’t care. He walked beside her, one hand casually tucked into his hoodie pocket, the other brushing lightly against hers as they moved through the corridor. There was no rush. No pressure. But the air between them buzzed with something unspoken. “I should warn you,” she said as they reached the parking lot, the afternoon sun warming her shoulders. “If you hate where I take you, I’m not listening to a word of your complaints.” Joe leaned in slightly, voice dipping again into that playful, husky tone. “Nah. I’ll just owe you dinner after. You know—real food.”

Y/N stopped mid-step, blinking up at him. “That sounds suspiciously like a date, Burrow.” He grinned, unapologetic. “Only if you want it to be.” She rolled her eyes—again—but the flutter in her chest betrayed her. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” “Hey,” he said, holding up his hands as they approached her car. “I’m just playing the long game.”

“You’re impossible.” “I’m persistent,” he corrected, grinning as he opened the passenger door.

Once inside the car, Joe leaned back in the seat like he’d done this a hundred times before. One arm draped behind her headrest, the other resting lazily across his lap. He watched her as she adjusted her mirrors and started the engine, his gaze comfortable but curious. “So…” he drawled, drawing the word out as they rolled out of the parking lot. “Where are we headed, Miss Independent?”

Y/N smirked, eyes fixed on the road. “You’ll see.” Joe groaned dramatically. “You’re going to keep me in suspense?”

“It builds character.” He laughed, the sound genuine and warm. “You’re really enjoying this power trip, huh?” “A little,” she admitted, grinning. “You’re not used to someone else taking the lead, are you?”

“Depends on the person,” he said, his voice softer now. “But with you? I don’t mind it.” She glanced sideways, and their eyes met for a heartbeat too long.

That spark was there again—quiet but electric. Like every conversation they had existed just a little to the left of casual. Joe leaned his head back against the seat and sighed contentedly. “I’m not gonna lie, though—I’m hoping this place has fries. You can tell a lot about someone by their taste in fries.”

“Oh?” Y/N asked, amused. “And what will fries tell you about me?” He smiled slowly. “Depends on if they’re crispy. Or seasoned. Or served with some mysterious dipping sauce that only locals know about. That kind of thing tells me you’ve got good taste. And high standards.” “Well,” she said, her tone full of mock gravity, “I do have high standards. I mean, I’m letting you sit in my car, aren’t I?” “Ouch,” Joe laughed, placing a hand over his chest. “That one hurt.”

“Good. Keeps you humble.” He grinned. “You're dangerous, Y/N.”

They drove in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, the city passing by in a blur of early afternoon traffic and sunlight streaked through trees. Y/N’s heart still beat a little faster than normal—not anxious, just aware. Aware of how easy it was to fall into rhythm with him. How close he was sitting. How natural it all felt.

“Hey,” Joe said suddenly, glancing at her with a soft smile. “Thanks for coming with me. I know you probably had a dozen other things to do.” Y/N smiled, stealing a quick glance at him. “You’re welcome. But I’m not doing this for you.” “Oh, of course not,” Joe said, feigning innocence. “Definitely not because you wanted to spend more time with me.” She grinned. “Keep talking like that and I’ll make you buy your own lunch.”

He laughed again, his hand brushing briefly against hers on the center console. And when their fingers touched—just for a second—it felt like the smallest jolt of something impossible to ignore. Joe didn’t say anything right away. But when she looked at him again, his expression had changed. Still playful, still warm—but underneath it, something quieter. Something real.

And in that moment, Y/N realized: it wasn’t just the banter. It wasn’t just flirtation or convenience or curiosity. There was something growing between them. Slowly. Steadily. And maybe she wasn’t quite ready to name it yet, but... It was there. Alive and undeniable. And it wasn’t going anywhere.

♪♫•*¨*•.¸¸❤¸¸.•*¨*•♫♪

Before she could say anything clever, they pulled up to the small café tucked between a dry cleaner and an old bookstore, its brick façade weathered but full of charm. A handwritten chalkboard out front listed the daily specials in crooked cursive: Grilled Cheese Madness, Loaded Potato Soup, and Triple Chocolate Muffins.

Joe tilted his head, eyebrows raising as he leaned forward in his seat to get a better look through the windshield. “Well, look at that,” he murmured, a playful smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Definitely not what I was expecting, but... I’m intrigued. I thought you were gonna drag me into some trendy kale-and-quinoa nightmare.” Y/N shrugged casually, trying not to look too pleased with herself. “I told you, I’m full of surprises.”

He turned his head just slightly to look at her—and not just look. It was the kind of look that lingered. Warm. Curious. Like she was the punchline to a joke he hadn’t figured out yet, and he was dying to know what came next. “I’m starting to believe you,” he said, his voice low, teasing. “Dangerous combo. Beautiful and unpredictable.”

She rolled her eyes and unbuckled her seatbelt, but her pulse gave a telling flutter. There he goes again, she thought. Saying things like that like it’s nothing. They got out of the car and walked toward the café. Joe jogged ahead a step to pull the door open for her, his hand resting dramatically on his chest as he bowed slightly. “After you, milady.”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard by how effortlessly charming he was—even when he was being ridiculous. “You practicing for your post-football theater career?” “I’ve got range,” he said with a wink. “Quarterback by day, Shakespearean heartthrob by night.”

Inside, the café was cozy and inviting—sunlight filtered through foggy windows, casting golden streaks across mismatched tables and shelves lined with antique coffee mugs. The scent of espresso and cinnamon wafted through the air, and soft indie music played faintly in the background. Y/N picked a corner booth near the window, and Joe followed, sliding into the seat across from her with the relaxed grace of someone who knew he was being watched—and liked it. The waiter dropped off a pair of menus, and for a moment, they both sat in comfortable silence, scanning the options.

“So,” Joe said, glancing up with a grin. “What’s the deal with you and food? Are you one of those ‘I’m on a juice cleanse’ types, or can I actually witness you consuming something that hasn’t been blended into liquid?” Y/N raised an eyebrow, feigning deep offense. “Wow. Coming for my dietary habits already? We haven’t even ordered.”

“Hey, I’m not judging,” he said, holding his hands up. “Just trying to see if I’m dealing with a salad girl or a full-send, cheese-fries kind of woman. It tells me a lot.” “Does it?” she asked, tilting her head. “What would it tell you if I said I’m ordering a grilled cheese with extra cheese and a side of soup that’s basically just carbs swimming in cream?”

Joe grinned like she’d just handed him a winning lottery ticket. “It tells me you’re perfect.” She laughed—actually laughed, the kind that came from somewhere deep in her belly—and he looked completely pleased with himself.

The waiter returned, took their orders, and disappeared again. Joe leaned back, arms spread along the backrest, giving off the vibe of a man who had nowhere to be and was perfectly content exactly where he was. “I gotta say,” he said, voice dropping just slightly in volume, “I’m really glad we did this.” Y/N looked up from her water glass, caught a flicker of something real in his expression.

“Yeah?” she asked lightly, but her tone was softer now. Less teasing. Joe nodded. “It’s not often I get to hang out without it being about the game or the media or whatever. And you—” He paused, studying her face like he was trying to memorize it. “You’re a lot more interesting than I expected.”

“Gee, thanks,” she said dryly, though a smile curled at the corner of her lips. “Glad to know your expectations were so low.” He chuckled, eyes twinkling. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it. You’ve got this... quiet confidence. Like, you don’t need anyone’s attention, which somehow makes you the most interesting person in the room. It’s... refreshing.”

Y/N blinked, heart stuttering. She wasn’t used to being seen like that—really seen. Especially not by someone like him. And the way he was looking at her now, with his head tilted slightly and his gaze soft and steady, made it hard to breathe for half a second.

“So what you’re saying is,” she said, recovering with a smirk, “you’re actually impressed by me?”

Joe leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, voice dipping into that dangerous, velvet tone again. “Maybe. But I’ll never admit it out loud. It’ll just be our little secret.” “Your secret’s safe with me,” she whispered, and in the stillness that followed, their eyes locked again—just long enough to make her forget what day it was.

The moment broke when the waiter returned with their food, and they both sat back as the plates were placed in front of them. Joe’s grilled sandwich practically oozed cheese, and his soup steamed invitingly. Y/N’s meal looked just as sinful—melty and golden and exactly the kind of thing you didn’t eat when cameras were around. “This,” Joe declared, pointing to his plate, “might be the best decision I’ve made all week.”

“Oh, so now you’re admitting I have good taste?” “I never said I doubted it. I just needed proof.” They dug in, the conversation continuing between bites—laughing about terrible movie hot takes, arguing over whether pineapple belonged on pizza (it didn’t, according to Joe; she disagreed passionately), and casually trading bits of food like it was something they’d always done.

And somewhere in the middle of it all—somewhere between the laughter and the teasing and the way his knee brushed against hers under the table and didn’t move—Y/N felt it. That slow, sneaky shift.

From playful to personal.

From safe to maybe dangerous.

From banter to something like longing.

Joe caught her watching him once, and instead of teasing her about it, he just smiled. Not the cocky smile he wore around his teammates. Not the media-trained grin. Something gentler. Something meant just for her. And that’s when she realized: he wasn’t playing.

He was falling. Hard. And part of her—the part she’d been carefully trying to guard—might be starting to fall right back.

The check was paid—though not without a brief, whispered battle over who would cover it (Joe won, flashing a smug grin that made Y/N vow revenge). The moment they stepped out of the café, the midday sun had mellowed into a golden warmth, casting soft shadows along the sidewalk. The air smelled faintly of cinnamon and roasted coffee, but all Joe could focus on was the woman walking a few paces ahead of him—her.

Y/N walked with that easy, unbothered confidence that had hooked his attention from the beginning. Her hips swayed in a way that wasn’t intentional—he knew that—but it didn’t make it any easier not to notice. The same woman who’d just argued passionately about pineapple on pizza now had him trailing behind like a lovesick intern on his first day.

His thoughts tangled somewhere between I should say something and don’t mess this up. But then again, when had he ever played it safe? A devilish grin tugged at his mouth. Nope. Not letting this moment slide.

Without warning, he stepped forward, catching up in two easy strides. His fingers brushed hers before slipping between them, his grip gentle but certain. She stumbled—not from his grip, but from sheer surprise. Before she could ask what he was doing, he gave a subtle tug, guiding her to stop. And just like that, they were face to face.

Close.

Too close.

Y/N looked up at him, eyes wide, breath hitching, the rhythm of the world suddenly offbeat. The playful spark in his eyes was still there—but now it was layered with something heavier. Something quiet and undeniable. Joe’s thumb brushed along the back of her hand, a featherlight touch that sent a jolt through her spine. “You really have this way of keeping me on my toes,” he said, voice pitched low, as though speaking too loudly might break whatever spell had settled between them.

Her breath faltered. The teasing was still there between them like smoke, but underneath it... heat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Y/N replied, tilting her head with mock innocence, her voice just slightly shaky. She felt the blush rising in her cheeks and hated how transparent it made her feel. But Joe didn’t tease her for it—not this time. His eyes softened, flickering briefly down to her lips, then back up. “You’re so much more than you let on. You know that?”

The sincerity hit her like a sucker punch. She swallowed, trying not to let him see how deeply those words landed. She forced a smile, playful but breathy. “I guess I do have a few surprises.” Joe’s gaze flickered again, his grip on her hand tightening slightly. “Yeah?” he murmured. “Well... I’m willing to put in the work. However long it takes.”

Her heart was racing now, a drumbeat she couldn’t quiet. The flirtation had turned into something more—something slower, heavier. It felt like standing on the edge of a cliff, knowing the fall would be worth it and terrifying anyway. She shifted, reaching up to adjust the strap of her bag, but her hand accidentally brushed his chest in the process—firm and warm beneath the soft cotton of his hoodie. He glanced down at the spot she touched, his mouth twitching with amusement as his gaze snapped back to hers.

“Oh,” he said, voice dark and teasing, “so now you’re the one teasing?” She blinked, momentarily flustered, then recovered with a smirk. “You wish.”

“I do,” Joe said, stepping closer—close enough now that their chests almost touched. His voice dropped to a whisper, tinged with challenge. “You know, I’m not the kind of guy who backs down easily.” Y/N raised a brow. “Really? I figured once you got tackled enough, you’d start learning when to quit.”

Joe chuckled, deep and low, the sound vibrating between them. His hands settled—one on her hip, one on her lower back—as if he didn’t even realize he’d done it. As if it were the most natural thing in the world. “I’m persistent,” he said, quieter now. “Especially when I know what I want.” Y/N’s heart did a full somersault. And the way he was looking at her, like she was the only woman on the planet... it was unraveling all her defenses. Fast. For a beat, they stood like that—caught in the push and pull, silence thick with unsaid things. The air between them crackled.

Then Joe’s expression shifted—softer now, vulnerable in a way she hadn’t seen before. He leaned in, not too fast, not demanding—just close enough for her to feel the heat of his breath. “Can I kiss you?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Time slowed. Y/N’s breath hitched. Her lips parted slightly, instinctively. For a second—just a second—she almost said yes. But then that spark of mischief reignited in her eyes. She leaned in, lips brushing his—almost. She could feel the shape of his breath, the anticipation radiating off him. And then—she pulled back.

Just a hair. Just enough.

Joe blinked, stunned, clearly expecting something more. His mouth parted, caught somewhere between a laugh and a groan. “You—” he started, blinking down at her. “Y/N, seriously?”

Her laugh bubbled out, airy and delighted. “You’ve got to work harder than that, Joe.” He stared at her, mouth agape in wounded disbelief. “You are evil.” She winked. “Maybe. But you’ll come back for more.” He stepped back with a dramatic sigh, hands raking through his hair like he was physically trying to compose himself. “This is torture,” he muttered.

Y/N headed toward the car again, calling over her shoulder, “You’re an athlete. Thought you liked a challenge.” Joe jogged to catch up, eyes still fixed on her like he was trying to solve a puzzle he couldn’t wait to get wrong over and over again. “Challenge, huh? I’ll show you challenge.”

“Oh?” she said, smirking as she unlocked the car. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Joe reached for the driver’s door, pausing just long enough to give her one last, smoldering look. “It means next time, I’m not asking.”

And with that, he slid into the seat, leaving Y/N frozen for just a second—heart pounding, lips tingling, mind spinning. Because the truth was... she wasn’t sure how many more “next times” she could handle before she said yes. And the way Joe was looking at her—like he already knew it—only made the fall feel closer.

As she climbed into the passenger seat, the silence between them wasn’t awkward. It was charged. Tense. Exciting. Neither of them spoke. But everything had changed. And deep down, they both knew—they weren’t just flirting anymore.

They were falling.

♪♫•*¨*•.¸¸❤¸¸.•*¨*•♫♪

The ride back to the facility began in silence—but not the kind that stretched awkwardly. It was the kind laced with tension. The kind where words weren’t necessary because the air between them was already thick with everything unsaid. Joe’s fingers curled around the steering wheel a little tighter than usual, knuckles whitening, thumb tapping a restless rhythm against the leather. He was painfully aware of every inch of space between him and the passenger seat.

And of her.

Y/N sat beside him, one leg tucked beneath her like she always did when she was comfortable—too comfortable, he thought, given the fact that she had just emotionally waterboarded him by dangling a kiss and snatching it away like a magician pulling a tablecloth off a full set of dishes. He glanced sideways. She was fiddling with the rings on her fingers, rotating them absentmindedly, her mouth tugged into a smug little smirk that screamed, Yeah, I know what I did. Her gaze was fixed out the window, but he could tell by the subtle curve of her lips that she was either replaying the near-kiss… or enjoying how flustered he still was.

Probably both. Joe shifted in his seat, running his free hand over his face in an attempt to physically push the frustration out of his system. She had him. Hook, line, and absolutely destroyed.

“You’re awfully quiet over there,” Y/N said, her voice breaking the silence like it belonged in a rom-com soundtrack. Calm. Teasing. Dangerous. He glanced over, a mix of amusement and desperation in his eyes. “I’m just—” He cleared his throat, sat up straighter, tried to sound like a man who wasn’t unraveling. “Trying not to run this car into a tree.”

That earned a laugh from her, the kind that made something in his chest flutter uncomfortably. “It wasn’t that cruel.” Joe huffed out a sound that might’ve been a laugh if it weren’t so pained. “You’re lucky I like pain.” “Oh, I know,” she said breezily, her hand on the door handle as he pulled into the parking lot. “You’ve been down bad for a while.”

Joe groaned dramatically, slumping forward to rest his forehead on the steering wheel like a defeated man. “I have no game when it comes to you. None. I’m a broken shell of a quarterback.” Y/N leaned back in her seat, clearly enjoying every second of his internal spiral. “That’s not true,” she said with a mock-thoughtful tone. “You had me at that awful PSI pickup line.” He lifted his head, eyes narrowed. “That was gold and you know it.”

“‘Are you a football? Because I’d risk my throwing arm for you.’” She mimicked his voice, then added, “I still don’t know whether to laugh or file an HR complaint.” “Laugh,” Joe said, pointing at her. “Definitely laugh.”

They stayed like that for a while—parked in the quiet back lot of the facility, the engine now silent, windows fogging just slightly from the warmth inside the car. The moment had softened again. The flirting, while still present, gave way to something gentler, more intimate. A subtle shift neither of them acknowledged out loud.

Joe turned toward her, fully this time, elbow resting casually on the center console. His voice, when it came, was lower now, almost vulnerable. “You really going to leave me hanging again?” Y/N raised a brow. “Hanging?”

“I mean…” He exhaled slowly, lips curving into that dangerous half-smile she was beginning to recognize as his serious flirtation face. “You get all close. Look at me like that. Almost kiss me. Then walk away like it didn’t nearly end me.” Y/N pressed her lips together, trying to suppress the very obvious smirk threatening to give her away. She was clearly enjoying herself. He didn’t even blame her. Joe leaned in just a little more, his voice dipping to a murmur. “You know, if you plan on killing me with anticipation, I’d at least like to die on a full stomach.” She rolled her eyes, but the way she bit her lip afterward gave her away. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously into you, yeah,” he muttered, half to himself. Y/N paused, visibly thrown off for half a second—but recovered with a breathy chuckle as she unbuckled her seatbelt. “Joe?”

“Yeah?” She didn’t say anything at first—just turned in her seat, eyes locked on his, fingers reaching out. Then: “Shut up.”

Before he could respond, before another joke could tumble out of his mouth, she leaned in and kissed him. No hesitation. No teasing this time. Just a warm, steady press of her lips to his. Soft. Slow. Like the beginning of something inevitable. Joe froze for a millisecond—just long enough to register holy shit, this is actually happening*—then melted. His eyes fluttered shut, his hand instinctively reaching out, resting lightly on her waist like he was afraid too much pressure would make her vanish.

When she pulled back—far too soon, in his opinion—Joe’s eyes remained closed, like he was trying to memorize every second of what just happened before reality snapped it away. And then she was gone. Or rather, in the process of going. She opened the door, slid one foot onto the pavement, and tossed casually over her shoulder, “Try not to trip over your own feet on the way in.”

Joe blinked. Still processing. Still seated. Still very much paralyzed by what had just occurred.

Y/N glanced back once more, her smirk a perfect echo of the one she wore when she left him kiss-drunk the first time. “See you inside, superstar.” The door clicked shut behind her.

And Joe? Joe sat there, staring at the windshield like it had just broadcasted a live revelation from the heavens. His hands lay limp in his lap, his brain buffering at a dangerous speed. He reached up, touched his lips like maybe they could confirm it was real. Then, very softly, almost reverently, he whispered to the empty car, “I think I saw God.” And he hadn’t even gotten tongue.

♪♫•*¨*•.¸¸❤¸¸.•*¨*•♫♪

The second Y/N pushed open the door to the equipment room, the familiar scent of turf spray and freshly laundered uniforms hit her like a wave. So did they.

Imani and Keisha both looked up in perfect sync, heads snapping toward her with such predatory precision that it was honestly a little terrifying. Twin bloodhounds. Olympic-level best friends. Menace incarnate. Imani narrowed her eyes like she was profiling a suspect. “You were gone a suspicious amount of time for someone who claimed they were just grabbing lunch.”

Keisha didn’t even bother pretending. She was already halfway to a smirk, arms folded across her chest, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet. “And you,” she added, pointing an accusing finger at Y/N, “are glowing. Like, spiritually exfoliated kind of glowing. Did someone fold you into next week and leave a Yelp review after?”

Y/N froze, caught mid-step with a towel bin in her hands. “We just got food.”

“We just got food,” Imani repeated mockingly, crossing her arms. “Please. You look like someone kissed your soul straight through your mouth.” “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Y/N said coolly, pivoting toward the laundry table and absolutely not looking them in the eye. Which was mistake number one. Keisha gasped like she’d just uncovered the final twist in a true crime documentary. “You did not—”

“I didn’t say anything!” Y/N protested, but the blush creeping up her neck was undeniable, and the tiny smile tugging at the corners of her mouth ruined any attempt at feigned innocence. Imani’s jaw dropped, her voice rising with disbelief. “You kissed him?!”

There was a beat of silence, a quiet flicker of pride in Y/N’s chest, before she gave the tiniest shrug. “...Maybe.” Keisha shrieked. Full-volume. Nearly dropped the helmet she’d been wiping down. “Y/N. You kissed him? You finally broke him!”

“I didn’t break anyone!” Y/N said, laughing now, even as her cheeks flamed. “It was just—it happened. Okay? And it was... nice.” Keisha was pacing now like she needed to physically walk off the energy. “Girl, he’s never coming back from this. You know that, right? He’s probably out there writing your name on his cleats.”

“Or texting his mom about how he just saw God,” Imani added with a smirk. Y/N buried her face behind a jersey. “You’re both insufferable.”

“We’re supportive,” Imani corrected, taking the jersey from her hands and folding it with exaggerated care. “And curious. Like… was it one of those ‘oops our noses touched and now we’re caught in a moment’ things? Or was it more of a ‘shut the hell up and kiss me before I change my mind’ situation?” Y/N hesitated for a moment, lips twitching. “Definitely the second.”

Keisha let out a noise that could only be described as a squeal-choke hybrid. “YESSS.”

Imani looked like she’d just watched a real-life season finale. “You kissed Joe Burrow. First. Voluntarily. While he was probably monologuing about how obsessed he is with you.” “He wasn’t—” Y/N paused, snorted. “Okay, maybe he was. Just a little.” “Oh my God,” Keisha said, leaning dramatically against the dryer like she couldn’t physically stand upright anymore. “You’re a legend.” “I’m not a legend,” Y/N said through a smile, trying—and failing—to focus on folding towels. “It’s not like we’re… I don’t know. Together. It’s just… happening. Slowly.” Imani tilted her head, voice softening. “You okay with that?”

Y/N looked down at her hands, then up again with a thoughtful expression. “Yeah. I think so. It’s scary, but…” She exhaled. “He means it. All the flirting, the teasing—it’s not just a game with him. I can feel it.” “You don’t have to tell us,” Keisha said, eyes twinkling. “We’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

“Like you invented sunlight,” Imani added, gently nudging her. Y/N smiled, quieter now. More to herself than anyone else. “Yeah… It’s weird. I never expected it. But when he looks at me like that, it’s like… everything else disappears.” The three of them fell into a brief silence, filled only by the low hum of the dryers and the sound of a zipper being tugged up on a duffel. Then Keisha said, “He’s probably out in the hallway, leaning against a wall and whispering to himself, ‘Don’t pass out. Don’t pass out.’”

Y/N laughed, pressing a hand to her warm cheek. “You think he’s okay?”

“Oh, sweetie,” Keisha said, grinning. “That man is wrecked.” “Absolutely feral,” Imani chimed in. “Do you think I broke him?” Y/N asked, half-teasing, half-serious. Keisha walked over, placed a hand over Y/N’s heart like she was anointing her. “You didn’t break him, babe. You just gave him a reason to never recover.”

♪♫•*¨*•.¸¸❤¸¸.•*¨*•♫♪

Joe walked into the locker room like a man who had just glimpsed the divine and forgotten how gravity worked.

He barely noticed the thud of the door closing behind him. His mind was still spinning from the way Y/N had kissed him—actually kissed him—like it was no big deal, and yet, to him, it was everything. He was dazed, lost in the memory of her fingers on his hoodie, her lips soft and warm against his, the heady mix of excitement and something more he couldn’t quite name.

He was so caught up that he missed his cubby twice, fumbling around the locker room like a man who’d just learned to walk. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he plopped down on the bench, blinking rapidly, trying to piece his thoughts together. The world around him felt like it had shifted into slow motion. And if he was being honest with himself? He wasn’t sure if he was still in the car with Y/N or back in the locker room.

Ja’Marr, who was jogging by with a water bottle in hand, did a comically slow double-take when he saw Joe sitting there, dazed. He slowed his pace, frowning. “Yo, you good, bro?” Joe nodded slowly, still not fully processing the question. “Mmhmm.” His voice sounded distant, even to him. Ja'Marr raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “You sure? ‘Cause you look like you got hit with a tranquilizer dart.” Tee, who had just come out of the shower and was draping a towel over his shoulder, joined in from across the room. “Yeah, bro, your eyes all glazed over and shit. What’s up with that?” Joe blinked again, trying to snap out of his daze. “What? No. I’m fine.”

Ja’Marr exchanged a look with Tee, who was smirking like he knew something was up. “Sure, man, sure. But you’re smiling like somebody just whispered sweet nothings in your ear.” Joe’s chest tightened as he muttered under his breath, unable to hold back the contented smile tugging at his lips. “More like sweet everythings.”

Tee stopped in his tracks, narrowing his eyes. “Wait, hold up. You’re telling me that girl finally kissed you?” Joe froze, his eyes snapping to Tee as if the man had just cracked the code to the universe. “How did you—?”

“Oh my God, she did!” Ja’Marr shouted across the room, his voice booming. He slapped a nearby locker with excitement. “Finally! I was about to start a betting pool on how long it was gonna take you two.” Joe groaned, dragging both hands down his face like he was trying to scrub the overwhelming feeling of embarrassment away. “Can we not?”

But Tee was already grinning like a Cheshire cat. “Nope. You just got kissed by your dream girl and came back looking like you forgot your own name. We are absolutely talking about this.” Ja’Marr, never one to miss a chance to poke fun, leaned forward with a glint in his eyes. “How bad is it?” Joe sighed, leaning back against the bench, letting his body relax into the cool leather. “On a scale of one to completely feral? I’m toast.”

Both Ja’Marr and Tee burst out laughing so loud that it echoed through the room, drawing the attention of a few other teammates who raised their eyebrows curiously at the ruckus. Tee, still chuckling, clapped Joe on the shoulder. “Congrats, lover boy. Just try not to fumble the playbook while thinking about her. We wouldn’t want you zoning out in the middle of practice.”

Joe gave him a helpless smile, his mind already far away again, wandering back to the memory of her lips on his. The way she'd pulled him in—no teasing, no hesitation—just warm, certain, and everything he didn’t know he needed. “I don’t think I can concentrate on much of anything now.”

He couldn’t stop smiling. Down bad didn’t even begin to cover it. He was ruined. A man in love with no way of fighting it.

As the laughter died down and Ja’Marr and Tee went back to their lockers, Joe stood up to grab his phone from the top of his locker. He was restless, the buzz of that kiss still pulsing through him. His hands shook slightly as he unlocked his phone, and without even thinking, he opened up a new message to Y/N.

He stared at the screen for a full thirty seconds, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. What do I even say? He typed out, “Hey… I haven’t been able to stop thinking about today.”

He blinked at it for a second, then deleted the whole thing. No. Too forward. He wasn’t trying to come off like a creep. Instead, he typed something simpler: “You still alive after that?”

He winced as soon as he hit send. That was it. That was the dumbest thing he could’ve said. She was going to think he was insane. But then, his phone buzzed with a notification. It was her. And when he saw her message pop up on the screen, he froze—Y/N had already responded. His heart skipped a beat as he opened it: “Barely, lol. But yes, alive and well, and trying to figure out how to go about my day after that kiss. My brain’s fried.”

He stared at the message, his pulse racing. She’s thinking about it too. His brain did a little victory dance, and for a moment, everything else in the locker room faded into the background. A small, giddy laugh escaped him before he caught himself. His fingers hovered over his phone again. Should he keep the conversation going? Ask her something else? Or just—no, he definitely needed to play it cool.

Joe, after another moment of hesitation, typed: “Well, if I fried your brain, I guess I’m doing something right.”

He stared at it for a few seconds, his thumb hovering over the send button. Perfect. Now I just need to act normal when I see her next. Easy. Totally easy. He hit send, sat back, and exhaled deeply. His phone buzzed again. This time, it wasn’t Y/N.

It was a group chat with Ja’Marr and Tee, who were both relentlessly mocking him with a series of laughing emojis and texts like, “If she doesn’t fall for you after all this, I’m calling the league.”

Joe groaned, stuffing the phone into his pocket and slumping back in his chair. He was completely and utterly done for. But damn, did it feel good.

♪♫•*¨*•.¸¸❤¸¸.•*¨*•♫♪

The hum of activity was in full swing again. Players moved in and out of the weight room, their voices a distant buzz, while the training staff darted through the halls, clipboards in hand. The equipment room was its usual whirl of motion and noise—dryers spinning at a constant rhythm that filled the space with a low, persistent whirr, punctuated by the occasional clink of helmets or the shuffle of cleats.

Y/N was at her usual spot, folding towels with a practiced ease. She’d done this a thousand times before, but today was different. Every few minutes, her hands would freeze—her mind wandering, her thoughts circling back to that kiss. Thatkiss. The one that had set off a million butterflies in her stomach and left her struggling to focus on something as simple as sorting compression sleeves. Her brain was stuck on repeat like an endless loop of: Did that man literally whisper "Can I kiss you" like some kind of romcom fantasy? Yes. Yes he did.

She barely registered the door opening. “Hey,” came a familiar voice—smooth, casual, but with an undertone of something else. Something warmer.

Joe.

Y/N glanced up reflexively, and the moment their eyes met, the world seemed to narrow, everything else fading into the background. Joe stood there, leaning against the doorframe, a slight, knowing grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. His gaze was intense, yet playful, the kind that made her feel like he was both the question and the answer.

Behind her, Keisha and Imani froze mid-movement. Their eyes flicked between Y/N and Joe, expressions shifting into something entirely too knowing for comfort. Y/N cleared her throat, trying to school her features into something professional, something normal. “Can I help you, QB1?”

Joe’s grin stretched wider. “Just checking if my gear’s ready. Big game on Sunday, y’know. Gotta make sure my socks are folded with maximum precision.” Y/N raised an eyebrow, fighting the warmth that crept into her cheeks. “Oh, now you care about the socks? You’ve been wearing mismatched ones for half the season.”

Joe took a step forward, his voice dropping an octave. “Yeah, well… now I’ve got motivation to keep my standards high.” Imani made a strangled sound behind her, and Y/N glanced over just in time to see her jaw drop. She turned back to Joe, fighting the smile threatening to break through. “Sounds like someone’s fishing for compliments.”

Joe leaned one arm on the edge of the counter, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off him, but not quite touching. “Maybe. Or maybe I just like hearing your voice when you pretend you’re not flustered.” Y/N shot him a tight smile, but the corners of her mouth betrayed her, twitching upward despite her best efforts. “Shouldn’t you be stretching or icing something?”

He tilted his head, eyes sparkling like he knew exactly what he was doing. “I could say the same to you. You’ve been working hard all day. You want me to bring you something from the cafeteria, maybe help you stretch something yourself?” Keisha’s voice, loud enough to carry through the room, broke the fragile tension like a hammer through glass. “Y’ALL NEED TO FUCK IT OUT ALREADY.”

Y/N didn’t even blink. She just rolled her eyes, though her lips were still struggling to stay straight. “If you bring me one more protein bar, I’m filing a workplace grievance.” Joe laughed, the sound rich and warm, his gaze softening. “Noted. No protein. Just the good snacks.”

Y/N turned back to the bins of gear in front of her, but her attention was fractured. She was trying—trying—to recenter herself, to focus on the simple task of folding these damn sleeves, but she could feel him there, still standing too close, the air charged between them. And for a brief moment, she was aware of everything about him—the way he smelled, the warmth of his presence, the unspoken things that were still hanging in the air between them.

But then, just as she thought she might break, his voice dropped again, softer this time, like he was speaking only to her. “I meant it earlier,” he said quietly, his words slow and deliberate. “About not rushing. But also… I haven’t stopped thinking about that kiss.” Y/N didn’t turn around immediately. She couldn’t. Because the truth was, her brain was scrambling to catch up with her emotions, trying to process what had just happened. Trying to ignore the fact that she was still standing here, heart racing, unable to pretend it hadn’t affected her.

But she couldn’t keep up the act forever. Slowly, she glanced over her shoulder, just enough to catch his gaze. Her voice was soft when she spoke. “Yeah? Which one?” Joe blinked, clearly thrown off guard for the first time, his brain short-circuiting. And she couldn’t help but feel a tiny surge of pride at the effect she had on him.

After a beat, he chuckled under his breath, a low, almost breathless sound, and took another step closer. “You’re dangerous,” he whispered, as if he hadn’t even realized he was saying it out loud. Y/N turned fully now, slow and deliberate, until they were toe to toe, the buzz of the dryers and the distant clatter of weights from the gym fading into the background like static noise.

She could feel the weight of the moment, the gravity of it pulling them both in, neither willing to break the tension. Joe lifted a hand, hesitant, as though he wasn’t sure if it was okay to touch her, and then gently, almost reverently, brushed his fingers against her cheek. “I’m not trying to get you in trouble,” he murmured, his voice low and hushed, “but I’d really like to kiss you again before I go.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat, but her voice remained steady, more sure than she’d expected. “Just one?” Joe’s grin was all crooked sweetness, a blend of joy and something deeper. “I’m dying here.”

And then, carefully, as if testing the waters, he leaned in. His lips brushed hers in a kiss that was soft, unhurried, and full of meaning. There was no rush. No urgency. Just a quiet, intimate moment that felt like it was all theirs. The kind of kiss that wasn’t for show, but for understanding, for something more than just physical chemistry.

It was a kiss that spoke of promises and hesitation, of two people unsure of where this would go, but certain that they were already too deep to stop now. When they finally pulled back, just slightly, Y/N searched his face for a moment, her heartbeat still racing, her mind still processing. She gave him a soft, almost shy smile. “Okay,” she whispered. “Now you can go hydrate.”

Joe’s smile was dazed, crooked, and completely lovesick. He lingered for a second, their foreheads almost touching, and then he whispered, voice thick with emotion, “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

Finally, he stepped back, the faintest laugh escaping him as he winked, turning toward the door with a confident stride—a man who’d just had his soul stolen and was doing everything in his power to act normal about it. As the door clicked shut behind him, Y/N stood there, her heart still racing, the buzz of his kiss lingering on her lips. She turned back to the laundry, hands trembling slightly as she tried to focus on the task at hand.

Keisha and Imani didn’t even try to be subtle this time. They both stood there, wide-eyed, hands frozen mid-action. “OH MY GOD,” they exclaimed in unison, and Y/N couldn’t help but laugh softly, though she knew exactly what was coming next.

♪♫•*¨*•.¸¸❤¸¸.•*¨*•♫♪

Joe was floating. That was the only way to describe it. The weight of the world, the stress of the season, all of it seemed to be slipping away, replaced by something far lighter, far more intoxicating. He’d gone to grab a water bottle, simple enough, but somehow ended up standing in the hallway, his thoughts swirling, completely unfocused. All he could think about was that kiss. How her lips had felt against his, soft but purposeful. How he’d wanted to stay there forever, wrapped up in that moment.

Instead, he ended up with a cold shower and the overwhelming urge to pace like some kind of maniac.

As he passed a couple of rookies in the hallway, they waved and tried to greet him, but their words barely made it past his ears. His head was elsewhere—mainly, stuck on the image of her smile, the soft teasing in her voice. He could still feel the hum of the moment, like an electric current running through his body, and it wasn’t even close to wearing off yet. His phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, quickly unlocking it to glance at a message he’d typed—and deleted—seventeen times already.

Hey.Just wanted to check in. Are you good?I can’t stop thinking about you.Ugh, delete. Delete. Delete.

His fingers hovered over the screen, typing out a new message, but before he could hit send, his thumb lingered. What was he even doing? He could practically feel her eyes on him, her voice ringing in his ears. Maybe she was right. He had to slow down. He didn’t want to rush this, but damn it, his heart was already a few steps ahead of him.

"Yo, Joe!"

He blinked, shaking his head as he snapped out of his trance. The voice came from a few yards down the hall. It was Tee, always catching him at the worst possible moments. Joe forced a smile, but it felt stiff, like it didn’t quite fit. "What’s up, Tee?" Tee gave him a look, a knowing grin spreading across his face. "You’re smiling again." Joe blinked, running a hand through his hair as if trying to brush off the smile that was still lingering. "No I’m not." Tee stepped forward, arching an eyebrow. "Yes, you are. Dude, what happened? Did she kiss you again?"

Joe froze in place, his heart thundering in his chest. His mind flashed back to her, to the way she’d leaned in, the way her lips had felt against his—so soft. He’d barely managed to get out of the equipment room without tripping over his own feet, but now Tee’s voice was dragging him back to reality. Joe tried to play it cool, but it wasn’t working. He could already feel the heat creeping up the back of his neck. "I’m just… I’m fine. Really." Tee wasn’t buying it. "Nah, bro, you’re definitely smiling. Don’t even try to hide it. You didn’t go and make it official already, did you?"

Joe kept walking, feeling his resolve start to crack. He knew there was no point in denying it. He didn’t know how much longer he could play it cool before everyone saw right through him. Tee called after him, his voice teasing but amused, "That’s a yes!"

Joe didn’t respond, though he could feel his smile stretch wider, involuntarily. The truth was, everything about the moment with her—the kiss, the way she made him feel like he could finally breathe—had left him in a daze. He hadn’t even fully processed what had just happened, but it was there—lingering. The problem was, he wasn’t sure how to deal with it. He wasn’t sure how to deal with her either, not when she had him this tangled up. The thought of texting her, of telling her what he was feeling, felt both terrifying and thrilling. He wanted to tell her everything, but he also didn’t want to rush it. He didn’t want to be the guy who got too eager, too fast.

Still, his fingers were itching to text her again. The temptation to reach out was almost unbearable. He needed to hear her voice. Or maybe he just needed to see if she was feeling as crazy as he was. He couldn’t tell which.

The walk back to the locker room felt like an eternity. It was like the entire building had slowed down, stretching each step out until it felt like he was in some slow-motion dream. The air felt thicker, more charged, as if every inch of the hallway had his name written on it. Or her name. Maybe both.

When he finally reached the locker room door, he took a deep breath and pushed it open, his mind still on her. He wasn’t sure what came next, but for the first time in a long while, he was okay with not knowing. Ja'Marr spotted him immediately as he walked in, throwing him a playful glance. "Yo, smiley, I see you."

Joe paused mid-step, his grin faltering just slightly. "What?"

Ja'Marr chuckled, tossing a towel over his shoulder. "Man, you've been wearing that smile since the moment you left. I ain’t blind."

Andrei, who was nearby, heard the conversation and leaned in. “Oh, hell no,” he said, his eyes lighting up with mischief. “Did you really get kissed again? Or are we talking multiple times here?”

Joe froze. He couldn’t escape this. His teammates weren’t letting it slide. “You two really want to make me blush, don’t you?” Joe muttered, but it was hard to even fake the embarrassment when the memory of her kiss was still playing on repeat in his mind. Andrei snorted, clearly enjoying this. "Bro, we’re just happy for you. Took you long enough."

Ja'Marr, always the drama king, threw up his hands like he’d just witnessed a miracle. “Thank you, Jesus! Our man is finally getting some action!”

Joe shook his head, trying to act nonchalant, but the smile was still there. How could it not be? He felt like he’d just been given a glimpse of something he hadn’t known he wanted, and now he couldn’t unsee it. Couldn’t unfeel it. He sighed dramatically, leaning back against a locker. "I’m telling you, I’m done for. On a scale from one to completely feral? I’m toast."

Andrei slapped him on the shoulder. "Congrats, lover boy. Just remember, no fumbling the playbook now, alright? Keep it together."

Joe smirked, though there was a definite warmth in his chest. “If I fumble now, I’m done for. But I can’t promise I’ll keep it together for much longer.” And for the first time all day, he felt like he could finally breathe—like maybe he was exactly where he needed to be. But as he let out a slow breath and refocused on the task at hand, his phone buzzed again in his pocket. It was a message from her. His fingers hovered over the screen again.

Hey, Joe. I know you’re probably busy, but I can’t stop thinking about you either.

His heart skipped a beat, and he grinned, completely unable to stop it this time.

Week One – Las Vegas, BabyRaiders vs. Bengals Location: Allegiant Stadium, Las Vegas

The team plane had touched down late the night before, the heavy hum of anticipation already buzzing through the air as the players filed out of the terminal, their movements instinctively sharp despite the late hour. But it wasn’t just the time zone shift or the thrum of adrenaline that made Joe feel disoriented this morning. It was the fact that game day had arrived.

Everything was different now—no more easing into preseason drills, no more half-speed runs and exploratory plays. This was the real deal. The season opener. The national spotlight was on them, the stadium was packed, and the stakes were through the roof. The whole team was locked in, focused, and geared up for battle. Joe should’ve been, too.

But the second he saw her that morning, everything inside of him short-circuited.

The familiar hum of the locker room—the chatter of his teammates, the slapping of lockers and taping of ankles—faded as his eyes zeroed in on her. Y/N was across the training area, hoodie sleeves pushed up, the rhythmic click of the wheels on the transport cart signaling her arrival. She was unloading gear with her usual precision, hair pulled back and eyes scanning the area, but as soon as she caught sight of Joe standing there, she paused for a split second, then threw him a look over her shoulder.

It was a glance that carried weight, a subtle shift in her posture as she locked eyes with him, her brow arched in a way that screamed, I know exactly what I’m doing to you. And then came the words, low and teasing, “You staring or helping, QB1?”

Joe blinked, his heart doing a quick double beat. He shouldn’t have been so distracted—he had a game to prepare for, a team to lead—but damn it, his mind wasn’t having it. The heat of her gaze, the playful tone, the way her lips quirked as if she already knew the effect she had on him—he was done for. Completely, irrevocably done. Without missing a beat, he grinned, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned against the nearby table. “Staring,” he replied, voice smooth and confident. “Helping’s a close second.”

Y/N’s smirk deepened, but she didn’t give him the satisfaction of reacting immediately. Instead, she tossed her hair back and went back to her task as if he wasn’t making her pulse race in the slightest. “Flirt less,” she called back, though the teasing edge was still there, softening the words. “Hydrate more.” Joe laughed softly, the sound low and almost self-satisfied. He leaned in just enough to catch her attention again, his eyes narrowing playfully. “Yes, Coach.”

Her head snapped around, eyes gleaming with a challenge, but she couldn’t quite mask the slight grin that tugged at her lips. “Don’t make me put you on a water break,” she warned, her tone mock-stern, but the hint of amusement was impossible to miss. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” He raised an eyebrow, his smile never faltering. “I’m just getting started, anyway.” The playful banter between them was almost effortless now, but it wasn’t enough to distract Joe from the fact that his stomach was in knots and his thoughts kept circling back to one thing: her.

The sound of a whistle brought him back to reality—one of the coaches calling the team to gather. Joe pushed off the table with a soft grunt and wiped his palms on his pants, steeling himself for the upcoming game. He was a professional. He could focus. He had to.

As he walked toward the huddle, he glanced over his shoulder once more, and there she was—still working, still calm, still so damn beautiful. But this time, when their eyes met, it was different. There was an unspoken tension now, a knowing between them that neither could ignore. As the rest of the team shuffled around him, Joe tried to focus on the task at hand, but his mind wandered again. All he could think about was how he’d caught that small smirk of hers before she turned back to the gear—how it made him feel like he was floating. God, what was it about her that made him so… unfocused?

He snapped himself back into the huddle as the coaches barked their last-minute instructions, but even then, he felt the pull of her gaze across the field. It was like she was still there, somehow, threading her way into his thoughts, weaving through every play call and every pass attempt.

Game time came faster than he expected. The stadium was packed, the crowd’s energy palpable, and the smell of fresh turf mixed with the ever-present hum of stadium lights. The lights above Allegiant Stadium flashed like stars, their brilliance making everything below feel almost unreal. The players were hyped up, their adrenaline racing, but Joe… he felt the pressure. And yet, there was a weird calm beneath it all. Maybe it was because, despite all the noise and excitement, he knew that in the midst of it all, he’d get to see her again.

Before heading to the locker room for pre-game prep, he spotted Y/N across the tunnel, her silhouette framed by the stark lighting, the way she moved so fluidly, so naturally, like she belonged in this world. Like she was part of the rhythm of the game too.

She caught his eye once more, offering a brief but unmistakable smile, and his heart stuttered for a moment. The world seemed to slow, the roar of the crowd dimming as he took a step toward her. He could feel the tension building between them, the pull of something more than just flirtation.

The reality of the moment hit him. She was here, working hard and doing her part. And he—he was just a quarterback trying to get through this day without completely losing his mind.

But that kiss. That kiss that still haunted him in the best way possible.

Later, at the Stadium – Pregame

The lights of Allegiant Stadium buzzed above like a living thing, pulsing in rhythm with the electric energy that hummed through the air. Bright, intense, and unforgiving, they cast sharp shadows on the field and turned the players’ faces into masks of determination. The stadium was already full of that Vegas energy—the city’s heartbeat thumping through the stands, each person caught up in the anticipation of the game to come.

In the middle of all the chaos, Y/N moved effortlessly through her checklist. It was second nature now—checking cleats, making sure headsets were properly charged, handing out towels with a precision that seemed almost too calm for the circus of activity surrounding her. Every now and then, she called out, directing a few errant staff members or shooting an exasperated glance at Keisha, who had—yet again—begun reorganizing the water bottles by color like it was the most crucial task of the day.

“Keisha,” Y/N called, hands on her hips, “stop reorganizing the water bottles. No one’s going to care if they’re color-coded by the end of the game.” Keisha grinned sheepishly, holding up a bottle as if to make her point. “But look how pretty it is!” Y/N just sighed and moved on, the thrum of the crowd growing louder, feeding into her own rising anticipation. There was a rush that came with game day—an energy she loved almost as much as she loved the people she worked with. Almost.

Meanwhile, just beyond the chaos, Joe was pacing near the tunnel, helmet tucked under his arm, his eyes flicking over to her every few minutes like some reflex he couldn’t turn off. He told himself it was just the nerves of game day—the pressure of the season opener—but he knew better. He was completely distracted. “Dude,” Ja’Marr said, nudging him with a grin as he passed. “You gonna throw a football today, or are you just gonna keep playing heart-eyes bingo?” Joe didn’t even bother denying it. He could feel the corners of his mouth tugging upward, no matter how hard he tried to focus. “I can multitask.”

“Man’s whipped,” Imani muttered as she passed by, shaking her head in disbelief. And as if on cue, Y/N, standing a few yards away, overheard the comment just as she took a sip of her Gatorade. She sputtered, choking slightly, and glared over at Imani. “What did you just say?” Imani didn’t even flinch, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “Nothing. Just the truth.” Y/N narrowed her eyes, but couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped her. “I hate you both,” she called after them, before returning to the frenzy of game-day prep.

Joe, oblivious to the playful banter between the women, just stood there, quietly observing her as if she were his anchor in the midst of the storm. When she caught his eye, a brief moment passed—one that felt like it had the weight of the entire game in it—and he simply offered a quick nod. A silent understanding. It wasn’t about superstition. It was about them—a bond neither of them had put into words, but it was there, woven between the quick glances and the quiet smiles.

The rest of the world fell away for a second, leaving only that small, shared space between them.

Kickoff Approaches

The energy in Allegiant Stadium was electric. The roar of the crowd crescendoed like the collective heartbeat of Las Vegas itself. It was a hum of excitement and tension, anticipation winding tighter with each passing moment. Players thundered past Y/N, their cleats clicking sharply on the polished floor, each step a practiced motion, their bodies brimming with nervous energy. Coaches barked last-minute instructions, while trainers and staff scrambled to ensure everything was in place. The game was about to begin, and the weight of the season opener was palpable. This wasn’t just another game—this was a statement.

Y/N stood at the edge of the tunnel, clipboard in hand, checking and re-checking her gear list, but even in the madness, she couldn’t help but keep an eye on the field. Her role in this dance was essential but understated—ensuring everything was running smoothly behind the scenes, all while trying not to let her heart race at the thought of what was about to unfold. As the players jogged past her, their focus was unwavering.

Among the sea of athletes, Joe stood out. Even with his helmet tucked under his arm, even amidst the throng of teammates heading out onto the field, his presence cut through the chaos like a laser. His steps were purposeful, yet his eyes—his eyes were always searching for something, or rather, someone.

He’d been preparing for this moment all offseason. The months of grueling practices, the endless film study, the hours spent perfecting every movement, every throw—all of it had led to this point. The season opener. The spotlight. The pressure of being the guy. But even with all the high stakes and the weight of the game on his shoulders, there was only one thing on his mind.

Her.

Y/N.

As he walked through the tunnel, his mind was sharp, his muscles prepped for battle, but there was a moment where everything seemed to stop—like time itself had hit pause. Just before he stepped onto the field, ready to lock in and go full QB-mode, he found her. Standing off to the side, clipboard still in hand, absorbed in her own tasks, but with that same quiet focus that always seemed to match his. It was the briefest of pauses—just a heartbeat—but it felt like everything in the world hung on that instant. Their eyes met. No words. No gestures. Just a simple, unspoken connection.

Y/N didn’t look away. She didn’t break the moment. Her eyes softened just slightly, acknowledging the silent understanding between them. There was no need for grand gestures. No need for theatrics. This was something deeper. A quiet promise between them—a promise that, regardless of the outcome of the game, they had each other’s backs.

It wasn’t the kind of thing that could be put into words. It wasn’t something the fans would see or the cameras would catch, but it was there—alive and real. And in that one glance, Joe felt it. That unspoken communication. We’re good. His heart gave a small, unsteady jolt at the thought. He’d been through this game a thousand times in his head, had replayed every scenario, every possible outcome in his mind. But this? This moment? This felt different.

It was more than the game. It was everything that came with it—the preparation, the grind, the long hours of sweat and effort—but it was also about the person standing just a few feet away, offering him that simple nod.

We’re good. A breath. A promise. And just like that, it was over. With a quick flick of his wrist, he turned back toward the field, stepping into the roar of the crowd. The noise swallowed him whole, but the quiet stillness of their exchange lingered.

Joe felt his chest tighten, not from nerves, but from something else—something deeper. The excitement of the game was nothing compared to the feeling of knowing that, despite the chaos of the world around him, there was something solid, something real, waiting for him back in that locker room. He didn’t know how it would unfold, didn’t know if it was even the right time or the right thing. But in that moment, it didn’t matter. He knew that no matter what happened on that field—no matter the outcome, no matter how many passes were thrown, or how many yards they gained—there was something greater pulling at his heart. Something worth fighting for.

And so, as he crossed the threshold of the field, helmet now firmly in place, he knew one thing for certain: whatever came next, he was ready for it. Not just for the game. But for what was waiting for him on the other side.

A silent promise. A knowing. A bond forged in the fire of competition and the quiet connection between them.

As the ball was snapped and the game began in earnest, Joe’s focus sharpened to a razor’s edge. His mind was back in quarterback mode, his every movement calculated, his every pass precise. But in the back of his mind, there was a spark of something that wouldn’t be extinguished—something that made him feel more grounded than he ever had before.

And that something, he realized, wasn’t just the thrill of the game. It was her. And whatever happened, he was in it for the long haul.

Halftime – Bengals Up by 10

The game was everything Joe had expected—and more. The energy on the field was electric, the pace relentless, and the stakes higher than ever. His body was covered in sweat, his uniform clinging to him, soaked through with the effort of each play. Every pass had to be perfect, every decision crucial. And yet, despite the intensity of the moment, there was something else—something steady that kept him grounded.

Joe’s mind was focused, but as he jogged off the field during the halftime break, he felt a brief moment of relief. The roar of the crowd, the shouting of coaches, and the thundering footsteps of his teammates all faded into the background for just a second. It wasn’t that he wasn’t in the moment—it was that, despite the adrenaline coursing through his veins, there was something about this particular moment that made everything else feel quieter, more manageable.

And that something—someone—was waiting for him.

Y/N stood just past the sideline, her expression focused, yet warm. She was holding out his towel for him, her eyes meeting his as soon as he made his way toward her. The usual hustle and bustle of halftime didn’t seem to touch her—she was an anchor in the storm of activity. The towel was folded neatly, but the real warmth came from the way she looked at him. It was the kind of look that spoke volumes, even without words. Joe’s grin was immediate and unfiltered when he saw her, the exhaustion from the first half vanishing in an instant. He wasn’t trying to hide anything—he was just genuinely happy to see her. It wasn’t just the football game that mattered. She mattered.

He slowed his pace as he neared her, wiping the sweat from his brow, but his gaze didn’t leave hers. The seconds stretched into something more intimate than they should’ve been. The noise of the stadium, the shouts from the sideline, and the pounding of his teammates' feet all felt distant, like they belonged to a world he wasn’t fully part of. “You good?” she asked, her voice laced with that soft edge of concern that always seemed to make him feel like he was the only one who mattered in the world. Joe chuckled, the sound low and rich as he caught his breath. He took the towel from her, his fingers brushing hers just for a moment. It wasn’t a lingering touch, not by any means. But it was enough. It always was.

“I play better when you’re watching,” he said, his tone teasing, but there was something real behind it—a sincerity that only she would catch. She rolled her eyes, the familiar, playful gesture that had become part of their routine. But Joe noticed the faint pink on her cheeks, the way her eyes softened just a fraction. The teasing, the laughter, it was all part of the dance they’d been learning together. And in that moment, he couldn’t help but feel the connection between them stronger than ever.

“You say that every game,” she replied, her voice lighter now, but still carrying that undercurrent of affection. “This one’s true,” he countered, his voice dropping lower, quieter, meant only for her. It was a truth, unspoken, but felt deeply—he didn’t know when it had happened, but somehow, she had become his constant. The rhythm to his heartbeat. Her lips curled into a small, knowing smile. It was a smile that made his heart do that weird fluttery thing in his chest. She wasn’t saying it, but she understood. And that was enough. There was no need for words beyond the ones they’d already shared.

For just a moment, the world around them seemed to disappear. She wasn’t just someone handing him a towel; she was his anchor, the person who made everything seem just a little more manageable, even when the world was screaming at him from every direction. And just as quickly as the moment had arrived, it was gone. Y/N turned to head back toward the sidelines, her duties pulling her away, and Joe had to force himself to snap back into the game. His breath still heavy, his thoughts still lingering on the quiet exchange they’d shared, but the adrenaline was already kicking in again. There was no time for distractions. But the truth was, he didn’t mind the distraction at all. As he jogged back to the huddle, ready to continue the game, that secret smile lingered in his mind. It wasn’t just about the win. It wasn’t just about the stats or the plays or the championship they were all chasing. It was about the small moments—the ones that no one else saw—that made it all worth it.

Joe’s heart was still racing, but this time it wasn’t from the pressure of the game. It was from the thought of the next time he’d see her, the next moment they’d share. And for the first time, in the middle of a high-stakes game, he knew he was exactly where he was meant to be. On the field, with everything on the line—but also, in a way, off the field too, with her. When the whistle blew to signal the end of halftime, he was already mentally back in quarterback mode. The focus shifted back to the game, but that quiet, unspoken connection with Y/N lingered. It had become more than just a feeling—it was a reminder that, no matter how fierce the competition or how intense the pressure, there was always something worth fighting for beyond the scoreboard.

The final whistle blew, and it was as though the entire stadium held its breath for just a beat before erupting. The noise of victory surged through the air, deafening in its intensity. The Bengals had done it—season opener, a hard-fought game, and a win that felt like a statement. The roar of the crowd was a constant backdrop as players poured off the field, their excitement palpable, high-fives and hugs exchanged in every direction. The sideline was alive, vibrating with energy. Ja’Marr, ever the showman, was already off to the side, attempting to break out some ridiculous new dance move he’d probably learned from a TikTok video. His moves were awkward at best, but no one had the heart to stop him. It didn’t matter how terrible the dancing was. The Bengals had won. The whole team was a unit, and nothing could kill the buzz of that shared triumph.

Joe, however, didn’t join in the celebrations right away. He peeled off his shoulder pads, the cool air hitting his skin as he dropped down onto the bench. His breath came in steady, controlled pulls as the adrenaline from the game ebbed out of his system, leaving a satisfied exhaustion in its wake. His body was sore, each muscle aching from the demands of the game, but it was a good kind of pain—the kind that came with victory. He leaned back, elbows propped up on the padded bench behind him, and closed his eyes for just a second. The weight of the game—the intensity of the season opener—had settled in, and it felt like a quiet moment of reflection amidst the chaos. The music, the shouting, the celebration—it was all happening around him, but Joe was still in his own little world for the moment.

The sound of familiar footsteps broke him out of his thoughts, and he looked up just as she appeared in the doorway. Y/N. She poked her head in briefly, glancing around the room before locking eyes with him. And in that instant, it was like the rest of the world faded into the background. The noise of the locker room, the post-game hype, the congratulatory slaps on the back—it all blurred into a dull hum. Joe didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. The grin that spread across his face was enough to convey everything he was feeling—a mixture of relief, pride, and something else that made his heart beat just a little faster. His chest was still tight from the game, but now it was the kind of tightness that came with something warmer—something personal.

Y/N didn’t speak either. She didn’t have to. Her gaze held something that he’d come to recognize, something that was deeper than just the fleeting moments they’d shared on the field or in the locker room. It was unspoken, but it was there. A quiet understanding between them, like they both knew exactly what the other needed without a single word. Her lips twitched—barely a smile, but enough for him to catch it. And that was all it took. She didn’t need to say anything, didn’t need to linger. The bond they shared, however new or undefined, was more than enough. It was more than the game, more than the locker room celebration, more than anything happening around them.

With a soft nod of acknowledgment, Y/N turned to leave, slipping back into the hallway without a sound. She didn’t need to make a scene. She didn’t need to make anything more of it than what it was. The brief connection, the exchange of glances and unspoken understanding, was everything. Joe stayed where he was, his grin still lingering, even after she was gone. His heart thudded against his chest, but not from the game. Not from the victory. It was something quieter, something deeper—a reminder that there were moments in life that mattered more than the score.

The locker room was still alive with excitement, but it felt distant to him now. The clamor, the laughter, the celebration of the win—it was all a background hum compared to the echo of Y/N’s presence that still lingered in the air. It wasn’t the kind of thing he could explain, not easily. But he didn’t have to. He knew, in his gut, that the connection between them was something that went beyond the immediate chaos of the game. He sat there for a long while, the locker room noise fading into a muffled buzz as he replayed that fleeting moment. The silence that followed after her departure was loud in his ears, but not uncomfortable. It was a peace that had settled in, one he hadn’t expected but had grown to crave. And in that silence, it hit him.

He hadn’t just won a football game. Sure, the Bengals had won, and that was huge. The energy was undeniable, the excitement was infectious. But that moment? The one that he had just shared with Y/N, in the midst of all the chaos and celebration? That was the real victory. He’d won a moment—a quiet, meaningful connection that felt like it had the potential to become something bigger. Something more important than any game. Joe exhaled slowly, his chest still tight, but for a different reason now. His gaze lingered on the door she’d just passed through. He didn’t know what the future held, didn’t know if that small, knowing glance would lead to something more, but he was okay with the uncertainty. Because right now, in this moment, it was enough. And as he leaned back, his mind finally at ease, he realized something. No matter how big the wins were on the field, it was these small, quiet victories off the field that would stay with him the longest. And that was the kind of win worth remembering.

♪♫•*¨*•.¸¸❤¸¸.•*¨*•♫♪

The Bengals had won. The stadium was still buzzing with the energy of victory, but now the focus had shifted—Vegas-style. The win wasn’t just a triumph on the field; it was a reason to celebrate, and there was no better place to do it than Sin City. Joe had played out of his mind, executing crisp passes, making those key plays, and stepping up when it counted. The entire team was riding the high of a successful opener, the air thick with excitement and relief. Their energy was electric.

In the hotel lobby, the rookies were already shouting about hitting the Strip. Their faces lit up with that wide-eyed, “we’re in Vegas” excitement, and they were barely containing their urge to dive headfirst into the neon lights and chaos of the city. Ja’Marr—true to form—had likely already secured bottle service and was happily counting down the seconds until they could hit a nightclub. It was as if the celebration had already begun, and nothing could slow it down.

Coach, ever the picture of pragmatic leadership, gave them a very loose “don’t be stupid” speech, but everyone knew that it was about as effective as telling a kid not to touch the candy jar. With that, Coach disappeared into his room, likely already plotting how to steer them back into focus for the upcoming games. Joe, however, had every intention of keeping things low-key. He wasn’t a party animal, never had been. A quiet bourbon, maybe chatting with a few teammates, and then crashing in his room to recover for the next day—that was the plan. Simple.

But the universe, as it often did when it came to matters of the heart, had other ideas. He stood near the bar in the hotel lobby, swirling the ice in his glass, the smooth burn of bourbon settling in his chest. He glanced around, nodding at a few familiar faces, but his mind wasn’t entirely present. His gaze flicked back to the small group of women gathered near the elevators. Y/N was there. And God, she looked—no, she radiated—something that made his breath hitch in his chest.

She was in her usual all-black postgame gear, looking effortlessly cool, and she had that glow about her—the one that suggested she was completely at ease in her element. Y/N was laughing with Imani and Keisha, both of them clearly trying to rein in a rookie who had probably consumed one too many celebratory drinks. The guy swore he was “just going to stretch outside real quick,” but he was barely standing, much less ready to stretch. Joe couldn’t help but smile, his heart doing this stupid little flip in his chest. She looked… so alive, so untroubled in that moment. It was like she didn’t have a care in the world. And despite everything happening around him—the noise, the flashing lights, the euphoria of a win—Joe couldn’t tear his eyes away from her.

And then she caught his eye. It was the way she locked onto him, her smile unfolding slowly, deliberately—like she knew exactly what that look would do to him. That smile. Damn it, it was nearly criminal. She didn’t have to say anything. The expression on her face was enough—there was a warmth in her gaze, a flicker of something shared, something only the two of them understood. Her lips curled into that playful, knowing smile that had already sent him into a tailspin more times than he cared to count. But this time? This time it was different. There was a little more in it, something that spoke of possibilities, of unspoken words, of the kind of connection that made his chest tighten in all the right ways.

Joe could feel it. His heart rate picked up, his hand tightening around his drink. He’d tried to resist—he really had. He’d told himself to be normal. To just be chill. But how could he when she was standing there, laughing with her friends, looking like she had just stolen the entire Vegas skyline and made it hers? How could he not go over there and join her? The lobby, the noise, the blur of activity all seemed to fade around him. The playful banter, the rookies trying to make their escape to the Strip, the music playing in the background—all of it felt distant, almost irrelevant. His eyes were on Y/N, and it was like he could hear nothing else.

Without thinking, he set the bourbon down on the bar and started walking toward her. His steps were slow, deliberate, but his mind was racing. He couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face, nor could he suppress the way his chest seemed to expand with every step closer to her. She was looking at him now, openly, and that smile—it just kept getting wider, brighter. Like she knew exactly what was happening. Joe shook his head slightly, a soft laugh escaping him as he finally reached her. He couldn’t suppress the amusement that played across his features. "You know," he said, leaning in slightly, his voice low, "you’re dangerous, right?" She arched a brow at him, her playful demeanor still very much intact. "Dangerous?" she echoed, her lips curling into an almost teasing smile. "You think I’m dangerous?"

"Yes." His tone was serious, though the twinkle in his eyes betrayed him. "Because every time I see you, I lose my ability to think straight." Her laugh was soft, low, and it made his chest flutter in ways he didn’t want to admit to anyone. "You’re a real charmer, QB1," she teased, but the look in her eyes was anything but dismissive. There was something there, something unspoken, that felt electric. Before he could say anything else, one of the rookies stumbled up beside them, looking like he was about to fall over at any second. Keisha was behind him, trying not to laugh. "Seriously," she muttered to Joe, "we need a handler for this one." Y/N rolled her eyes but didn’t break her smile. "I’ll handle it," she said, the words light but full of authority. Joe, momentarily distracted by the chaos unfolding, chuckled and shook his head. "Alright, alright. But when you’re done with him..." he trailed off, his gaze locking with hers again, "Come find me?" Her smile softened. "Yeah, I’ll come find you."

And just like that, she was back with the rookies, guiding them toward a quieter corner of the lobby to get the tipsy kid sorted out. But even as she walked away, the connection still lingered between them, palpable and undeniable. Joe stood there for a moment longer, watching her. The noise of the afterparty, the chaotic energy of the moment—it all faded into a blur. In that moment, it was just her. And he knew, without a doubt, that whatever he had planned for tonight—however the rest of this chaotic Vegas evening would unfold—he’d be thinking about her. And that made him smile even wider. He was so gone.

♪♫•*¨*•.¸¸❤¸¸.•*¨*•♫♪

Joe stood by the elevator doors, his body still humming with the aftermath of the game. The adrenaline had long since worn off, and now the familiar ache of game-day soreness was settling in—muscles tight, shoulders stiff, but the kind of exhaustion that felt good. It was the kind of tired you earned. His mind was still buzzing, but in the haze of victory and the noise of the postgame celebration, he found solace in a few quiet moments of reflection. He had a bottle of water in his hand, which he took a sip from as he glanced down at his phone, checking the time. The chaos of the hotel afterparty still raged on downstairs, but Joe had every intention of calling it a night. He needed the sleep more than anything—after all, the season was just beginning.

The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open with a soft whoosh. Joe stepped inside, fingers hovering over the button for his floor. He was halfway to pressing it when a voice pierced the air. "Hold it!" Joe turned, the sound of her voice—so familiar, yet still somehow electrifying—hitting him in that way it always did. There she was. Y/N. Her ponytail was high, a few curly strands falling loose around her face from the frantic pace of the evening. Her cheeks had that postgame flush, the one that hinted at both exhaustion and exhilaration. She was still in her all-black postgame gear, looking effortlessly put together while the rest of the world seemed to be slowly unraveling around her.

A smile tugged at Joe's lips before he could stop it. "Of course," he said, pressing the door button without a second thought. "For you? Always." Y/N rolled her eyes, though the corner of her mouth betrayed her, turning upward just the slightest. Without a word, she stepped into the elevator, her presence filling the small space between them, just as it always did. The air shifted with the unspoken tension. Neither of them needed to say it—it was there, woven into every glance, every word, every breath they took when they were close.

As the doors closed behind her, the familiar hum of the elevator filled the silence, but it wasn’t really silence. Not with the unspoken charge that hung between them. Not when it was just the two of them in a small, confined space, the entire world outside paused for a few seconds. Y/N leaned against the back wall, arms crossed loosely, her eyes flicking to him with that subtle knowing smile. She wasn’t making any overt gestures, but he could feel her presence like a pull on his chest. The kind of pull that made his heart beat a little faster. “So, where are you headed?” Her voice was casual, almost playful, but he could tell she was gauging him, watching him, as she always did. Joe let out a soft sigh, his hand rubbing at his neck, the stiffness already setting in. He shrugged a little. “Room. Ice pack. Maybe some regrettable room service. You know the drill.”

She nodded in acknowledgment, her lips twitching, before asking, “And the regrettable room service is...?” “Definitely something too greasy and probably not worth it," Joe replied with a grin, glancing sideways at her. “But hey, at least it’s predictable.” Y/N smirked, rolling her eyes at his answer. “Sounds like a stellar plan,” she teased, her tone playful. But then, she added with a glint in her eye, “I’ll stick with flaming hot fries and whatever else is on the snack menu tonight. No regrets.”

Joe's brows lifted in mock surprise. “Excellent taste,” he said, giving her a sidelong glance. “Yet again, proven.” He let the words hang in the air for a moment, feeling the weight of their quiet exchange, the easy banter that always seemed to flow between them, even after all the tension, even after everything that had happened. Y/N chuckled softly, shaking her head. “You and your compliments.” She didn’t seem put off by them, though. Quite the opposite. She was a little lighter, a little more at ease when they were together, even in these fleeting moments.

Joe couldn't help it; he smiled again, his lips quirking up. There was something about her—something that made him feel like he could be himself without trying too hard. He didn’t have to play the role of the quarterback or worry about the weight of expectations. With Y/N, he was just Joe. The elevator ride continued, the floors ticking by. Each one felt like a small eternity, even though they both knew that neither of them really wanted this moment to end. There was an easy comfort between them, even in silence. A mutual understanding that didn’t need to be verbalized. But of course, that didn't stop the unspoken questions from lingering in the space between them. “Flaming hot fries, huh?” Joe asked again, trying to keep things light, but his voice came out a little quieter this time. More contemplative.

Y/N’s smile softened, just the tiniest bit. “Yeah. They’re a postgame tradition. Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.” She paused, her gaze meeting his. “What about you? What’s your game-day tradition?” Joe chuckled. “I don’t know. I guess I’ve always liked the idea of crashing early. Don’t get me wrong, the afterparty’s great, but it’s not the same as just kicking back and letting the game sink in.” Y/N nodded thoughtfully, as if she understood exactly what he meant. The tension was still there, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was them—a quiet understanding that felt like it had existed for much longer than it actually had.

The smooth hum of the elevator suddenly went silent, the steady movement halting with a jarring shudder. Joe blinked and glanced at the numbers above the door—still no change. He sighed, frustration creeping into his voice as he hit the button again. "Don’t tell me—" "Stuck?" Y/N finished, unable to suppress a giggle. "Yep," he muttered, pressing the button with a little more force, just in case that would somehow fix the situation. Nothing happened. “Well, this feels weirdly like karma for something I said in high school,” he remarked, half to himself, half to her, his voice tinged with amusement. Y/N’s laugh was soft, but it filled the small, confined space with warmth. "Relax. Maintenance is probably already on it. They’re probably sending someone to fix this right now." She pulled out her phone, tapping the screen a few times, then her face fell slightly. "No signal," she muttered, looking at the screen like it had personally betrayed her.

Joe’s gaze flicked from her phone to the walls of the elevator. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back, still maintaining the casual air he always had—despite the situation, despite the growing tension between them. The confined space of the elevator was doing strange things to his thoughts, making everything feel a little... too close. “Well,” he said, voice dropping into a soft tone that bordered on teasing, "looks like it’s just us." Y/N raised an eyebrow at him, the faintest smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Don’t start." “I didn’t say anything,” he said, his voice almost innocent, though his grin betrayed him. “You were thinking it,” she shot back with a knowing look.

Joe’s grin widened. "You don’t even know what I was thinking." Her eyes locked onto his, a challenge hanging in the air. “Fine,” she said, stepping a little closer to him, her voice low. “What were you thinking?” Joe paused for a moment, allowing the quiet to settle around them. For a second, everything outside of the two of them disappeared—no stadium, no game, no postgame chaos. Just them. And maybe it was the weird isolation of the elevator, or maybe it was the raw honesty of the moment, but he couldn’t help but lean in a little closer. “That I’ve been trying to kiss you again all night,” he murmured, voice dropping lower. There was no teasing now. Just truth. Y/N’s breath caught—just barely—but she recovered quickly, a flicker of something passing through her eyes. "You’re insatiable," she replied, though there was no real malice in her voice, only the softest trace of amusement.

Joe’s grin never faltered. "I’m in love," he said, his voice steady, like it was the simplest thing in the world to admit. Her eyes widened for just a beat before her lips curved into a smile—gentle, teasing, but something else too. “You’re ridiculous.” "And you’re beautiful,” Joe shot back without missing a beat, his tone serious now, but his eyes gleaming with something deeper. Something undeniable. Her expression softened, her gaze drifting from his eyes to his lips and back again. She took a small step closer, and the space between them—already too small—diminished even further. “Joe—”

"Can I?" he interrupted, his voice barely above a whisper. It wasn’t desperate, it wasn’t forceful. It was real. Raw. A question he’d been carrying for far too long. Y/N didn’t answer him with words. Instead, she tilted her chin up toward him, and for the first time all night, she didn’t step away. Her breath mingled with his as she leaned in, closing the gap between them. And then, she kissed him. It was soft at first, tentative, almost like a question of its own. But as soon as their lips met, something inside Joe snapped. It was like a floodgate opening, a dam breaking free, and he kissed her back with everything he had. It was like all the moments before this one—the tension, the build-up, the quiet longing—had led to this single, perfect kiss.

He kissed her like it was the first time, like she had just handed him something sacred, something precious, and he didn’t ever want to let it go. When they finally pulled apart, both breathless, a slow smile tugged at Joe’s lips. He was still trying to catch his breath, but there was no hiding the look in his eyes. No hiding the fact that everything had just shifted—and that he was so far gone for her, he didn’t know if he’d ever find his way back. Y/N’s forehead pressed lightly against his, and her voice, soft and breathy, slipped from her lips. “You okay?” Joe’s voice cracked slightly as he spoke, the intensity of the moment still settling in. “No. Absolutely not. I’m a wreck.” He chuckled, the vulnerability in his words slipping past his usual defenses.

She laughed softly, her fingers brushing against his chest as she tilted her head to rest her forehead against his. “Guess you’ll survive.” “Doubtful,” he muttered, his voice thick with humor, though there was a deeper truth to his words. He didn’t know if he could survive anything that came after that kiss. He didn’t know how he was supposed to keep it together now that it had happened. Before either of them could say anything more, the elevator jolted suddenly, the hum of the motor coming to life again. The doors slid open with a soft ding. Neither of them moved.

The air was thick with everything they hadn’t said, everything they didn’t need to. They both knew what had just happened—what had shifted between them—and neither was in any hurry to pull away. Joe’s heart was still racing as he looked at her, the quiet weight of the moment hanging between them. He wanted to say something, but the words felt inadequate. He was still trying to process the fact that he hadn’t just kissed her—he had finally crossed that line, and there was no going back. Y/N took a small step back, breaking the moment just enough to look him in the eye. Her lips were still slightly swollen from the kiss, and her smile was soft, genuine. "Guess this is our stop," she said, her voice teasing, but there was something else there—a quiet fondness. Joe didn’t trust his voice, so he just nodded, still too caught up in the aftermath of the kiss to form anything coherent. But his eyes never left hers.

As the elevator doors opened fully, she stepped out, glancing back over her shoulder with a sly smile. "I’ll see you later, Joe," she said, her tone low, almost like a promise. Joe stood there for a moment, the door sliding shut, the weight of what had just happened settling in. He leaned back against the wall of the elevator, closing his eyes for a second, trying to steady his racing heart. He was definitely a wreck. But damn, if it wasn’t the best kind of wreck.

Joe adjusted his hat, quickly ruffling his fingers through his hair in a half-hearted attempt to look casual. He cleared his throat, then took a deep breath—anything to steady the frantic thrum of his heart. He had no idea why he was suddenly so off-balance. He’d just spent the last few hours playing a high-stakes NFL game in front of thousands, but now? Now, standing in an elevator after that kiss? He was a wreck. He exhaled, mentally forcing his nerves into submission, as the elevator doors slid open with a soft ding. Y/N stepped out first, moving with that effortless grace that always seemed to have the world in orbit around her. She walked ahead of him, her shoulders relaxed, a faint smile playing at the corner of her lips, as if she was still wrapped in the cocoon of their quiet, private moment. She didn’t look back, not even for a second. She didn’t have to.

Joe followed, trying his hardest to look like he wasn’t still feeling the weight of the kiss that had, for all intents and purposes, changed everything. His heart was still doing backflips, and every step felt too loud, too heavy. His hands were suddenly clammy, and he kept adjusting his grip on his hat, as though it could anchor him to reality. He wasn’t doing a good job of looking normal. As they walked down the hallway, the faint sound of laughter and chatter echoed from around the corner. Keisha, Imani, and a rookie—or maybe two—were sitting in the hallway near the lounge. Keisha, always the sharpest observer, immediately clocked them the second they emerged from the elevator. Her eyes narrowed with that mischievous glint that meant she had noticed something. Something important.

“Were y’all just stuck in the elevator together?” Keisha asked, her voice rising slightly, a smirk curling her lips as she gave them a pointed look. Y/N didn’t even flinch. She walked past the group without missing a beat, still as cool as ever, her face the very definition of unbothered. The casual air around her only made the fact that she was absolutely radiating that kiss even more confusing to Joe. But Joe, on the other hand—his face turned bright red. His heart skipped another beat. He opened his mouth, but his brain couldn’t find the words. “I—it—it wasn’t that long,” he stammered, his voice betraying him as he gestured vaguely at the now-closed elevator doors. “Like… ten minutes, maybe?”

It wasn’t ten minutes. He knew it wasn’t. But his brain was spinning, and the words just... came out. Keisha’s smirk grew wider, like a cat who’d just caught the canary. “Oh, you’re so cooked.” She looked over at Imani, eyes glinting with that all-knowing sparkle, before returning to Joe, who was trying his best to ignore the heat rising on his neck. Imani, ever the conspirator, didn’t miss a beat. “Definitely cooked,” she added with a little chuckle, eyes dancing with amusement as she watched Joe squirm. “I mean, come on. We’ve all been there.” Y/N, having barely acknowledged the scene unfolding behind her, walked further down the hallway without a care in the world. Her posture was perfect, her movements effortless, like she hadn’t just had the most charged interaction of her life in an elevator. She might as well have been walking on air.

Meanwhile, Joe was slowly beginning to process the absurdity of the situation. They hadn’t even had a real conversation about what happened. He had kissed her. She had kissed him back. And now… now, he was just standing in a hallway being roasted by his teammates. “I’m—” he started again, but Keisha was already onto her next line of questioning. “So, are we really going to pretend nothing happened?” Keisha asked, her voice dripping with exaggerated sweetness, clearly enjoying the discomfort she was causing. Joe rubbed his hand over his face, as if he could physically erase the situation from his mind. “I—No! No, of course not,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. His hands were restless, moving from his hat to his pockets and back again. “We just—We got stuck in the elevator. That’s all. I swear. I didn’t—”

Keisha raised her eyebrows, not needing him to finish. She knew exactly what had gone down. And, for some reason, that made Joe want to crawl into a hole and die. Imani, watching the back-and-forth, finally couldn’t keep it in any longer. She burst out laughing, her chuckles loud and contagious, making Joe’s face burn even more. “Man, you are so gone.” She nudged Keisha with a knowing look. “You see it, right? He’s got that look. That ’I’m done for’ look.” Joe shot Imani a playful glare, though it had zero heat behind it. “I’m not—" “Oh, yes you are,” Keisha chimed in, clearly enjoying the spectacle. "That 'I'm in love' with her look? You can’t hide it, Joe." Y/N, finally at the end of the hallway, turned around to glance back at them, her lips curving into the smallest of smiles—just for Joe. She gave him a subtle nod, one that made his chest tighten.

The acknowledgment of their shared moment seemed to settle over him like a warm blanket, and despite the teasing from his teammates, something about it felt right. And Joe? He didn’t even bother trying to hide the grin that spread across his face as he met Y/N’s gaze. Even if his teammates were roasting him, even if his face was still burning like a furnace, he couldn’t help it. Because for the first time in forever, Joe wasn’t even a little bit worried about what came next. He just knew he was exactly where he was supposed to be. And it was a hell of a lot easier to smile when you knew she was smiling back.

♪♫•*¨*•.¸¸❤¸¸.•*¨*•♫♪

The group chat had been an absolute mess since 6 a.m. It had started innocently enough—pictures of the view from the casino, a few celebratory memes, and, of course, the obligatory "When’s the first flight out?" texts. But then, someone posted a blurry picture of a rookie, grinning like a madman, with what looked like a new tattoo that, according to the caption, neither he nor the person he was with could even remember getting. The texts flew in like wildfire after that. Keisha had been on fire. She posted a shaky video of Imani trying—trying—to win a giant stuffed tiger at 3 a.m., using the claw machine like it was an NFL drill. “Meanwhile, WHERE is Y/N 👀👀,” she’d added as a caption, tagging Y/N's name like it was some sort of prize to be found. Y/N, of course, had seen it.

Stepping off the elevator and into the hotel’s chaos that morning, Y/N quickly checked her phone, catching the notification. She had to stifle a laugh as she saw the video. She didn’t mind the attention from her teammates, but she also had more important things to focus on today. Namely, the feeling in her chest that hadn’t quite settled since last night. Since that kiss in the elevator.

She was wearing Joe’s hoodie—again. But, like the last time, it wasn’t something she’d planned. She’d just grabbed it when she left his room, and it felt oddly comforting, even though she didn’t want to admit why. Her hair was still damp from the quick shower she’d taken, and she couldn’t help but smile softly to herself as she glanced at the phone screen again, at the chaos Keisha had documented so easily. It had been hard to get any sleep after she’d snuck back to her room around 3 a.m. Her mind had been racing. Joe's words, the way he looked at her—like she was the most important thing in the world—had replayed on a loop until her heart couldn’t take it anymore.

The breakfast lounge was as chaotic as always. Players, coaches, and staff members milled about, each in their team-issued sweats and hotel slippers, half of them wearing sunglasses indoors like it was part of the routine. The mix of caffeine-fueled conversations, clinking plates, and the low hum of music in the background gave it all a laid-back yet frenetic vibe. But through the morning haze, one figure stood out immediately.

Joe. He was sitting at the table with Ja’Marr, Sam, and a couple of rookies. His hoodie was pulled up, the fresh white tee peeking out beneath it. His glasses were on, as always, and his hair was slightly messy from his beanie, but somehow it worked. The guy looked criminally good for someone who clearly wasn’t trying.

And when he spotted her? Joe’s face lit up like someone had flipped a switch. It wasn’t even a subtle shift—it was like he’d been waiting for this moment, the second their eyes met, his smile spreading across his face like he couldn’t hold it back. Y/N tried her best not to blush under the intensity of his gaze. Tried being the operative word. It didn’t work. Without missing a beat, Joe stood up. He didn’t hesitate. He didn’t even glance around to check if anyone was watching. He just walked straight toward her, ignoring the immediate heckling from his table. “Look at Burrow being a gentleman,” Tee teased from behind him, his voice loud enough to carry across the room. “Or a simp,” Ja’Marr added with a snicker, clearly amused by whatever was unfolding in real-time. “Same thing in his case,” one of the rookies muttered, the voice low but teasing enough to draw more laughter from the table.

Y/N, however, couldn’t suppress the small smirk forming on her lips as she watched Joe approach. “Morning,” he greeted her, his voice low and a little raspier than usual, like he’d just woken up, though he hadn’t—at least, that was what she hoped. He had the swagger of someone who knew exactly how good he looked, even in sweatpants. Y/N raised an eyebrow at him, her tone playful but guarded. “Didn’t expect to see you up this early.”

He smiled—slow, crooked, the kind that made her heart stumble for half a second. “Didn’t sleep much,” he admitted with a shrug, his eyes flickering down to the hoodie she was wearing. Y/N couldn’t help but glance down too, her gaze falling briefly on the fabric. "Me neither," she murmured, unsure if she was talking about sleep or the actual reason for the sleeplessness. Either way, the words had barely left her mouth before she realized what she’d said. Joe chuckled, his voice soft but tinged with amusement. "You wore it better than I do." He eyed her hoodie again, his gaze lingering for a beat too long. “Not gonna lie, I kind of wish you’d keep it.” Y/N snorted lightly, unable to resist the pull of his attention. "Doubt it."

“Okay, now you’re just flirting to hurt me,” Joe said, leaning closer, his words laced with a teasing edge. But there was something in his eyes—something real—that made her heart thud louder. She shot him a look, trying to look unimpressed, but her cheeks were already warming, her breath betraying her. “Come eat,” Joe murmured, his voice quiet, but the invitation was clear—almost like it was a secret only the two of them shared in that moment. The tension, that unspoken bond between them, was undeniable. Y/N met his gaze for a long beat, her mind racing. She nodded slowly, smiling despite herself. "Alright, I’ll bite," she said, letting herself be swept along by the current of his charm and warmth. As they walked together toward the buffet, the noise of the room faded into the background. The jokes, the chatter, the teasing from the rookies—none of it mattered. In that moment, it was just Joe and her. And she was so gone.

The team’s breakfast lounge was a frenzied combination of mismatched energy and chaos, a direct reflection of the players who were still riding high from the previous night's victory. Despite the celebration, there was an air of something else—something subtle that made the room feel a little different.

Joe, for one, seemed completely at ease, almost effortlessly commanding his space. He moved his phone and coffee to make room for Y/N, without asking, without making a big deal about it. It was a small gesture, but one that didn’t go unnoticed. He even swapped chairs with one of the rookies to give her the cushioned one. Y/N pretended not to notice. She focused on grabbing a slice of toast and pretending like his simple gestures didn’t make her heart skip a beat. But, of course, she was acutely aware of the way their knees brushed under the table. She was also aware of the fact that, every time she looked up from her plate, Joe was silently refilling her coffee.

The teasing from their teammates, however, didn’t slow down. Tee leaned over from the next seat, his voice low but loud enough for everyone at the table to hear. “He’s smiling at his eggs like they texted him back.” Joe didn’t even try to hide it. He wasn’t embarrassed. He didn’t look away. Instead, he just took a sip of his coffee and sent Y/N a glance that was nothing short of loaded.

Ja’Marr, never one for subtlety, added in his own two cents, a wicked grin pulling at his lips. “Joe got that post-win and post-kiss glow,” he whispered, practically sing-songing the words. Y/N almost choked on her orange juice. Joe didn’t deny it. He just kept sipping his coffee, eyes flicking to hers for a fraction of a second longer than necessary, that unspoken understanding passing between them like electricity. It made Y/N shift in her seat, doing her best to hide the grin she could feel tugging at her lips. Instead, she took a long sip of her own coffee, trying her best to look normal—whatever that meant.

The moment was small, but it didn’t escape anyone else at the table. It was almost too easy to slip into routine—until she stood up to grab a muffin. The second Y/N moved, Joe followed, practically glued to her side. She reached for the tongs to grab one of the blueberry muffins, and before she knew it, he was right behind her, his body close enough to feel the warmth radiating off him.

“Really?” His voice was low, barely audible over the clink of the silverware. “You’re gonna act like you didn’t short-circuit me last night?” Y/N’s hand froze, the tongs hanging between them as she turned halfway toward him, fighting the grin that was threatening to break through. “Oh, you mean the almost-kiss that wasn’t an almost-kiss?” she teased, her voice light, as though the whole situation was just another in a long line of ridiculous things.

Joe groaned softly under his breath, his tone low with something she couldn’t quite place. “I’m still recovering. I might need medical attention,” he said, and Y/N could feel the heat of his breath on her ear, making it all the more impossible to remain unaffected. She tilted her head, eyeing him with the same mischievous glint in her eyes that he’d had on the field last night. “I think you’ll live,” she said, her voice dropping to something that wasn’t quite playful, but almost daring.

Joe took another step forward, his body nearly pressed against hers, but he wasn’t invading her space—no, it felt more like a slow burn, like he was intentionally drawing out the tension between them. “You’re cruel,” he muttered. She smirked, relishing in the way his voice trembled ever so slightly. “You’re obsessed,” she fired back, the words coming out sharper than she intended.

Joe paused, his expression unreadable for half a second before his lips curled into that infuriatingly charming grin. “You’re not wrong,” he admitted, his eyes locking onto hers. Her breath caught, and for a moment, she almost gave in. Almost kissed him right there, in front of the orange juice carafe, under the fluorescent lights of the hotel buffet. But instead—she didn’t.

Instead, she handed him the muffin she’d grabbed, still warm from the bakery. It was small and sweet and almost... teasing in its own right. “Here,” she said, voice smooth as honey, her smile almost sinful. “For the trauma.” Joe blinked at the muffin like it was some kind of holy offering. His gaze softened, as if the muffin was far more meaningful than the simple act of her handing it to him. “You’re not helping,” he muttered under his breath, the corner of his mouth quirking upward. “Not trying to,” she shot back, voice low, teasing—but there was something else beneath it. Something unspoken. Something that made the air feel thicker than it should have.

She watched him as he stared down at the muffin, almost like he was trying to decide whether or not he should eat it right then and there, or keep it as some kind of memento of the moment. When they returned to the table, the atmosphere in the lounge shifted just enough that anyone who was paying attention could sense it. And, of course, Keisha—who always seemed to be the most tuned-in person in the room—was definitely paying attention.

Her eyes locked onto Joe as he walked back to the table, muffin in hand, like it was some kind of sacred object. She didn’t even try to hide her grin as she leaned over to Imani, who was absorbed in her phone. “Oh, hell no,” Keisha whispered, her voice laced with disbelief. “Did he just walk back holding her muffin?” Imani glanced up, her brow arched as she took in the scene, her lips curving into a sly smirk. “Girl, they’re in their ‘honeymoon-but-we-can’t-be-obvious-at-work’ phase,” she said, barely stifling a laugh.

Keisha’s eyes widened with delight, her hands pressing together as if she’d just witnessed the birth of a new romance novel. “Disgusting,” she said with a grin that matched Imani’s. “I love it.” Y/N, who had been trying to ignore the obvious teasing from the table, finally gave in. She shot both Keisha and Imani a look that was both exasperated and affectionate. “We’re not in a honeymoon phase,” she muttered, even though she couldn’t help but laugh along with them. Joe, for his part, pretended not to notice the banter, but the flush creeping up his neck was enough to betray him. He took a bite of the muffin, and for a second, it looked like he might say something, but instead, he just shot Y/N that damn smile. And it was all over. Again. Y/N sighed, rolling her eyes as she reached for her own coffee. She was so gone. But, in the end, so was Joe.

♪♫•*¨*•.¸¸❤¸¸.•*¨*•♫♪

He couldn’t help it. Every time she laughed—really laughed, with that easy, carefree sound that somehow filled the whole room—he felt a tug deep in his chest. The way Keisha made her crack up, or how Imani would lean in to whisper some secret, and there Y/N would be, caught in the moment, eyes lighting up as she responded, her laughter contagious and genuine. He couldn’t look away.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t noticed her before—he had, long before they’d found themselves in this strange, delicious limbo between friends and something more. But now? Now, it felt different. He found himself watching her like she was the most important thing in the room, maybe even the whole damn world. The way she tucked a stray curl behind her ear, or brushed the hair off her neck, just so casually, like it was nothing—but to him, it was everything. To him, it was like the world had just slowed down, and for a second, it was just her. Her smile. Her voice. Her laugh. Her presence. Every small movement, every glance, felt like a small magnet drawing him in further.

It wasn’t as though Joe was rushing anything. He knew better than to push. She wasn’t one for fast moves, and he respected that. It wasn’t just the game that had taught him patience. It was her. She was worth waiting for, even if every moment that passed felt like a test of his own restraint. He wasn't trying to make this into something she wasn't ready for—no, that wasn’t the game he was playing. But damn. If she let him? If she gave him that opening, that hint of a chance, he would pour every ounce of himself into it. Into her. Into them. It was like he could see the future in those small moments—he could see her laughing like that at his side, sharing late-night conversations over takeout in their sweats, and maybe even holding his hand without the need for words.

His mind drifted for just a moment, the thought of a future that wasn’t so uncertain, wasn’t so defined by the here and now of the game. Maybe it was the Vegas lights messing with his head, but there was something about her that made him want to think beyond the locker room, beyond the football field. He already felt like he’d hit the jackpot.

The game last night had been great—hell, it had been a blowout. But this? The way his heart beat a little faster every time she caught his eye, the way his stomach flipped when she smiled at him like she really meant it? That was the win, the one that would stay with him, even if the scoreboard didn’t show it.

He caught her looking at him, and he didn’t look away. He met her gaze, his heart doing its usual skip. She was across the room, deep in conversation with Keisha and Imani, but for that one moment, it was just the two of them. The air between them crackled with something unsaid. She tilted her head, that teasing smirk spreading across her face as she caught him staring. She didn’t say anything—didn’t need to—but her eyes said it all. She knew. And he knew, too.

For a brief moment, the noise of the hotel lobby, the chatter of the team, even the clinking of coffee cups faded into the background. It was just her. Just the way she made him feel like he could be more than just a quarterback. Like maybe, just maybe, he could be the one who earned her smile without having to prove anything. Joe had always been good at reading the field, at seeing what was coming before it happened. But this? This was different. This was the kind of game he didn’t know the rules to, but he was willing to learn.

He’d never been one to shy away from a challenge. And this? This was the biggest challenge yet. But one he’d take on—slowly, carefully, and with the kind of attention that Y/N deserved. Because no matter how many wins he racked up on the field, it was moments like these, watching her in the midst of her world, that made him feel like he was winning on a level he hadn’t even known existed. It was stupid to think about the future now, to imagine what it would be like to not just share glances in crowded rooms, but to share mornings, conversations, quiet moments. But the thought still lingered, like a soft hum in the back of his mind. And if she ever gave him the chance? He’d give her everything. Every damn thing he had.

♪♫•*¨*•.¸¸❤¸¸.•*¨*•♫♪

A few weeks had passed since that whirlwind of a night after the Bengals’ last win. October settled in fully—cool mornings, rust-colored leaves scattered across the pavement, and the unmistakable hum of football season heating up. It was now Sunday, October 26th, and the Bengals were back at Paycor Stadium for an early home game against the Jets. Kickoff was at noon, and the city had woken up buzzing.

Despite the game-day rush, Y/N wasn’t thinking about football. Not yet, anyway.

She and Joe had been in this soft, slow dance of almost-something since that night. Still not officially dating—at least, not by either of their definitions—but no one who saw them would believe it. They’d been spending more and more time together, blurring the lines between friendship and something heavier, deeper. The “not-a-date” dates were stacking up: mid-week takeout nights where they argued over movies, long drives with no destination, quiet mornings at his place where she curled up on his couch with coffee and he tried to act like he wasn’t completely obsessed with her.

That Friday, she’d stayed the night at his mansion again. Cozy, comfortable. Joe had cooked—or at least attempted to. He ended up burning the garlic bread and blaming the oven. They fell asleep halfway through a movie, sprawled on opposite ends of the couch, legs tangled. She left the next morning around 11:30, needing to run errands, and Joe had acted like she’d told him she was moving to another country. “You’re really gonna leave me like this?” he said, arms crossed, leaning against the front door with his signature dramatic pout. Y/N rolled her eyes, smiling as she tugged her duffel over her shoulder. “Joe, I’ve been here for like, eighteen hours. Go shower. Go watch film. Be productive.”

“But I like when you’re here. You make the house feel... less like a museum.” She paused at the doorway, raising a brow. “Are you saying I bring the place to life?” “I’m saying you leave your fuzzy socks on my kitchen counter and put your iced coffee cups in weird places, and it makes me miss you when you're gone.” He said it so casually, like he didn’t even realize it was the kind of thing that would replay in her head for the rest of the weekend. She hadn’t seen him in person since then, but they’d been texting nonstop. Saturday evening, after getting her hair done—curls blown out, fresh honey-brown color, soft blonde highlights, long layers, and brand-new bangs she wasn’t totally sure she could pull off—she sent him a simple text: “Got a surprise for you tomorrow.” It was like lighting a match and dropping it into gasoline.

Joe: What kind of surprise?? Is it food? A puppy? Another one of those hoodies you stole from me? You can’t just say that and disappear.

She’d laughed, typing back slowly on purpose.

Y/N: You’ll see tomorrow. Early game, remember? Don’t be late.

Joe: Are you KIDDING me. You’re gonna make me wait until game day? That’s cruel. FaceTime me. I need a hint. A vowel. Something.

She finally picked up his third FaceTime call, holding the phone up toward the ceiling. His face popped onto the screen immediately, hair messy, hoodie wrinkled, eyes squinting as he tried to tilt his head for a better view. “Move the camera,” he demanded. “No.” “Y/N—come on,” he groaned. “You’re being mean. You know I’m easily distracted.” “Exactly why I’m not showing you. You’ve got a game to win, QB1.” “That’s tomorrow. I’ve got hours to mentally prepare.” “You’ll live.” “I swear, if we lose tomorrow, I’m blaming you,” he said, flopping back dramatically onto his couch. “You’re sabotaging me.” She smirked. “You literally just saw me. Yesterday.” “Yeah. And I miss you. My serotonin’s plummeting.” “You’re so dramatic,” she said through a laugh. Joe looked up at the camera with his best puppy-dog expression. “You love it.” She didn’t deny it. She just smiled and let him keep talking while her heart did cartwheels.

♪♫•*¨*•.¸¸❤¸¸.•*¨*•♫♪

The next morning, Y/N arrived at the stadium just after 7 a.m., sun barely creeping over the skyline. She was in work mode now, hair blown out smooth and tucked under a soft beanie, the bangs peeking out just enough to make her feel brand-new. She wore fitted black joggers, a team-branded quarter zip, and clean white sneakers—but it was the hair that changed everything. It gave her a different kind of confidence, subtle but strong. She didn’t need to try. She just felt good.

She walked through the familiar back hallways of the stadium toward the equipment room, the buzz of pre-game energy humming around her—security radios chirping, carts rolling down the tunnel, early staff checking their lists twice. She pushed the heavy door open to find Imani and Keisha already there, sorting jerseys and checking boxes. Imani looked up first—and immediately froze. “Oh. My. God.” she said, dragging out each word like it was a full sentence. “Y/N…” Keisha turned, blinked once, then let out a sharp whistle. “HELLO. Excuse me, ma’am—who told you to show up looking like a whole problem this morning?” Y/N laughed, tugging off her beanie and shaking out her hair. “You like it?”

“Like it?” Imani said, rushing over. “Girl, you look like a Pinterest board and a shampoo commercial. What is this? Where is this coming from?” “I just needed a change,” she said, suddenly shy despite the compliments. Keisha circled her like a stylist on makeover reveal day. “Oh, Joe is going to LOSE IT. Man’s not gonna know what to do with himself.” Y/N chuckled, biting her lip. “It’s not that serious.” “Uh, yes it is,” Imani said, grabbing her phone. “He’s gonna trip over his cleats when he sees you.”

“Are you gonna pretend it’s not for him?” Keisha added, grinning. “It’s for me,” Y/N said firmly. Then, after a beat, “But I won’t be mad if he appreciates it.” The three of them laughed, and the moment felt warm—like the calm before the chaos of game day. Outside, the stadium was waking up. Soon, fans would be filling the seats, the players would run drills, and Joe would—eventually—spot her. Y/N took a deep breath and smiled to herself. She was ready.

♪♫•*¨*•.¸¸❤¸¸.•*¨*•♫♪

The stadium came alive in waves. By nine a.m., the halls were buzzing with movement—trainers jogging between rooms, media setting up in the press areas, and staff slipping into their game-day rhythms. The scent of turf and Gatorade lingered in the air, familiar and grounding. Music echoed from the locker room—something bass-heavy, the kind of song that made helmets bounce on benches.

Y/N kept herself busy, checking off inventory, labeling gear, and organizing extras like she wasn’t counting down the minutes until she saw him. Okay, maybe she was. A little. By the time she finished in the equipment room, the players had started trickling in, one by one—some with headphones on, others in quiet focus, a few cracking jokes to break the tension of a game day morning.

She slipped out into the hallway, clipboard in hand, heading toward the main tunnel when she heard it. “Y/N!” She turned just in time to see Ja’Marr jogging up beside her, duffle over his shoulder, a knowing grin spreading across his face. “Well damn,” he said, giving her a once-over. “You’re really out here breaking necks today.” She rolled her eyes, smiling. “Don’t start.” “I’m just saying. If Burrow forgets how to throw a football today, we’re all gonna know why.” “He hasn’t even seen me yet.” Ja’Marr laughed. “Good luck keeping it that way.”

He gave her a wink before jogging off, leaving her cheeks a little warmer than before. She didn’t have to wait long. She didn’t even have time to register the footfalls coming from the opposite direction before she heard a sharp inhale. And then—silence. She looked up—and there he was. Joe. Walking toward her, shoulders loose, hoodie on, duffle strap slung over one shoulder like it weighed nothing. His hair was still slightly damp from his shower, his curls brushing just over his forehead, and his mouth—It had dropped open slightly. His steps faltered. “Whoa.” That was all he said. Just one word. A breath. A sound.

His eyes swept over her face, then her hair, then back to her eyes, like he was trying to make sure she was real. He stopped a few feet in front of her, blinking once, then slowly exhaled through a stunned smile. “You…” He shook his head. “Holy sh—” He caught himself. “You look…” Y/N lifted an eyebrow, feigning innocence. “What?” He laughed once, running a hand through his curls. “You look like you just stepped out of a dream I didn’t know I was having. What the hell, Y/N?” “Is that a good thing?” “It’s a problem,” he said, voice low and teasing. “How am I supposed to focus now? You show up looking like that?”

“Like what?” Joe grinned, stepping closer. His voice dropped a little, all smooth edges and mischief. “Like every high school crush I never got over and every grown-woman fantasy wrapped into one.” Y/N couldn’t stop the laugh that slipped out. “Okay, calm down, Burrow.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down,” he said, eyes locked on her like she was the only person in the building. “You did this on purpose.” She tilted her head. “Did what?”

“This whole thing,” he said, gesturing loosely toward her. “The hair. The layers. Those little bangs…” His voice went soft, almost reverent. “Jesus.” “Would it kill you to say something normal?” Joe smirked. “Where’s the fun in that?” “You really think it looks good?” she asked, quieter this time. Joe’s eyes softened. “I think you look like trouble. The best kind.” She let out a breath, looking away before he made her melt completely. “You’re just saying that so I’ll feel bad when you trip over your own feet during warmups.”

“No,” he said seriously, stepping closer, the teasing gone from his voice. “I’m saying it because it’s true. You walk into a room and it spins a little.” Her eyes flicked back to his, caught off guard by the shift. “That’s… poetic for a guy who still calls Gatorade ‘sports juice.’” He grinned, but didn’t back off. “I mean it. I’ve seen you in a hundred different moods, and somehow this one—right now—it’s something else.” She blinked, trying to fight the stupid smile tugging at her lips. “You’re really laying it on thick.”

“Yeah.” He shrugged, smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. “But only because I know you can handle it.” A beat passed, warm and quiet, before she nudged his shoulder lightly. “Fine. But if I drop helmets or anything, I’m blaming your compliments.” “Deal,” he said. “But if I fall first, I expect a full speech at my funeral. Something tasteful. Maybe a haiku.” She laughed, the tension finally slipping from her shoulders. “You? Tasteful? That would be the real tragedy.”

He studied her for another beat, more serious this time. “No joke though… you look amazing. Like—can’t-stop-looking amazing. I was literally mid-conversation and just… forgot English for a second.” Y/N pretended to jot something down on her clipboard. “So dramatic.” “You love it,” he said, brushing his arm lightly against hers as he passed. “I tolerate it,” she said, just loud enough for him to hear. He stopped a few steps ahead, glanced back over his shoulder, and hit her with that smirk—the cocky one that made her want to roll her eyes and kiss him at the same time. “I’ll find you after warmups,” he said. “But fair warning…” “Yeah?” He grinned. “If I throw for 400 yards today, it’s your fault.”

Y/N crossed her arms, calling after him. “You’re welcome in advance.” She watched him disappear into the locker room tunnel, his posture just a little straighter than before. Her heart was thudding in her chest, but she tried to play it cool—until Imani and Keisha popped out from around the corner like they'd been waiting for the signal. “YEP,” Imani said, clapping once. “That man is in love.” “He was staring at you like you invented the sun,” Keisha added, eyes wide. Y/N just laughed, cheeks hot, and shook her head. “I need to get back to work.” “Sure, sure,” Imani said. “But make sure you circle the field at least once during pregame. You owe him that view.” Y/N rolled her eyes, but she didn’t disagree.

♪♫•*¨*•.¸¸❤¸¸.•*¨*•♫♪

The stadium was electric. By noon, Paycor was packed to the brim—fans on their feet, orange and black everywhere, the air crackling with anticipation. The National Anthem faded, the coin toss was done, and the Bengals were kicking off. Game time.

Y/N stood on the sideline near the equipment tables, a headset hanging loosely around her neck, clipboard in hand—not that she was actually paying attention to the clipboard. Not when the energy was this high. Not when her heart hadn’t settled from that hallway moment. Beside her, Keisha nudged her shoulder. “You good?” “I’m fine,” Y/N said, too quickly. Imani grinned. “You look like you’re trying really hard not to stare.”

“I’m literally working.” “You’re on the sideline watching your situationship warm up his throwing arm like he’s auditioning for a Nike commercial. Just own it.” Y/N laughed, but her eyes did flick toward the field—just as Joe stepped up behind center. She didn’t mean to stare, but… well, there he was. Calm. Collected. Locked in. The black stripes on his uniform made him look even broader in the shoulders, and the way he held the ball, confident and effortless, made it very hard to not stare. And maybe he knew that. Because right before the snap, as he scanned the field, he cut a glance toward the sideline. Right at her. Their eyes met. Just for a second. And he winked. Keisha nearly choked on her gum. “Did he just—”

“Yep,” Imani said. “He did.” Y/N blinked. “No, he didn’t. That could’ve been for anyone.” Imani looked around. “Girl, there’s no one behind us but a bench and a Gatorade cooler. Stop playing.” The ball snapped, and in one smooth move, Joe dropped back, sidestepped a defender, and launched a perfect pass down the middle. It hit Ja’Marr in stride for a 27-yard gain, the crowd exploding in cheers as the chains moved.

Keisha smirked. “Oh, he’s showing off now.” “Think he’s playing better because I’m here?” Y/N teased. “Absolutely,” Imani said. “You’re his lucky charm. And now you’re his fine as hell lucky charm.” Y/N smiled but stayed quiet, eyes fixed on the field. She hated how giddy she felt—and loved it at the same time.

As the game went on, it was clear Joe was in his zone. Every play felt sharp. Confident. A little flashy, even. Like he was trying to prove a point. By the second quarter, the Bengals were up by 10. Joe had thrown two touchdowns—both of them pretty enough for highlight reels—and every time he came off the field, he walked straight past their section of the sideline. Not toward her, exactly. But not not towards her either. Once, after a particularly slick first-down scramble where he avoided two tackles and slid out of bounds just in time, he pulled off his helmet, raked a hand through his damp curls, and looked directly at her.

He didn’t say anything. Just gave her a look. Low-lidded. Slightly smug. A you-see-that? kind of look. Y/N couldn’t help it. She smiled. Keisha leaned in. “If he doesn’t ask you out for real after this game or you both finally fuck, I’m filing a complaint.” “And I’m burning my jersey,” Imani added. Y/N laughed, heart racing in rhythm with the game. The clock ticked down to halftime, and the Bengals jogged off the field, cheers raining down from every direction. Joe, as always, was the last one off. But before he disappeared into the tunnel, he turned one last time. Caught her eyes again. And mouthed, “You’re my good luck.” Y/N blinked, stunned. Then smirked. Because he wasn’t wrong.

♪♫•*¨*•.¸¸❤¸¸.•*¨*•♫♪

The final whistle blew, sharp and final, slicing through the roar of the crowd like a ribbon being cut. And just like that, Paycor Stadium erupted into pure, unfiltered euphoria.

The Bengals had sealed the win—31 to 17—and the place buzzed with it. Fans howled from the stands, hands raised, phones capturing the moment. On the field, helmets were tossed into the air like graduation caps. Shoulder pads clapped. Shouts echoed in every direction. At the heart of it all, Joe Burrow, quarterback and golden boy, jogged off the field with that usual, maddeningly calm swagger—like he hadn’t just thrown for 354 yards and three touchdowns. Like he didn’t just own the stadium for three and a half quarters. Even the rival team’s fans, still half-seated, could only shake their heads in begrudging admiration.

Near the tunnel, just out of the post-game flood, Y/N stood tucked beside the water station, clipboard in hand but attention elsewhere. The players stormed past her in waves—rowdy, sweat-soaked, electric with victory. A helmet hit the floor somewhere behind her. Somebody yelled something about hot wings. The air felt alive.

And then he appeared. Joe.

The last one out, of course. He always lingered behind, like he had a flair for dramatic exits—or maybe just liked giving everyone a head start so they wouldn’t witness the way he looked for her. The second he spotted her, his mouth tilted into that boyish, too-pretty grin—the one that didn’t belong on someone with shoulders like his. His hair was a curly mess, clinging to his temples, cheeks pink from the wind and adrenaline, jersey streaked in grass and effort. But somehow, somehow, he looked like a cover shoot had caught him mid-stride.

“Burrow!” someone shouted behind him. He didn’t even glance back. His eyes were locked on her like they were teammates running a silent two-minute drill. As he passed by, he dipped his head slightly—like he was about to whisper something—but instead, his hand brushed hers. Just a feather-light sweep of fingers along her palm. Too fast to stop. Too intentional to ignore. It was nothing. It was everything.

Then he was gone, slipping into the locker room without a single word, but leaving behind the kind of electricity that made her want to check her pulse. A moment later, Keisha sidled up beside her, fanning herself with her playbook like she’d just run the field herself. “Well, well, well,” she said, tilting her head like a sitcom auntie. “The chemistry is still charting in the Billboard Top Ten.”

“I’m gonna need them to stop flirting like we’re not literally standing ten feet away,” Imani chimed in as she walked past sipping a lemon-lime Gatorade like it was tea. “They got me mentally writing Wattpad chapters in the staff lounge.” Y/N gave a low groan and buried her face behind her clipboard. “You guys are so dramatic.”

“And you are so down bad,” Keisha quipped, arching a brow. “Like, full heart-eyes emoji. Tragic, honestly.” Y/N rolled her eyes, cheeks already warm, but couldn’t help the way the smile tugged at her lips. “I am not heart-eyes.”

“Girl,” Imani said with a smirk, “if your pupils got any wider when he looks at you, TSA would flag you as a flight risk.” She laughed then—short, helpless, guilty. “Shut up.” They walked the short hallway together, the noise from the locker room growing louder with each step—bass thumping through the walls, voices rising over each other in victory-fueled chaos.

By the time they reached the open door, it felt like walking into a whirlwind. Music pounded from a speaker someone had plugged in on top of a gear bin—probably Ja’Marr’s doing. Steam clouded the air from the showers in the back. Towels flew like flags at war. Someone had already popped a bottle of sports drink and was using it like champagne. The scent of sweat, eucalyptus balm, and unbottled testosterone filled the space.

Y/N hovered in the doorway, clipboard now completely forgotten in her hand. “HEY!” Tee Higgins spotted her first and pointed like she was the halftime show. “Look who made an appearance.” Immediately, a few players turned toward her with loud whoops and cheers. “Y/N with the new hair!” Ja’Marr shouted from across the room, grinning like the devil himself. “You the real MVP tonight! We knew you was the good luck charm!”

“She had Joe out there throwing like he’s trying to win a BET award,” someone added, sending a ripple of laughter through the locker room. Joe, mid-way through peeling off his shoulder pads, didn’t even try to hide his smirk. He paused just long enough to glance over—eyes already locked on her, like he’d been waiting for her to show. “She is the good luck charm,” he said, voice low but clear.

Every man in the room let out a loud, exaggerated “OOOOOOHHHHHHH!”, like a high school hallway had exploded in the middle of the NFL. Y/N groaned and held up both hands. “Don’t start, please.” Joe didn’t drop his gaze. Still grinning, still sweaty, still too damn handsome for her own good, he wiped a towel along the back of his neck and said, deadpan: “Too late.” A beat passed. Maybe two. And still—he didn’t look away. Didn’t want to.

For a moment, in the middle of all the yelling, half-naked chaos and slippery floor tiles, it was just the two of them again. Like the game was still going. Like they were the only ones in the world keeping score. Y/N felt her stomach flip in that way it always did around him—somewhere between an elevator drop and a rollercoaster climb. Keisha nudged her with an elbow. “Girl. Blink.” And finally, she did. But not before Joe gave her one last look—smoldering, soft, with just the ghost of something realer-than-real in his eyes—and turned back to his locker, jaw set like he’d just made a decision he didn’t plan on unmaking.

♪♫•*¨*•.¸¸❤¸¸.•*¨*•♫♪

The stadium was settling into a quiet hum, the final echoes of the crowd still reverberating in the halls even as the chaos of the game faded. The team had already gone through the whirlwind of showers, media obligations, and gear pack-up. The locker room lights dimmed to a low buzz, casting long shadows that stretched across the floor, but the cool night air outside the building had begun to seep in. A crisp edge to it that promised fall was nearing its peak.

Y/N lingered in the hallway near the player tunnel, tapping out a few last equipment notes into her phone. She should’ve been wrapping up—should’ve been back at her desk organizing post-game logistics—but something about the quietness of the tunnel pulled her in. She hadn’t seen Joe since the locker room celebration, and truth be told, she wasn’t entirely sure how to shake the spark of excitement she felt every time he crossed her path.

Just as she was about to finish her notes, she heard the familiar sound of footsteps echoing against the hard walls. Not the fast-paced clattering of cleats that had passed her earlier, but slow, measured steps. A familiar rhythm. She didn’t need to look to know who it was. “You waited,” Joe’s voice called out, quieter than usual, the words tinged with a hint of amusement. It was a softer version of him—the one she’d gotten glimpses of over the past few weeks. She smiled and, without turning, teased, “You always take forever.”

“Good things take time,” he said, his voice a little warmer now, and closer. A beat passed before she glanced up, finding him walking toward her, his gray hoodie and sweats softening the intimidating presence he’d just exuded on the field. His curls were damp from the shower, and he had a duffle bag slung over one shoulder, the weight of it making him lean slightly to one side. Y/N took in the sight of him—a mixture of muscle and exhaustion, confidence and something else that had settled between them, quietly yet unavoidably. “You like making an entrance, huh?” she said, her lips curling into a smirk. She crossed her arms, trying to play it cool, but the flutter in her chest gave her away.

Joe stopped right in front of her, shifting his duffle bag from one shoulder to the other, letting his arms fall to his sides. For a moment, they just stood there, the buzz of the stadium a faint memory in the distance. The only sound between them was the gentle hum of the building, the kind of quiet that felt intimate in its own right. “Yeah,” he finally said, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I like making an entrance. Or an exit. You know, the drama.”

Y/N laughed, low and soft, the sound echoing off the walls like a shared secret. She couldn’t help herself. The weight of the day, the game, the stress of everything—suddenly felt miles away in the simplicity of this moment. With him. Joe’s eyes flicked to her hair, the soft honey brown with blonde streaks now framing her face in a way she’d never seen before. “I still can’t believe you did that,” he said, his gaze lingering.

She raised an eyebrow. “You don’t like it?” His lips twitched, fighting a grin. “I didn’t say that.” He took a small step forward, closing the distance between them. His eyes flickered down to her lips for a fraction of a second before lifting back up to meet her gaze, the space between them now charged with something unmistakable. “I love it,” he said, his voice quiet, his tone now laced with something more than just casual admiration. “Like, need-to-focus-harder-than-usual love it.” Her breath caught in her chest, his words sinking in with a delicious warmth that spread through her. She held his gaze, trying to keep it casual, but there was a vulnerability to this moment she hadn’t expected. “You played a hell of a game,” she said, breaking the intensity with a softer note, her voice thick with pride. Joe’s smile softened, and there was a hint of genuine surprise in his eyes. “You think so?”

“I know so,” she replied, her voice steady, but the heat rising in her cheeks betrayed her. A slow, easy smile spread across Joe’s face, the kind that made everything feel like it was unfolding at the perfect pace. “Then I guess you’re stuck with me,” he said, his tone playful, but there was a certain depth to it. “Because now I’m superstitious. You’ve got to show up like this every week.” Y/N raised an eyebrow, leaning back slightly. “I’ll need snacks and a raise.” Joe chuckled, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “I’ll make it happen. Don’t worry.” For a moment, they both just stood there, the space between them charged, but comfortably so. Then, Y/N’s smile faded just a little as she studied him. “You were really locked in today. Not that I’m complaining, but it was like you couldn’t miss.”

Joe nodded, the lines of concentration from the game still visible on his face, even though the adrenaline of the win had begun to ebb away. He met her eyes. “I was.” There was a pause. A beat that seemed to stretch for just a little too long. “And you’re saying it was because of me?” Y/N asked, her voice quieter now, almost teasing, but with an undercurrent of something that felt far more significant. Joe’s gaze flickered—like he was deciding how much of the truth he wanted to share. He took another step forward, leaning in just enough for his words to be a private whisper. “Y/N, I’m saying it’s always been because of you.”

Her breath stilled for half a second, and her heart skipped a beat. His words were soft, sincere, and wrapped in a quiet intensity that left her struggling to breathe. It was as though the world outside of this hallway had disappeared, and there was nothing but the two of them standing on the edge of something that felt bigger than football.

The stillness between them stretched out, the weight of the moment heavy in the air.

♪♫•*¨*•.¸¸❤¸¸.•*¨*•♫♪

The press room was alive with activity, a familiar chaos after the game’s final whistle. Camera flashes popped like firecrackers, while reporters scrambled to set up microphones, adjust notepads, and position their pens for the inevitable barrage of questions. The air was thick with anticipation. The usual post-game buzz hung heavy—the sound of scribbling pens, the shuffle of reporters moving about, and the distant murmur of speculation rippling through the crowd.

Y/N stood just off to the side, leaning casually against the wall near the back of the room. She was in her usual Bengals jacket and jeans, blending in but still very much part of the team’s rhythm. The reporters and PR staff bustled around her, adjusting and preparing for the circus that was about to unfold. The same routine. The same faces. But today felt different. The weight of the air was heavier—charged, almost—as if the room was waiting for something. Or someone.

Joe was late. And everyone knew it. He always was. It was a pattern she’d learned over the past few weeks: Joe was never in a rush to be front and center. He moved through life with a calm, almost deliberate slowness, taking his time to enter, to exit. He wasn’t one for grand gestures or drawn-out moments of attention. Everything he did felt intentional, calculated. And today, with the buzz of rumors floating in the air, it felt like he was deliberately letting the media stew in anticipation.

Y/N couldn’t blame him, though. She was no stranger to the way the media could twist things. The rumors about them had only just started, but the media had already seized on it. It began with a blurry shot from a fan in the stands—a moment where Joe had looked directly at her, lingering in a way that was too obvious for the internet not to notice. The caption was harmless at first, just a playful comment, but then came the rumors, and then the questions. The entire thing had blown up by this afternoon.

She had tried to stay out of the spotlight, as she always did, but now, the spotlight had come for her anyway. And for Joe. She could feel the reporters’ eyes, their attention drifting between her and the door. They were all waiting for him. Waiting for his entrance. The whispers grew louder as the minutes ticked by, and the tension in the room became palpable. Everyone knew why they were there—yes, to talk about Joe’s performance, but also to ask about the other thing, the thing that had everyone buzzing for days.

The door to the press room swung open. And there he was. Joe Burrow stepped inside, every inch the quarterback they all knew. Tall, imposing at 6’4”, he was dressed in a sleek black suit and tie. He moved with quiet confidence, his presence cutting through the noise in the room. His face was a mask of composure—serene, focused—but his jaw was tight, a subtle tension there that didn’t go unnoticed. Today, something was different. He wasn’t just the football player who’d thrown for 354 yards and three touchdowns. Today, he was the man at the center of a media storm. As he walked toward the podium, the room fell into a quiet murmur. Everyone’s eyes were on him, and Y/N could feel it, too, even from the side. There were no more polite questions about his performance—those had been covered in the highlights. Now, it was all about the rumors.

The first reporter fired a question, attempting to stick with the game’s stats. “Joe, solid performance today, 354 yards, three touchdowns—how did you feel out there?” Joe nodded, his usual coolness apparent as he responded, his voice steady. “I felt good. The offensive line gave me plenty of time, the receivers made some great catches, and we just executed the game plan.” He answered without missing a beat, keeping it professional.

But then, there was a pause. Another reporter, sensing the moment, jumped in, taking a calculated risk. “There’s been a lot of chatter about the chemistry between you and, uh…” The reporter hesitated, obviously aware of the delicate topic. “...someone special who’s been spotted with you around the facility. Is there anything you’d like to address regarding your personal life?”

A wave of energy rippled through the room. Y/N held her breath, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end. It was a question that everyone had been waiting for, and yet, the air in the room thickened as soon as it was asked. Joe’s gaze flicked briefly toward her. Their eyes met for just a fraction of a second, a quiet understanding passing between them. But his expression remained neutral, a masterclass in composure.

“No comment,” Joe said, his voice firm but controlled, his gaze unwavering as he turned back to face the reporters. “I’m here to talk about football. Everything else? That’s my personal business, and it’s going to stay that way. I’m not going to entertain rumors.” The reporters shuffled, realizing they’d hit a wall. The energy in the room shifted slightly, the reporters now more cautious. But they weren’t about to let him off the hook that easily.

A second reporter piped up, attempting to defuse the tension but still probing. “Fair enough, Joe. But the connection on the field has been pretty undeniable. How do you feel about the chemistry with your teammates? You’re clearly on the same page out there.” Joe’s shoulders relaxed slightly. His expression softened, the flicker of his earlier tension fading as he leaned forward, his voice warm with sincerity. “My team? We’re tight. We’ve been working together for a long time now, and we trust each other. That’s the key to our success.”

It was a skillful pivot. He didn’t give an inch on the personal front, but he still made sure to end the conversation on a positive note, steering it back to football where he was most comfortable. The reporters, although still intrigued, seemed satisfied with the shift in focus. But Y/N couldn’t help but feel a slight heat rise in her cheeks. There was something about the way he’d handled that moment, so effortlessly, so decisively, that made her heart skip a beat. It was as though he wasn’t just defending his privacy. He was doing it for her too.

The room was still buzzing with questions, but she was caught in the quiet space that seemed to open up between them. The press conference came to an end, the reporters slowly trickling out, some still muttering to each other as they shuffled toward the exit. Y/N lingered at the back of the room, her arms crossed in thought. She wasn’t used to this—the attention, the speculation. She’d kept her personal life hidden for a reason, and now, it felt like the whole world was watching, trying to piece together a story that wasn’t theirs to tell.

But Joe? He was a pro. He’d handled the spotlight with the same grace he handled everything else. The tension in the room had eased, but it still lingered in her chest. A few minutes later, she heard footsteps. Joe was walking toward her, his expression still tight, his jaw clenched slightly. But as soon as he saw her, that tension seemed to melt away. His shoulders relaxed, and for the first time all day, there was a softness in his gaze.

“That went well,” she said, unable to stop the smirk that tugged at her lips. Joe’s lips twitched, though his eyes didn’t fully match the smile. “You know how it is,” he replied, rubbing the back of his neck. “They won’t stop asking until they get the answer they want.” Y/N nodded, feeling a little lighter, though she could sense the weight he was carrying. “You were great in there,” she said, her voice sincere. “You handled it like a pro.” Joe let out a deep sigh, as if releasing all the exhaustion from the last hour. “Honestly? I hate this part. I just want to play football, not talk about my life.”

“I get it,” she replied softly, glancing down for a second. “I’m not used to being in the middle of it either.” Finally, Joe cleared his throat, breaking the tension, though there was still a softness in his eyes. “You wanna grab food?” he asked, as if this was all a natural progression. “I know this spot that doesn’t close ‘til midnight. We can sit in the back, order too much, and you can pretend it’s not a date again.” Y/N raised an eyebrow, not quite believing it. “Only if it’s not a ‘not-a-date.’”

Joe laughed, a real, hearty laugh that echoed in the quiet hallway. “Okay, okay. No more pretending,” he said, the words feeling like a promise. “But just so you know, I’m terrible at keeping secrets.” She smiled, watching him for a beat. The tension of the day, the cameras, the rumors—it all seemed to fade in that moment. “Maybe I don’t mind you being bad at it.” Joe winked, and together, they walked down the hallway, away from the prying eyes and into the night, toward something that didn’t need to be explained. Not yet. And as they walked side by side, she realized that sometimes, you didn’t need the answers. Sometimes, you just needed the quiet moments, the spaces in between. And with him, it felt like everything was finally falling into place. She cocked her head, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “So, we’re still pretending?”

He smirked, the edge of his lips pulling up with a teasing glint in his eyes. “Only if you are.” Y/N paused, her gaze flickering over him—at the man who had just thrown for three touchdowns, who had a team that adored him, who had a way of commanding the field and now, in this moment, commanding her heart. But there was something there, too, something deeper than just the flirtation of the past few weeks. A real connection, even though neither of them was quite sure where it was leading. “I don’t know,” she said, pretending to deliberate. “Fine,” she added after a long moment, her voice soft but certain. “But if you call it a ‘not-a-date,’ you’re paying.”

He raised an eyebrow, a mock incredulity on his face. “I was paying anyway.” She laughed, the sound free and easy as she shook her head. “We’ll see about that.” They walked toward the exit together, their steps in sync. The press room, the flashing lights, the tension of the game—it was all a distant memory now. In the quiet of the night, with only the faint glow of the streetlights illuminating the darkened hallways, it felt like it was just the two of them, finally, without the weight of expectations or the prying eyes of the world.

And maybe, just maybe, for the first time, it felt like they didn’t need to pretend anymore.

♪♫•*¨*•.¸¸❤¸¸.•*¨*•♫♪

The neon glow from the roadside sign barely flickered in the distance as the car hummed down the quiet highway. The kind of night where everything felt still, except for the occasional passing vehicle and the faint sound of slow R&B spilling from the radio. By the time Joe pulled into the gravel parking lot, it was nearly 10:30 p.m., the tail end of an intense game day now far behind them.

They stepped out of the car into the crisp night air, and Y/N couldn’t help but smile as the familiar scent of fried food and simmering spices drifted toward her. It was a place tucked away just off the beaten path, with a cozy, dimly lit ambiance that spoke to the kind of night where nothing else mattered but the company you kept.

The door chimed as they entered, and a warm glow greeted them. The room was small, intimate—just a few booths scattered around, the kind of place where everyone knew each other, and the food was always the star. Low lights bathed the wooden tables, and a soft hum of old-school R&B settled in the background, filling the spaces between their words. Joe led her to the back booth, a secluded corner where they could talk without the distractions of the world outside. As they sat down, the low glow from the flickering candle in the center of the table caught the edges of Y/N’s earrings, and she absentmindedly tucked a stray curl behind her ear. The tension from the game, the post-game buzz, and all the chaos of the day seemed to dissipate in this small, quiet bubble.

Y/N slipped off her hoodie, the fabric trailing down her arms as she stretched, her hair a little more tousled now after the long day. Her gaze flicked to Joe, who was already sipping sweet tea from a mason jar, his lips barely brushing the rim as he set the glass back down with a content sigh. “You really come here after games?” she asked, biting into a hot, crispy fry. The seasoning hit just right, the saltiness grounding her in the moment. She couldn’t help but smile at the comfort of it all—the warmth of the booth, the intimacy of the setting, and the feeling of finally, finally getting a moment of peace with him. Joe nodded, his eyes soft, the usual intensity of the field replaced by something warmer in this space. “Only when I’m celebrating,” he said, his voice smooth, almost as if the very act of being here had already started to soothe whatever remnants of the game still lingered.

Her lips curled into a teasing grin. “So I made the cut, huh?” She didn’t even try to hide the playful edge in her voice, knowing full well the compliment that was buried within his words. Joe leaned back in the booth, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Are you kidding? You are the cut.” His eyes twinkled with amusement, and for a moment, Y/N thought she might just be staring at him a little too long—at the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled, at the way his casual words held a deeper meaning.

Y/N tried to keep it together, but the smile spread wider anyway. “That was corny,” she teased, unable to stop herself. “Let me live,” Joe shot back, raising an eyebrow, clearly unbothered. He leaned forward, his gaze never leaving hers, and for a moment, the world outside seemed to fade away.

The waiter arrived with their food, setting down plates of steaming comfort: crispy catfish for her, smothered pork chops for him. The smell of collard greens, cornbread, and mashed potatoes filled the air, and for a while, the conversation quieted as they ate. No cameras. No noise. No team. Just the low hum of the restaurant and the simple rhythm of eating together—of being in the moment without any expectations.

Joe picked up a fry from her plate, looking at her with that glint of mischief in his eyes. “Don’t mind me,” he said, popping it into his mouth with a grin like he’d gotten away with something. Y/N rolled her eyes. “You know this doesn’t feel like a ‘not-a-date,’ right?” she asked, setting her fork down as she studied him, unable to hide the smile tugging at her lips. Joe met her gaze, his expression softening, something vulnerable flickering in his eyes as he leaned back slightly, his hands resting on the table. “I know,” he said, voice lower now, more sincere than she expected. “But I was hoping you’d stop pretending.”

The words hung in the air between them, soft but weighty, and for a split second, Y/N’s heart stuttered in her chest. She sat back, taking a moment to process what he’d said, the soft glow of the candle flickering between them like it, too, was waiting for her response. “Joe…” she started, unsure how to put into words what she felt. It had been weeks now, the "not-a-date" dates adding up, the quiet chemistry between them building until it was almost too loud to ignore.

He reached out, his fingers brushing over hers on the table, a simple gesture, but it carried a weight she couldn’t quite articulate. “I like you,” he said, the words coming out easy, like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Not because it’s easy. Not because we vibe. I like you because when I’m around you, everything feels better. I feel better.”

The raw honesty in his voice hit her like a wave, and she couldn’t help but exhale, steady and slow, trying to catch her breath. She’d been trying to hold back, trying not to let herself fall, but hearing him say it like that... it was like the dam had cracked open, just a little.

“I’ve been trying not to fall,” she admitted, her voice almost a whisper. Her eyes softened, the admission heavy on her heart. She hadn’t realized how much she’d been holding back until now.

Joe leaned in, his gaze unwavering as he lowered his voice to match the quiet intimacy of the moment. “Then stop trying,” he said, his words a challenge, but there was something in his tone—something tender—that made it feel more like an invitation than anything else.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. The air between them felt thick, heavy with the unspoken truth of what had been building. Y/N felt her heart race, a pulse running through her that was suddenly louder than the soft music playing in the background. She wanted to say something, to make a joke or deflect the weight of the moment, but she couldn’t. It was as if the world had shrunk down to just the two of them—no team, no fans, just the quiet of a late night and the soft glow of their shared silence.

Joe’s eyes were locked on hers, and in that moment, everything that had been unspoken between them seemed to spill over. He wasn’t waiting for permission, but he was asking for it all the same. Slowly, he leaned closer, and for the first time that night, Y/N let the walls she’d built around herself crumble.

Before she could even react, Joe’s lips brushed against hers, soft and slow, a kiss that wasn’t rushed but instead, full of a quiet, growing intensity. The world around them disappeared, the taste of the sweet tea on his lips mingling with the warmth of his breath. It was everything she hadn’t known she needed—the weight of his words, the gentleness of his touch, and the feeling that maybe, just maybe, she didn’t have to be afraid to fall anymore.

When they pulled back, both of them still a little breathless, Y/N’s hand found its way to his, fingers threading together as she looked up at him. She couldn’t quite find the words to express everything she was feeling, but she didn’t need to.

Joe smiled, his voice low but sure. “I’m not going anywhere.” And just like that, everything felt right.

♪♫•*¨*•.¸¸❤¸¸.•*¨*•♫♪

Joe sat alone in his office, hunched over game footage as the flicker of the screen cast sharp shadows across his face. His eyes were tired, rimmed red from too many hours studying formations, reading defenses, looking for some hidden crack in the Bears’ armor. His fingers tapped absently against his desk, a half-finished protein shake gone warm beside his playbook. But his mind wasn’t entirely on football.

It hadn't been, not really, since she came back. The phone rang, slicing through the low drone of the film. He blinked, startled, and glanced at the screen. Mom.

He exhaled slowly, a hand running through his already tousled hair before he answered. “Hey, Mom.” Robin’s voice came through warm and familiar. “Hi, sweetheart. Didn’t expect you to pick up. Thought you’d still be knee-deep in tape.”

“I am,” he said, allowing himself a small smile. “But I needed the break.” There was a soft pause, the kind that only years of knowing someone could shape. “You sound… different,” she said carefully. “Tired. Or maybe not just tired. How’s practice?”

“It’s good. Sharp,” he replied, stretching his shoulders with a slight wince. “Guys are locked in. We’ve got a tough week ahead.” Another pause. “And how are you?” she asked, her tone dipped in subtle meaning. Joe stilled, staring at the paused screen in front of him. The tension he’d been holding since the previous night pressed against his ribcage. He rubbed a hand over his face again, slower this time. “I’m okay,” he said, and then added quietly, “Better today.”

“Because of Y/N?” Robin asked, not unkindly. His throat tightened at the mention of her name. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Yeah… because of Y/N.” Robin was silent, waiting. She knew better than to press. Joe swallowed hard and leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking beneath him as he looked toward the window. Night had fallen completely now, the sky outside inky and full of quiet promise. “She showed up a few weeks ago,” he began, voice soft, steadying. “It was late. Around eleven. I’d finally fallen asleep—first time in a while, honestly. It was one of those dead, heavy sleeps where your body just shuts off. And then there was a knock. Sharp. Like it meant something.”

Robin drew in a quiet breath on the other end of the line. “I didn’t know what to think. I thought—maybe one of the guys? Maybe a neighbor?” He laughed once, humorless. “I looked like hell. Shirt twisted, hair all over the place. I was still halfway in a dream when I opened the door.” His voice dipped into something more fragile. “And there she was.” Robin said nothing, but Joe could feel her listening with her whole heart. “She looked… the same. Tired, maybe. But still her. Standing there like no time had passed at all. My chest felt like it was going to crack open.”

“Did she say anything?” Robin asked gently. He shook his head, the image vivid in his mind. “No. She didn’t say a word. Just stepped forward and… kissed me.” A quiet gasp escaped Robin, barely audible. “I didn’t even think,” Joe continued, voice almost a whisper now. “I just kissed her back. It wasn’t careful or planned. It was like we’d both been underwater for years and finally came up for air. She was trembling, Mom. Her hands on my face, her lips—there was so much in it. Like everything we hadn’t said just… exploded.”

Robin’s voice was warm, cautious. “And what did you say after?” Joe’s lips quirked upward faintly at the memory. “I couldn’t speak at first. My forehead was against hers and I just… breathed. Tried to understand if I was dreaming.” “And then?”

“She said ‘Hi,’” Joe said, voice thick with emotion. “Like it was nothing. Like we weren’t standing there, hearts in our throats. Just—‘Hi.’” “And you?” Robin asked.

“I said it back. Because that’s all I could say. Then I asked why she was there. Why now.” Joe leaned forward again, elbows on the desk. “She looked at me like she wanted to disappear and stay forever all at once. Then she touched my jaw—God, I’ll never forget that—and said, ‘I—I was scared.’ Just like that.”

Robin’s voice was soft. “Scared of you?” He shook his head. “No. Of us. Of what it all meant. She wasn’t ready back then. I think she panicked. And when she ran, I let her go because I thought maybe she needed to figure things out. I just didn’t know how long it would take. Or if she’d ever come back.”

“And now she has,” Robin said, the smile audible in her voice. “Yeah.” He stared at the screen in front of him, lost in thought. “I told her she didn’t have to be scared of me. That I’ve been waiting for her to be ready. And that night, she was.”

Robin’s voice was steady. “And what happens now?” “I don’t know,” Joe admitted. “I told her that too. I said I don’t know what the future holds. But I know I want her in it. More than anything.”

“And what did she say?” A pause, thick with memory. “She said she wanted that too. That she’s not going anywhere this time.” Robin exhaled, her voice warm with pride and relief. “Joe…”

“I meant it, Mom,” he said, more firmly now. “I’m not scared either. Not anymore. Whatever happens, we’ll face it together.” Robin smiled on the other end, he could hear it in her voice. “I’m proud of you, sweetheart. For waiting. For opening your heart again.”

He closed his eyes for a long moment. “Thanks. I think I finally understand why I couldn’t let go. She was never meant to be just a chapter. She’s the whole damn story.” Robin chuckled softly. “Well then, go write it, son. And go win that game while you’re at it.” Joe grinned. “Yeah. I will.”

Joe stayed quiet for a moment after his mother’s voice faded from the speaker. The silence was heavy, but not uncomfortable—more like the pause between heartbeats when something big is about to be said. He turned his chair slightly, letting the hum of the paused game film fade into the background, his gaze drifting toward the dark windowpane that reflected a version of himself he barely recognized anymore.

“There’s something else I should tell you,” he said softly. Robin’s voice came back, laced with curiosity. “Oh?” “She stayed the night.” The words hung in the air like something sacred, something fragile. He wasn’t sure why he said it like that—like a confession—but there was something about last night and this morning that felt too intimate to summarize, too real to gloss over.

“She stayed,” he repeated, a small smile tugging at the edge of his lips. “And this morning… I made her pancakes.” Robin chuckled, warm and amused. “You made pancakes?” “I know,” he said with a quiet laugh. “But listen—Maple. Butter. Burnt edges. Batter everywhere. It was a disaster. I even put on music. Thought I was being slick.” “She must’ve been surprised,” Robin mused. “She was,” Joe said, the smile spreading. “I think she was still trying to process the fact that she woke up here. With me. I was downstairs trying not to burn the house down, flipping pancakes with one hand and checking my phone with the other. Some old-school rap was blasting—probably louder than it should’ve been for seven in the morning. She came down the stairs, quiet at first.”

He paused, eyes unfocused, caught in the memory like it was still playing out right in front of him. “She didn’t say anything at first. Just stood there, watching me. I didn’t even know she was there until I turned around, and there she was—leaning against the doorframe, hair all messy from sleep, that soft look in her eyes like she was trying to memorize the moment.”

Robin’s voice was gentle now. “How did it feel?” “Like I’d waited my whole life for that exact morning,” he said without hesitation. “She didn’t try to help. Just teased me a little—asked if I could really multitask with music and pancakes. I told her I was a man of many talents.” Joe’s voice had grown quiet as he recounted the memory, his fingers lightly drumming against the edge of his desk—not out of nerves, but like he was keeping time with something unspoken, a rhythm only his heart could hear.

“Mom,” he said, exhaling slowly, “after breakfast, I was loading the dishwasher… and she reached for my hand.” Robin didn’t speak. She didn’t need to. She knew the difference between the everyday and the sacred. And Joe’s voice had slipped into that second space now—careful, reverent.

“She didn’t say anything at first,” he went on. “Just tugged me toward the couch, like she needed to sit before she could speak. I could feel it in her grip. Her fingers were shaking. So I just sat with her. Quiet. Let her take her time.” His throat tightened again at the memory.

“She started with, ‘I know we need to have this conversation.’ Like she’d been carrying those words around for months, maybe longer. She told me there were things I needed to know. Things that could change how I saw her. And if they did… that it was okay.” Robin let out a soft, almost inaudible breath.

“And I told her—no hesitation—I told her nothing could ever change how I feel about her.” Joe swallowed hard, the weight of that morning pressing against his chest again like the echo of her voice hadn’t fully faded.

“She reached up and grabbed this necklace I’ve seen her wear a hundred times. Never thought much about it. But this time… she pulled it up and there was a ring on the chain.” Robin’s reaction was quiet, but sharp with understanding. “Oh…”

“Yeah,” Joe said, eyes fixed on the dark window. “She told me she’d been in love once. Really in love. The kind they make movies about. They were engaged. It was his ring.” The silence between mother and son deepened, layered now with the invisible gravity of grief and memory. “His name was Trey,” Joe said softly. “She met him in middle school. First love, best friend, all that. They were building a future together. Porch swings and grandkids and everything in between.” Robin’s voice cracked gently. “What happened?”

Joe leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes on the carpet like he could see it playing out again. “She said he was killed. Just like that. Random. One second they were texting, and the next… she was identifying his body.” Robin’s breath hitched.

“I couldn’t say anything,” Joe murmured. “I just held her hand tighter. I didn’t want to say the wrong thing. I didn’t want to talk over her pain. I just wanted her to know I was there. That I was with her. Through all of it.” He paused, remembering the look in Y/N’s eyes. The haunted light there. The love and the loss battling in the same breath. “She said she thought she’d never feel anything again. Until me.”

The weight of that hit Joe all over again. He ran a hand through his hair, slow and distracted. “And, Mom… I didn’t feel jealous. Not even for a second. I wasn’t thinking about the past she had with him. I was thinking about the fact that she let me in—into a part of her world I don’t think anyone else’s seen.”

“She trusts you,” Robin said softly. “That’s bigger than love, sometimes.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, it is.” Joe leaned back again, the chair groaning beneath him, his eyes soft now. “I told her I’m not trying to replace Trey. That I would never ask her to forget him. I just want to be the one who’s here now. Beside her. Through it. All of it.”

Robin’s voice came through thick with emotion. “You’re growing into a good man, Joe. Not just a good partner. A good man.” He let the compliment settle without brushing it off. “Thanks, Mom.”

“And what happened next?” she asked, gently coaxing. Joe smiled, his eyes shining with something brighter now. “I told her I’ve been down bad for her since day one. She laughed. First real laugh I’ve heard from her in a while. She called me a dork.” Robin laughed too, the sound warm and full of affection. “You kind of are.”

“I know,” Joe grinned. “But then she said, ‘You already are.’ Like… I was already hers. No conditions. No hesitation.” Robin was quiet for a long beat. “That’s love, Joseph.” He nodded slowly. “Yeah. It is.” And then, quieter: “She’s still healing. And I don’t know how long it’ll take. But I’ll wait. I’ll wait as long as she needs. Because I’m not here for just the good days.”

“She’s lucky to have someone like you in her corner,” Robin said. “I’m the lucky one,” Joe replied. “Because she’s letting me be.” Joe’s voice was quieter now as he leaned back in his chair, the call with his mom stretching long into the evening, but neither of them seemed eager to end it. The game film was forgotten, the lights dim around him, the weight of the morning—and everything that followed—still wrapped tight around his chest.

“There was a second part to our talk,” he said, voice low, thoughtful. “After she told me about Trey. After the pancakes. We were still sitting on the couch, just… being quiet. Letting it all settle. Then she sat up, pulled away from my shoulder. Looked at me with this kind of… calm. Not distant, just… resolved.” Robin hummed softly, encouraging him without interrupting.

“She said, ‘I think we should talk about everything.’” He smiled faintly. “Like she wanted to make it clear that last night wasn’t just some emotional fluke. She was serious. Intentional.” He paused, then added, “She still had my hand. Even while she said the hard stuff.”

Robin's voice came through warm, understanding. “That matters.” Joe nodded. “It really does.” “She told me she’s not walking into this with a blank slate. That her life—her heart—it’s marked up. Torn in places. And that the memories she carries aren’t just going to disappear.”

Robin stayed quiet, letting him speak. “I told her I’m not asking for a blank page,” Joe continued. “I just want to be a part of her story from here on out. Whatever that looks like.” He could still see the way her eyes softened at that—how the smile she gave him was trying its best to be whole, even if it wasn’t there yet.

“She said she doesn’t want to rush anything. That she likes where we are now, even with all the imperfections. That it feels honest.” “And what did you say?” Robin asked gently. “I told her we’ll go at her pace. No expectations. No pressure. No moving in next week or planning holidays already. Just… slow.”

Robin laughed softly. “Smart boy.” Joe chuckled too, but then his tone turned tender again. “She said it’s important that we don’t define anything we’re not ready to define. That we just be. Together. As we are. For now.” “And that’s enough for you?”

“It’s more than enough,” Joe said without missing a beat. “But I also told her one thing, and I needed her to hear it clearly—I’m all in. Even if we’re taking it one step at a time. Even if some days it feels like we’re standing still. I want this. Her. Us.”

Robin was quiet for a moment. Then, “And how did she take that?” Joe smiled again, slower this time, more reflective. “She told me what she needs: communication, space when she needs it, honesty even when it’s hard. And… she asked me to tell her if it ever feels like she’s too much to carry.”

Robin’s breath caught, just barely. “And I told her the truth,” Joe said. “She’ll never be too much for me. I meant it, Mom. All of it.” A pause, and then: “She cried a little. But she didn’t pull away this time. I think… I think the tears were something else. Like relief. Or hope.”

Robin’s voice was thick now. “That’s what love looks like, Joe. Not perfect. Just present.” “Yeah,” he whispered. “Exactly.” He was quiet for a moment longer, then his voice lightened, almost fond. “And then I had to ruin the moment by asking what ‘going slow’ meant. Like, are we still allowed to kiss or is that off the table?”

Robin laughed out loud. “Oh Joseph…” “She laughed too,” he said with a grin. “Called me a dork. But it made her smile. And then I told her she’s probably the love of my life and I didn’t want to mess it up.” He waited. Robin didn’t respond right away. When she did, her voice was soft with emotion. “You told her that?”

“Yeah,” Joe said, exhaling slowly. “Not because I needed her to say it back. I just needed her to know. That I’m serious. That this—what we’re building—it’s not temporary for me.” “And how did she respond?” “She didn’t freak out,” Joe said with a hint of awe. “She smiled. Like… really smiled. Not because she was ready to say it too. But because—for the first time in a long time—I think she believes she might be able to say it someday.”

Joe shifted the phone between his shoulder and cheek, the cell phone crackling softly against his jaw as he stepped out into his backyard. The night was warm, a soft breeze stirring the edges of the patio umbrella, the sky overhead stretching wide and cloudless.

“She came over the other night,” he told his mom, voice low, like saying it too loud might break the spell of the evening still humming through his skin. “And before you say anything—no, it wasn’t a date.” A pause on the other end. Then, with wry warmth, Robin said, “You sure about that?”

Joe huffed a quiet laugh. “Pretty sure. There were wings. Sliders. Her favorite hot honey sauce. Sparkling water. NFL trash talk on mute. We didn’t even sit that close at first.”

“And?”

“And by the end of the night…” He rubbed the back of his neck, smile creeping in slow. “She was asleep against my shoulder.” Robin didn’t answer right away, and when she did, her voice was soft. “Not a date. Just intimacy, food, laughter, and shared silence?” Joe smiled. “Exactly.” He leaned on the railing, eyes scanning the shadows of the trees lining his backyard. “She knocked—well, didn’t even knock, actually. I opened the door before she could. I’d been waiting. I mean, not in a creepy way, just... hoping she'd show. And when she did…” He exhaled. “Everything felt easy.”

He told her about the way Y/N teased him about the gate, about how impressed she was by his Pinterest-worthy kitchen, how she lit up when she saw the hot honey sauce like it meant something more than just a condiment.

“It wasn’t about impressing her,” he said. “It was about remembering the things that matter to her. Letting her know she’s been seen. That I listen.” Robin’s silence was full of approval. “And we kept it light,” he went on. “Jokes. Stories. The whole ‘we’re just coworkers who flirt’ bit. But underneath all of it... it felt like we were laying down something real. Quiet, steady groundwork.”

He paused. “She said she liked what this was. Whatever this is. That it feels right. And she’s not ready to define it yet, but she’s also not running from it.”

Robin exhaled, warm and proud. “Joe, that’s a foundation. That’s what most people skip.”

“I know,” he said quietly. “That’s why I’m not rushing it. I’m not trying to label it or push it to be something it’s not. We’re just… taking it slow.” He told her about the movie—Bring It On—how Y/N had quoted every scene like it was muscle memory. How he’d learned she was a cheerleader in college, captain even, and how suddenly her presence made even more sense.

“She’s this mix of steel and warmth,” he said. “She walks into a room like she’s holding it together for everyone, but then she lets out this laugh—God, Mom, that laugh—and you realize she’s got a soft center under all that grit.” Robin laughed gently. “Sounds like someone’s smitten.”

“I am,” he said simply. “But I’m being careful with it. With her.” His voice dropped, serious again. “She told me she used to feel unstoppable. And now, she’s still trying to find that version of herself. And I don’t want to be the reason she rushes or compromises who she is just to be with me.”

Robin was quiet again, then said, “You know, that kind of patience? That kind of care? That’s not slow—it’s steady. And steady lasts.” Joe swallowed, the truth of it sinking deep. “Yeah,” he said. “That’s what I want. Not a firework. A slow burn. Something that stays.”

A long pause. Then, a softer confession: “When she fell asleep tonight? She asked if we could just sleep. Just… be. And I said yes. No pressure. No expectation. Just two people being exactly where they are.” Robin’s voice, proud and fond: “That’s love, Joseph. That’s how it starts. Quietly. With space. With safety. With trust.” Joe closed his eyes, leaning into the night. “Then maybe we’re already starting.”

“Maybe you are.”

Joe pressed the phone tighter to his ear, his voice quieter now—not hushed, but gentle. “Mom,” he said, a laugh pulling at the edge of his words, “you’re gonna love this.” Robin hummed on the other end. “Do tell.”

“So, that morning… after we both woke up tangled on the couch like we’d just hibernated through winter,” he started, pacing slowly through the kitchen, “she tried to sneak off—real quiet, real smooth—but I just… held on. Didn’t even mean to. My body kind of decided for me.” Robin chuckled softly. “Sounds like someone’s getting used to comfort.”

Joe smiled down at the eggshells still in the trash. “Yeah. It was that kind of morning. I asked her to stay for breakfast. I said I’d cook.” “You cooked?” Robin’s tone was part shock, part pride. “What’d you make—scrambled apologies and toast?”

“Omelets,” Joe said, grinning. “Decent ones, too. Not perfect. I definitely almost burned them because she kept distracting me. Like… leaning close, whispering in that voice that says she knows what she’s doing. Called me flustered.” “Were you?”

He paused, then shrugged to himself. “Yeah. A little. She looked like… God, like home. Wrapped in the throw blanket, hair all a mess. Still teasing me, but in that soft way, you know? Like she was letting me in.” Robin didn’t interrupt.

“I plated the food like I actually knew what I was doing,” Joe went on, still smiling. “She tried it and gave me this raised-eyebrow approval that made me feel like I’d just thrown the game-winning pass. Then she hit me with the ‘you’re down bad’ line and winked.” “Oh, honey. You are down bad.”

“I know,” Joe laughed, leaning against the counter. “But it wasn’t about the food. Or the flirting. It was just… her. There. With me. Sitting at my counter with coffee and messy hair, no makeup, no labels, just being.” Robin was quiet a moment. Then: “Sounds like you’re starting to build something real.”

Joe’s voice softened. “I hope so.”

Joe headed inside to grab a glass of water, phone now on speaker as he kept talking with his mom, Robin. His voice was easy, like he was replaying a favorite memory. “Mom, I’ve got to tell you what happened before the game, the Jets game. That Saturday before, Y/N stayed the night again. But that’s besides the point, she left that morning, I really didn’t want her to leave but she insisted. Little did I know why exactly.”

Robin hummed, her heart warm as she listened to her son talk about the woman that holds his heart like she’s the Super Bowl. “Anyway, she sent me this text out of nowhere, just four words: ‘Got a surprise for you tomorrow.’ And Mom, you know me—I started imagining everything. I’m like, ‘Is it food? Is it a puppy? Or another one of those hoodies she steals from me all the time?’”

He laughed softly, shaking his head. “So, I text back, ‘You can’t just say that and disappear!’ And then I get this little teasing reply: ‘You’ll see tomorrow. Early game, remember? Don’t be late.’”

Joe rolled his eyes playfully. “I swear, Mom, I was dying. I needed to know what this surprise was. So, I hit her up on FaceTime. And I didn’t just call once or twice — I called three times before she finally picked up.”

His grin grew wider. “And when she did, she was holding the phone way up, like toward the ceiling or something. So there I am on the screen, hair a mess, hoodie wrinkled from the day, squinting trying to get a better look. I’m like, ‘Move the camera!’ And she’s just like, ‘No.’”

Joe groaned dramatically. “I told her, ‘Come on, Y/N. You know I’m easily distracted.’ And she goes, ‘Exactly why I’m not showing you. You’ve got a game to win, QB1.’”

He laughed again, shaking his head. “I said, ‘That’s tomorrow, though. I’ve got hours to prepare mentally.’ And she just laughed and said, ‘You’ll live.’”

He leaned forward, eyes softening with the memory. “I told her, ‘I swear, if we lose tomorrow, I’m blaming you. You’re sabotaging me.’ And she laughed, reminded me that I literally just saw her the day before. But, Mom, you know how it is—I miss her. My serotonin was plummeting just thinking about it.”

Joe smirked. “So I gave her the best puppy-dog look I could manage through the screen and said, ‘You love it.’ And she didn’t deny it. She just smiled, and I swear, my heart did cartwheels.”

There was a pause, a soft hum from the kitchen as he filled the glass with water, then continued with a quiet laugh.

“Then, right before warmups, I’m walking down the hallway, and there she is. Standing there, calm, confident, looking like she just walked out of one of those daydreams you didn’t even know you were having.”

His voice dropped just a bit, like telling a secret. “I stopped dead in my tracks and just said, ‘Whoa.’ That was it. Just one word. I couldn’t even say more.”

“She looked completely different. She had these soft curls blown out, this gorgeous honey-brown color that just glowed under the lights. Then, there were these subtle blonde highlights that caught the sun just right, long layers framing her face perfectly, and—get this—brand-new bangs. She wasn’t totally sure about those bangs, said she wasn’t sure if she could pull them off. But honestly? She looked stunning.”

Joe paused for a second, remembering the exact way she looked. “It was like she stepped out of one of those magazine covers. I mean, I wasn’t expecting it.” Taking a sip of water, he settled back against the kitchen counter and continued. Joe shook his head in disbelief. “Her hair was still a little damp from the shower, those curls brushing just over her forehead. And she had that soft smile on her face, but you could tell she noticed my mouth hanging open.”

He chuckled softly. “Her eyes flicked to mine, and I could tell she was waiting for me to say something, anything. I finally caught myself and said, ‘You look like you just stepped out of a dream I didn’t know I was having.’”

Joe’s grin grew mischievous as he added, “I think I said something like, ‘What the hell, Y/N?’ And she just raised an eyebrow like, ‘Is that a good thing?’” “It was more than a good thing,” Joe admitted quietly. “I told her, ‘It’s a problem. How am I supposed to focus now when you show up looking like that?’”

Joe smiled at the memory. “I told her I meant every word. I’ve seen her in a hundred different moods, but this one — right now — it was something else.” His voice softened, warmth threading through his words. “Mom, that girl… she’s my favorite distraction. And honestly? I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Robin’s voice came through the phone again, curious but careful. “So,” she said, the way moms do when they’re pretending not to be digging, “you looked good out there, baby. Calm. Sharp. You had that edge. But I watched the press conference afterward...”

Joe froze for a beat, his glass halfway to his lips. He didn’t speak right away. Robin noticed. “Mmhm. I thought so,” she said knowingly. “You went full poker face when they brought her up.”

He set the glass down slowly, exhaling through his nose. “Yeah,” he said after a second, voice low. “That moment.” It replayed in his mind with the same tension it held in real time.

The press room had been a wall of noise and movement—flashbulbs going off like fireworks, the familiar sound of shuffling reporters, clipped whispers bouncing off the walls. All of it background static until that one question cut through like a blade.

“There’s been a lot of chatter about the chemistry between you and, uh… someone special…”

Joe could still hear it. The pause. The subtle, practiced hesitation, as if the reporter wasn’t just fishing but baiting a trap. Everyone had been waiting for it. The game talk was always a warm-up—the real headlines were about everything off the field.

In that split second, before he said anything, his eyes had drifted—just briefly—to the side of the room. Y/N was there. She hadn’t moved, hadn’t even flinched. But he could feel the air between them shift.

Just a flicker of a look.

A quiet exchange that said I’ve got this.

And then he turned back to the mic and said the words: “No comment. I’m here to talk about football.”

He didn’t blink. He didn’t falter.

And yet, the memory still lingered—its weight heavier than expected.

Joe came back to the present, back to the soft crackle of the phone against his ear. “It wasn’t the question itself that threw me,” he said. “I knew it was coming. They’ve been circling for weeks. Hell, someone saw us leaving practice together on Thursday and started tweeting about it before I even got to the car.” Robin made a sound that sat somewhere between a sigh and a scoff. “They’re always going to speculate, sweetheart. That’s not new.” “I know,” Joe said. “But she didn’t ask for any of this. She’s not… part of that world. Not really. And suddenly she’s getting looks when she walks into the training facility, and people are whispering behind clipboards.”

Robin’s voice softened. “You were protecting her.” Joe rubbed the back of his neck, pacing slowly across the kitchen. “I had to be. It wasn’t the place. Not yet.”

He paused again, the memory of her standing there—hair perfect, calm under pressure, handling the attention with quiet grace—looping in his mind. “I saw her face when they asked it,” he added. “She didn’t flinch. Not even a little. But I could tell—she felt the shift.” Robin stayed quiet, letting him work through it.

“I just didn’t want her to feel like she had to defend herself. Or us. It’s not a secret, Mom. It’s just... ours. And I want to keep it that way as long as we can.” Robin hummed. “That girl’s strong. You can tell. Even when she’s quiet, she holds her own. But I get it. You’ve always been careful with what matters most to you.”

Joe smiled faintly. “Yeah. And she matters.”

There was another pause. Robin didn’t fill it—she didn’t have to. Joe let the silence stretch, his eyes flicking toward the living room where his duffel still sat near the door, next to the hoodie Y/N had worn on Friday. The memory of her laughter, her teasing, the way she’d said “You’ll see tomorrow” like she knew exactly what she was doing—it all came back with a warmth he couldn’t shake.

He broke the quiet. “You know what’s wild?”

“Hm?”

“When I was walking up to the podium, I could hear everything. The clicks, the whispers, the buzz. But after that question… I swear, the only thing I could focus on was her. Just… her. It was like everything else in the room dimmed.”

Robin let out a soft, understanding laugh. “Sounds like love to me.” Joe didn’t deny it. Not this time. He just smiled and said, “Yeah. Sounds like it to me too.”

—

The fluorescent lights inside the Bengals facility flickered softly overhead, casting a pale hum across the tiled floor. The subtle buzz of electricity mingled with the rhythmic echo of sneakers squeaking against polished concrete, punctuated every now and then by the metallic clang of weights from the training room. Normally, Fridays here felt like an assembly line of precision and grit—game prep, cold tubs, tape jobs, focus. All business.

But this wasn’t a normal Friday. It was October 31st. Halloween. And for Y/N, Halloween wasn’t just a holiday—it was a full-scale celebration of chaos. Her personal Christmas. Her fashion week. Her Coachella. A day when mischief ruled the land, drama was welcomed with open arms, and everything—everything—deserved a little extra flair.

She walked through the automatic doors with the unbothered confidence of someone who knew the power she held. Black leggings curved over her hips like they were painted on, paired with a cropped quarter-zip that hit the sweet spot between sporty and sultry. And sitting just-so on top of her freshly laid edges? A pair of black velvet cat ears, perched like a crown. Effortless. Deadly.

She didn’t need to try. That was the magic. And everyone she passed—players, coaches, interns still clutching coffee—knew it. The building was humming with more than just power lines today. Someone had hooked up a Bluetooth speaker in the far corner, looping a Halloween playlist that bounced from Michael Jackson’s Thriller to the Ghostbusters theme with chaotic enthusiasm. A subtle but persistent scent of cinnamon and pumpkin wafted through the halls—someone, probably Mary from reception, had lit one of those fancy three-wick candles again. Even the usually stone-faced security guard had plastic vampire teeth tucked into his grin like he was in on the joke.

Y/N’s phone buzzed in her hand. A message from Keisha: We in here! Imani stole your snacks tho. Come fight her.

Y/N smirked. Typical. She swung a left past the stretching room and pushed open the door to the equipment bay, immediately greeted by the sound of laughter and the warm glow of fluorescent lights bouncing off polished metal racks.

“There she is!” Imani called out dramatically from her perch on the bench, a stolen bag of Cheez-Its dangling from one hand like a trophy. She, too, wore cat ears—leopard print, of course—and her eyeliner wings were sharp enough to kill a man. Keisha stood beside her, sipping water and twirling a towel over her shoulder. Her ears sparkled with rhinestones that caught the light every time she moved.

Keisha clapped like a proud mom at a recital. “The Head Cat herself has arrived.” Y/N struck a pose, flipping her ponytail with flair. “Am I giving ‘final boss of Halloween’ or…?”

“More like ‘final straw for men who fear emotionally stable bad bitches,’” Imani quipped, popping a Cheez-It into her mouth like punctuation. Keisha grinned. “God, I love us.”

The three women broke into laughter that echoed through the equipment room, blending with the far-off murmur of players warming up on the field. The room smelled of fresh laundry and cedar polish, the scent of discipline and routine. But within it, they moved like clockwork—grabbing cleats, organizing shoulder pads, restocking compression sleeves and towels. It was muscle memory at this point. They didn’t need to speak to work efficiently. But that didn’t stop them from talking. “You better let me DJ tonight,” Keisha said, balancing a helmet on her hip like a baby. “I’m serious. Just one hour. That’s all I ask.”

Y/N raised a brow. “Girl, you played the entire Set It Off soundtrack last time.” “And the party was lit,” Keisha argued, with full conviction. “I was sweating like I was actually in the damn movie,” Imani muttered. “My wig was sliding off by track three.”

“You’re welcome,” Keisha said smugly. Y/N opened her mouth to respond—but then a sound sliced through their laughter. A whistle, long and low, echoing down the hall like a movie cue. They turned as one.

Striding into the room like they were walking in slow motion were Joe, Ja’Marr, and Tee. All three in athletic gear, muscles and mischief on full display. Ja’Marr had that easy grin of someone who knew exactly how fine he was and liked to remind people. Tee looked amused, hands tucked casually into the pockets of his hoodie. But it was Joe who made time hesitate.

Golden hair tousled from a wind that didn't exist. A face so symmetrical it bordered on criminal. And eyes? Locked straight on Y/N. She tried not to react. She really did. But the heat that licked up her spine told a different story.

Ja’Marr was first to speak, his grin spreading wide. “What is this? Charlie’s Angels: Cat Edition?” Keisha didn’t even blink. “Y’all hate when women enjoy things. That’s your problem.” “I’m just saying,” Ja’Marr replied, still grinning, “this whole vibe feels like a trap. Y’all look too damn good. It’s suspicious.”

Imani crossed her arms, head tilted like she was about to deliver a sermon. “You sound nervous. That’s okay. Empowered women tend to rattle insecure cages.” “Damn,” Tee chuckled. “She got you with the ego line again.” “Every damn time,” Ja’Marr muttered, though he was clearly entertained.

Meanwhile, Joe hadn’t said a word. He just stood there, eyes fixed on Y/N like she was something rare and fragile and possibly explosive. Slowly, he walked closer, expression unreadable. “Nice ears,” he said, voice low and amused. “They make me faster,” Y/N replied coolly, lifting a basket of towels with far more effort than she let show. Her pulse was thundering in her ears.

Joe leaned in slightly and flicked one ear with his finger. Barely a touch—but it zinged through her like an electric current. His voice dropped. “So… does the kitty have claws?” Y/N blinked, caught off-guard—but not for long. She tilted her chin, lips curling into a slow, deliberate smile. “Guess you’ll have to find out.” His eyes darkened—not cocky, not mocking. Focused. Curious. Like she was a mystery he wanted to spend the rest of the season solving.

Before either of them could escalate the moment any further, Imani swooped in with the grace of a linebacker. “Ohhh YES. You guys are coming to Y/N’s party tonight, right?” she said, voice pitched loud enough for the room. “Costumes. Not. Optional.” Joe blinked, like he was just now remembering other people existed. “Uh—yeah. Yeah, we’ll be there.” Tee raised an eyebrow. “Since when?”

“Since now,” Keisha chirped, already planning the group photo. “And if you show up talking about ‘I’m dressed as myself,’ I swear we’re booing you out the door.” “Public shaming is on the schedule,” Imani added sweetly. Ja’Marr laughed. “Y’all are ruthless.” Y/N finally found her voice again. “Good. I like a little fear with my fun.” Joe took a step back, smiling. “Noted.”

As they turned to leave, Ja’Marr glanced back and stage-whispered, “If I see one pair of cat ears on that man tonight, I’m calling TMZ.” Keisha cackled. “Tell them to bring extra memory cards—Joe’s about to be domesticated!” Y/N just shook her head, a grin blooming. Joe looked back once more before disappearing down the hall. Their eyes met. And this time? She didn’t look away.

Later That Day

The sun dipped low in the sky, casting long amber shadows across the facility. The energy had shifted—calm now, in that lull between the day’s chaos and the night’s. In the back corner of the equipment room, Y/N folded towels into neat stacks, headphones half in. Imani wandered over, a grin playing on her lips like she’d been waiting all day for this.

“He was thirsty today,” she drawled, bumping Y/N’s shoulder. Y/N smirked, pretending to focus on the towel in her hands. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “Girl. You froze like Netflix in a hotel when he flicked your ear. Don’t play dumb.” Y/N fought the smile curling at the corners of her mouth. “Okay. Maybe. A little.”

“Uh-huh.” Imani pulled out her phone. “And tonight? You better wear something that’ll give that man heart palpitations.” Y/N’s gaze lifted to the reflection in the chrome locker door. Her ears still perched, steady as ever. “Oh, don’t worry,” she said softly, her smile sharpening. “I’ve had my costume planned for weeks.” “Good,” Imani muttered, already typing. “Because Joe Burrow is down bad, and I’m not about to let you fumble that bag.”

Y/N stared at her reflection for another beat. There was something in her eyes. Not nerves. Not hesitation. Anticipation. This Halloween wasn’t just about tricks, or treats, or even her usual brand of stylish mischief. It was the beginning of something else.

Something dangerous. Something electric. And for once?

She wasn’t scared. Not even a little.

—

Y/N’s apartment had transformed into a full-on Halloween fantasy, like the set of a Tim Burton movie had collided with an episode of MTV Cribs. There were flickering candles nestled in tiny cauldrons, cobwebs draped dramatically over every light fixture, and bowls of candy perched on nearly every surface—some real, some decoys just for aesthetic.

Cobwebs were strung like glittering garland across doorframes. Paper bats fluttered from the ceiling fan. There were jack-o’-lanterns flickering on every windowsill—some spooky, some cute, one carved to look suspiciously like Beyoncé. A fog machine puffed dramatically from the corner, and skeleton hands reached up from the snack table like they were dying for a Dorito.

The scent of cinnamon, vanilla, and something caramel-y floated through the air, cozy and chaotic all at once. And blaring through the speaker system at full volume?

Latto’s “Big Mama.”

The beat hit heavy, bass shaking the floor and vibrating through the walls like a pulse. The apartment was already alive, even though the party hadn’t officially started yet.

In the bathroom, the mirror was fogged halfway from hair tools and scented body butter. Glitter was on everything—lip gloss tubes, the marble counter, even the toilet paper roll. Y/N, Keisha, and Imani were in full transformation mode.

Tonight’s costume plan? A trio of classic, hot, slightly chaotic icons: Poison Ivy, Catwoman, and Harley Quinn. Y/N was in the middle of pinning the final curl into her Uma Thurman–style updo—classic 90s Poison Ivy vibes—when Keisha suddenly threw her mascara wand in the sink and yelled, “OHHH THIS MY PART!”

“You gotta put in some work today. Can you please do the most for me? Cause I’m sprung!” Imani shouted, bouncing on her heels, a bobby pin hanging out of her mouth as she adjusted her pigtails. Without hesitation, both of them dropped what they were doing and began rapping along to the lyrics with full intensity, like it was their personal Tiny Desk concert. “Can you give me some good dick till I cum?Then can you make me nut again? Where’s your tongue?”

Imani slapped the air like she was delivering a sermon. “—Can I please get a pink Glock with a drum?” Keisha popped her hip, threw a wink at the mirror, and pointed at Y/N like a coach hyping up her star player. “Y/N! Come on! Don’t play us!”

Y/N laughed, still fixing a stray piece of hair. “Y’all are too much.” Keisha raised a sculpted brow. “Do it.” Imani chimed in, full Harley Quinn energy: “You’re Poison Ivy now, babe. That means hot, deadly, and able to deliver a verse on cue. Let’s go.” Y/N groaned in mock defeat, still smiling. “Fine.” The three of them turned to the mirror like they were in a girl group—because in their hearts, they were. On beat, they shouted together as the beat switched: “Bih get wet when he call me Big–!”

Keisha twerked once, purely for the mirror. “Yuh, love when he call me Big Mama. Yeah that get the coochie wet—!”

Y/N finally gave in, flipping her curled red hair back with one hand and rapping the next line with full Poison Ivy confidence. “He better stick to TikTokin. Mean that with all disrespect, I was a virgin ‘fore I met you baby, I don’t have an ex!” They screamed. Imani dropped to her knees like the Holy Ghost had snatched her. “YES, MA’AM!” Keisha whooped, clapping like Y/N had just cleared a stage.

Y/N cracked up, heat in her cheeks from both the moment and the energy bouncing between them. Her green corset shimmered under the bathroom lights, catching on the glitter-dusted leaves pinned delicately into her hair. “Okay, okay, don’t move—let me get this last piece,” Y/N murmured to herself, carefully adjusting a curl into the dramatic, Uma-Thurman-inspired updo that completed her look. Her red hair—dyed for the occasion—was styled into an old-Hollywood swirl, pinned back with green glittered leaves.

She stepped back from the mirror and took a long look at herself. The ivy-green corset hugged her body like it had been sewn on, the sheer mesh sleeves trailing down her arms like vines. The slit in the skirt was high—very high—but the matching green boots said, I dare you to say something.

Keisha leaned over the counter next to her, carefully applying the final sweep of black eyeliner. Her Catwoman look was all sleek dominance: a black bodysuit that shimmered like liquid leather, stitched detail and all, with a matching mask that only made her cheekbones more dangerous. “I swear,” she said, still focusing on her wing, “if one man tonight says ‘What are you supposed to be?’ I’m setting off the smoke alarm and walking out.” Y/N snorted. “You’re a walking felony, girl. Ain’t nobody confused.”

Imani, perched on the tub’s edge in a red and black fit that was equal parts punk and play, tightened her pigtails and grinned. Her makeup was chaotic perfection—smudged red lip, one blue eye shadow, one red. She looked like she’d just escaped Arkham in time for a party. “Listen,” Imani said, pointing her comb at Y/N, “I know you said we did these costumes ‘for the culture,’ but girl, Joe is going to freak out when he sees you in this.”

Keisha let out a loud, scandalous mmm-hmm. Y/N glanced at her reflection again, smoothing down a leaf at her hip, her lips curling into a smile that didn’t even try to hide the confidence radiating off her. “Well,” she said lightly, with a slow glance over her shoulder, “he could only get so lucky.” That earned her a chorus of giggles. Imani dropped her comb and started fanning herself. “No, because that was a line. You’re officially a problem.”

“And I’m proud of us,” Keisha added. “We’re hot, we’re hydrated, and we’re about to make this apartment the setting of at least three origin stories.” “I want to be the reason someone deletes all their Hinge matches tonight,” Imani said with a wink, grabbing her bat-shaped clutch. Y/N laughed and adjusted the lights in the hallway to a warmer orange glow as she stepped out of the bathroom, the hem of her skirt swaying with every movement. She double-checked the party setup: drink table was fully stocked, playlist queued with a perfect blend of trap, throwbacks, and spooky classics, and her neighbors already warned ahead of time.

Her apartment wasn’t just Halloween-themed—it was Halloween certified. “I feel like a sexy cartoon villain, and honestly? It’s everything I ever wanted,” Y/N said, spinning once in the middle of the living room. Keisha walked out behind her, boots clicking like a runway model. “Good. Let the boys know: this ain’t the night to be playing defense.”

“Oh,” Imani said, casually checking herself in the hallway mirror, “and speaking of boys—what are we thinking Joe’s coming as? A quarterback in denial? A man in emotional turmoil?” “I swear if he shows up in just a jersey, I’m egging his car,” Keisha muttered. Y/N smiled to herself as she grabbed a glass of apple cider. “I don’t know… He’s full of surprises lately.” “Right?” Imani said, walking over to her and lowering her voice like it was classified. “Girl. He was in your face today. Whispering? Flicking your ear? You can’t tell me that man doesn’t want to climb you like a tree.”

Y/N choked on her cider. Keisha high-fived Imani like she just nailed a touchdown. “Facts. He looked like he was ready to sign over his 401k.” Y/N waved them off, cheeks warming. “Okay, okay! Let’s not give me a big head.” “It’s Halloween,” Imani said. “You’re Poison Ivy. Your job is literally to seduce and destroy.” “Well,” Y/N said, eyes gleaming, “I guess I better live up to the role.” Simple. Hot. Total classics. The ultimate trio. And they were just getting started.

The doorbell rang. All three women froze. Keisha raised a brow. “Showtime.” Imani grabbed a handful of gummy worms. “Let’s see if Burrow's ready to risk it all.” And Y/N, in her ivy-green glory, headed to the door, already smiling. Imani and Keisha turned in sync, exchanging a slow, knowing look. Keisha grinned. “That’s either a DoorDash driver dressed as a vampire… or it’s our first victims.”

Imani leaned over and whispered with mock-seriousness, “Place your bets, ladies. Will he be wearing effort… or disappointment?” Y/N set her drink down and adjusted a leafy strap on her corset, taking a breath like she was about to walk into a job interview, except way hotter. She sauntered to the door, heels clicking against hardwood, the sheer slit of her skirt swaying behind her like the tail of a predator. She opened it.

And froze. There he stood. Joe Burrow. In a tailored, matte-black Batman suit. Not the overdone, muscle-padded party-store kind either. No, this man had the nerve to show up in something that looked like it was custom-made. Sleek. Tactical. The cowl tucked under his arm like he had casually just taken it off while driving the Batmobile. Black combat boots. Gloves. A full utility belt.

The only thing missing was a warning label for how fine he looked. And the look he was giving her? Dangerous. Lingering. Like she was a riddle he couldn’t wait to solve. “Poison Ivy,” he said, voice low and amused. Y/N tilted her head, lips curling. “Batman.”

Behind him, Ja’Marr popped into view, dressed head-to-toe in full black ninja gear, complete with throwing star accessories and a plastic katana strapped across his back. Tee followed close behind, wearing a disturbingly accurate Freddy Krueger fit—striped sweater, burned face prosthetic, and yes, the infamous glove. He lifted a clawed hand and waved. “Trick or treat.”

“Damn,” Imani said, appearing behind Y/N. “Y’all actually understood the assignment.” Keisha leaned against the wall, eyeing Joe up and down. “Okay, Gotham. I see you.”

Joe gave a short laugh, eyes still pinned on Y/N like she was the only person in the room. “You look…” He paused, taking in the curve of her corset, the trail of ivy around her thigh, and the unapologetic confidence in her stance. “...dangerous.” Y/N stepped aside and gestured him in, her smile feline and slow. “And you came here unarmed?”

Joe crossed the threshold, smirking. “Who says I’m unarmed?” “Ooh,” Keisha muttered from the couch, watching them like it was her favorite reality show. “Not the foreplay already.”

As the guys entered, the party ambiance settled into its full rhythm. The lights were low, the candles flickered just enough, and the bass from the playlist thrummed underfoot. People in costumes milled about—zombies next to angels, devils flirting with pirates, and a werewolf fighting someone in a minion suit near the drink table.

Ja'Marr immediately made a beeline for the food. “Yo, who made these wings?” “You’re welcome!” Imani called from the kitchen, twirling one of her blonde pigtails and looking every bit like Harley Quinn at her most dangerous. Tee gave her a slow, impressed look. “You really committed to that makeup.” “Thanks, Krueger. Wanna play a game of who can lose their morals first?” Tee just laughed and walked off toward the drinks.

Joe, however, wasn’t going anywhere. He lingered near Y/N, his hands tucked into the utility belt like it was the most casual thing in the world. “Didn’t think I’d see you in green,” he said. She turned toward him, sipping her cider. “Didn’t think I’d see you in rubber armor, so I guess we’re both full of surprises.” He stepped just a little closer, head tilted. “I’m more of a grayscale kind of guy. But I make exceptions.”

“For plants?” “For people who make plants look that good.” Y/N raised a brow, fighting the smile tugging at the edge of her mouth. “Careful. You’re one compliment away from asking me to step on your neck.” Joe leaned in—just enough to invade her space without crossing the line—and murmured, “Would that be… an invitation?”

Y/N blinked. Heat. Flushed. A literal furnace ignited behind her eyes. Keisha, watching from the drink table, clapped once and declared, “Oh, this man is gone. Joe is in the upside down. Somebody get Eleven.”

Ja’Marr, a mouth full of wings, added, “Joe’s not even at this party. That man’s in a Poison Ivy hallucination.” Joe didn’t even glance at them. His eyes stayed on Y/N, who finally turned her body toward him fully, posture relaxed, dangerous. “Well,” she said softly, “I guess it depends… can Batman handle a little poison?”

Joe grinned, slow and sure. “Guess we’ll find out.” The music shifted then—Doja Cat’s “Paint the Town Red” pulsing through the speaker system like a challenge—and the crowd started shifting toward the center of the room where space had been cleared for dancing. “Come on,” Imani called, already dragging Tee toward the makeshift dance floor. “This Harley’s ready to cause some problems.”

Ja'Marr shouted, “Ayo! We doing a Soul Train line or what?!” Keisha grabbed Y/N’s hand and yanked her toward the crowd. “No hiding, Ivy. Time to make that man suffer.” Y/N laughed, letting herself be pulled, but not before glancing over her shoulder at Joe. Their eyes met one last time before the crowd swallowed her up. And he stood there, Batman mask in one hand, cider in the other, watching her like he’d just found the villain he didn’t want to catch. Just maybe… the one he wanted to lose to.

By the time the clock crept past 10:30, Y/N’s apartment was packed. The kind of packed where it felt like every inch of space had a body or a drink in it, and every person looked like they were either flirting, dancing, or trying to do both at the same time. The air buzzed with music, laughter, and the kind of magic only Halloween could conjure.

The vibe?

Unmatched.

The playlist was flowing—Drake, Megan, Beyoncé, a little early 2000s Nelly for the people in the back. The fog machine was working overtime. Red and purple lights bathed the room in a soft haze, like the whole place was trapped in some glamorous spooky dream. People were posted up on the couch, vibing by the food table, grinding in the living room, and posing in front of one of Y/N’s best ideas of the night:

The photo booth.

It was set up in the corner, decked out with a black velvet backdrop, orange neon signs that read “Trick? Treat? Or Trouble?”, and a basket full of silly props—oversized sunglasses, devil horns, tiaras, even a plastic chainsaw. A little Polaroid camera sat on a mini stool beside it, along with a handwritten sign that said:

📸 “Take a pic. Keep a memory. Make a mistake.”

Love, Y/N 🎃💋

People were loving it. There were already a dozen tiny photos pinned to a string of fairy lights, showcasing moments of unfiltered chaos: a couple mid-kiss, someone fake-fighting with a vampire, a group in full Barbie outfits flashing peace signs like it was Coachella.

Y/N moved through the crowd like she owned the room—because she did. Her green boots stepped with purpose, her ivy-draped corset drawing stares, and her updo still somehow perfectly intact despite the heat of the room. She greeted friends, refilled drinks, posed for photos, and threw out quick compliments that had people beaming like they’d just been knighted. And through it all? She could feel him. Joe. Watching.

Lingering nearby without crowding her, always within a few feet, but letting her shine. It was the kind of attention that felt heavy and electric, like a magnet pulling at her spine. She’d catch his eye across the room, and he’d lift his drink slightly, nodding in that chill, I’m plotting but I’m also lowkey down bad way that only he could pull off.

She was mid-conversation with a couple dressed as Shrek and Fiona when she felt someone step close behind her. “I hear there’s a photo booth,” came that deep, familiar voice. Y/N turned slowly.

Joe stood there, mask finally tucked away, hair slightly tousled from the heat, lips curved into a smirk that made her toes curl in her boots. “There is,” she replied, sipping her drink. “Thinking of making some memories?” He nodded toward the backdrop. “Figured I should get proof I survived this party.” “Oh, honey,” she said, tilting her head. “It’s still early. You don’t even know if you will survive it.” Joe blinked slowly, like her flirting physically hit him in the chest. “Then I definitely need a picture.” Y/N held his gaze for a second too long. “Come on, then. Let’s document your downfall.”

She turned and headed toward the booth, weaving through the crowd with practiced ease. Joe followed, tucking one gloved hand into his belt, looking like a man trying very hard not to trip over his own heartbeat.

At the booth, she grabbed the Polaroid and handed it to Keisha, who was already giggling with Imani nearby. “Oh, y’all want a couples pic? Cute,” Keisha teased, raising the camera like paparazzi. “Not a couple,” Joe said smoothly. “Not yet,” Imani muttered under her breath, but loud enough to be heard.

Y/N ignored them and posed, one hand on her hip, the other resting lightly on Joe’s chest. The contrast between her leafy green corset and his black armor was striking. Light and dark. Chaos and control. A villain and her vigilante. Keisha clicked the photo.

The camera whirred and spit out the Polaroid. “Wait, wait,” Imani said, snatching a pair of devil horns from the props basket. “One more. Joe, look tortured.” He blinked. “Tortured how?” “Like you’re in love and hate yourself for it.” Joe gave a laugh that was entirely too close to the truth. Y/N threw on a tiara, stepped closer—dangerously close—and rested her hand on his neck like she was about to cast a spell. “Just go with it, Batman.”

He did. Click. Flash. Another Polaroid spit out. They both looked at it, and… yeah. It was trouble. Y/N raised an eyebrow. “If that ends up on Instagram, I’m tagging you as ‘Mine.’” Joe didn’t even flinch. “Go ahead.”

That shut her up. Keisha practically squealed. “I swear if y’all don’t kiss by midnight, I’m locking you in the coat closet.” “Okay, that’s enough out of you,” Y/N said, grabbing the photo and pinning it on the fairy light line.

Joe leaned in, voice low and soft in her ear. “You know, I wasn’t going to come tonight.” “Why not?” He looked down at her like it wasn’t obvious. “I knew if I saw you like this, I’d get in trouble.” Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. “You in it now,” she whispered back, lips brushing close to his cheek. “Better hope Batman has an escape plan.” Joe smiled. “I’m not trying to escape.”

The party had reached its golden hour—when the drinks were hitting, the music was perfect, and the costume makeup was just starting to smudge in the best, sexiest way. Bodies moved in rhythm under the hazy glow of orange and purple lights, a dance floor forming organically in the center of the living room like a heartbeat.

Y/N had officially lost count of how many people had complimented her apartment, her playlist, her outfit… and how many eyes had trailed after her as she moved from room to room. She didn’t blame them. She felt good—powerful, even—in the emerald corset, the high slit of her skirt swishing with every step. Her Poison Ivy look was the perfect combination of seductive and untouchable, and she knew it.

But even perfection needed a break.

She slipped away from the crowd, weaving through a knot of people taking photos with fake blood dripping down their cheeks and past a couple aggressively making out beside the coat rack. Her boots clicked softly on the hardwood as she stepped into the kitchen and finally, finally, found a moment of quiet.

It was cooler in here. Dimly lit by amber string lights woven between the upper cabinets, and just loud enough that she could still hear the music pulsing in the background like a distant heartbeat.

She sighed and leaned back against the counter, closing her eyes for a second as she pulled a bottle of water from the fridge. The condensation kissed her palm, grounding her. Her heart was still fluttering from everything—the dancing, the attention, and most of all, him.

Joe.

God, Joe.

He had hovered at the edge of her night like a shadow—always there, always watching. Not in a creepy way, but in that particular kind of “you’re the only person I see in this room” way. She could feel his eyes on her every time she laughed too hard, every time she tossed her hair, every time she leaned too close to whisper to someone else.

It was maddening. And thrilling. And completely unfair how hot he looked in that damn Batman suit. She took a sip of her water, pressing the cold bottle to her collarbone, when—“Didn’t take you for the hiding type.”

His voice, low and deliberate, slid across her skin like silk. She didn’t jump. She didn’t need to look to know it was him. She just smiled and opened her eyes slowly. Joe stood in the doorway like a scene straight out of a dream—tall, broad, still in the sleek black suit, minus the cowl. His hair was slightly tousled, curls falling over his forehead like he’d just run a hand through it out of frustration—or desperation. Maybe both.

“I’m not hiding,” she said smoothly. “Just taking a breather.” He stepped into the kitchen, slower now, like he was approaching something dangerous. Or sacred. “From the party or from me?” Y/N’s lips curled. “What makes you think I’d need a breather from you?”

He leaned against the opposite counter, crossing his arms. “Because I’ve been looking at you all night, and you haven’t looked away once. Plus you keep looking at me like you want to fuck me, have been since I walked in.” She narrowed her eyes, pleased but refusing to show it. “Confident.” “Honest,” he said. And damn him, he sounded it. There was no smirk in his voice this time. Just something real and low and a little wrecked.

The silence stretched again, not awkward—but heavy. Dense. Like something was on the verge of happening. Y/N turned to set the bottle down and adjusted the straps on her corset. “You don’t usually say things like that.” Joe pushed off the counter, coming a step closer. “I don’t usually feel things like this.” Her breath caught. He was closer now. Not close enough to touch, but enough that she could smell his cologne—clean, expensive, and warm. And underneath that, something that just smelled like him.

“Tonight,” he continued, voice quieter now, “you’re... making it impossible.” “Impossible to what?” she asked, her voice a little shaky now. “To pretend I don’t want you.” She went still.

Those words—simple as they were—tore through her like lightning. Not because she hadn’t known. But because hearing him say it felt like something inside her finally clicked into place. She looked up at him, and the look in his eyes—raw, unguarded—nearly knocked the air from her lungs.

“Joe…” He stepped in again, close enough now that his fingers brushed the counter on either side of her, his body caging her in without touching her. “I’ve been trying to play it cool. Been trying to be patient. To let you have your space, do your thing.” She tilted her chin up, spine pressed to the cabinet behind her. “You could’ve fooled me with that photo booth comment.”

Joe huffed a soft laugh. “Yeah, well… You in this costume? I lost the last of my self-control somewhere between your entrance and that tiara.” Her smile faltered. This was too much. And yet not enough. “You want the truth?” he asked, voice rough. She nodded. “I’m really trying to hold it together, keep myself from taking you right here in front of everyone.”

Her heart thudded painfully in her chest. He was standing so close now. Close enough that she could count the freckles on his neck. Close enough that his breath ghosted across her lips when he spoke next. “If I kiss you,” he murmured, “I’m not walking away clean. This isn’t going to be some forgettable thing.” She stared up at him, every inch of her aching.

“Who said I wanted forgettable?” she whispered. His hand moved then, slow and deliberate, to brush a loose curl behind her ear. His fingertips trailed along the side of her face like he was trying to memorize the shape of her. “You’re dangerous,” he said. “You keep saying that like it’s a bad thing,” she breathed.

Joe leaned in until their foreheads touched, and for a long moment, they just stood like that—caught in the balance between almost and if.

Then—CRASH.

Someone in the other room knocked over a tray of drinks, and a voice shouted, “AYO, WHO LET THE MINION DO JELLO SHOTS?!”

They both froze. And just like that, the spell broke—fractured by party chaos, laughter echoing down the hall. Joe exhaled a laugh under his breath, forehead still pressed to hers. “We can’t even get a moment,” he said. Y/N smiled, eyes closed. “Story of our lives.” He pulled back just enough to look at her, something still glowing in his eyes. “But I meant what I said.” “I know.” “And I’m not going anywhere.” She looked at him for a long moment, then slowly reached for his hand, curling her fingers around his.

“I’m not running.” He kissed her knuckles—soft, brief, like a promise. Then stepped back. “I’ll be out there,” he said, nodding toward the door. “Go be Batman,” she teased. He smiled. “Only if you’re my villain.” And then he was gone. Y/N stood there for a beat, heart pounding against her ribs, pulse singing in her ears. She touched the spot where his fingers had brushed her jaw.

Then whispered to herself, “Game on.”

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