I woke up at eight. The match was at ten.
Which meant I was already screwed.
So instead of my plan—fresh outfit, casual arrival—I threw on my cheer uniform, grabbed my car keys, and drove straight to the stadium, hair half-dry and coffee-deprived.
The Phoenix United cheerleaders were already rehearsing when we arrived. Unlike us, they looked like they'd been preparing for the Olympics. I, on the other hand, looked like I'd crawled out of bed.
Still, none of that mattered, because the only thing I could think about was him.
The captain.
It hadn't even been two days since we met, but the memory of his voice, his hand in mine, and the way his eyes lingered on me—it all played like a broken record. Outside, I pretended not to care. Inside, I was practically dating him in my head.
"Girls, we'll be entering with the players," Miss Lee announced.
"What?" I exclaimed. "Who even does that?"
"That's how your father arranged it," she said coolly.
Of course he did.
"We have eleven cheerleaders, and they have eleven players. Each of you will pair with one," she continued.
My stomach twisted. I didn't admit it out loud, but every cell in my body prayed for one thing: Please let me be with the captain.
When the boys filed in, his gaze found mine again. Like a magnet. My breath slipped. I tried to look away, but my traitor eyes held his.
"So, who's the main dancer?" their coach asked. "She'll enter with the captain."
Aimy's smile was wicked. "Oh, that's her." She pointed straight at me.
Traitor. But also… thank you.
"Alright then," the coach said. "Aurora, you'll go with Keiren. And who's the second main?"
"I am," Aimy said quickly. No surprise there—she had her eyes on the vice captain.
I moved closer to Keiren, and the height difference between us was ridiculous. His presence was overwhelming—like standing too close to a storm.
"How are you doing, Miss Kingsley?" he asked, his deep voice sinking into my chest.
I swallowed. "Fine."
"This match is different," he said.
"What do you mean?"
"You'll see."
Before I could press him, the announcer's voice boomed.
"Welcome to the Football League Finals of 2025! First up—Phoenix United!"
The crowd exploded as their team walked in with their cheerleaders clinging tightly, soaking up every scream.
"And now, Ravensbridge United!"
Keiren's hand slid to my waist, firm, pulling me closer. My hand landed on his bicep, gripping. Heat raced through me.
We walked out together. And as I'd suspected, the closer, the clingier—the louder the applause.
The match began. Forty-five minutes later, the score was tied. My pulse wouldn't calm down—not just from the game, but from him.
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