Mine Without Permission

Chapter 2: The Wide Receiver’s Target

Chapter 2: The Wide Receiver’s Target

Mateo spun the pen between his fingers, the slender plastic gliding over his knuckles in a practiced, hypnotic blur. His eyes were locked on the lecture board, but his mind was already miles away, pacing the yard lines of the football field. He’d been locked in for the entire lesson, absorbing the material with the same tactical precision he used to read a defensive line. Now, he was just waiting for the release.

"I don’t want to pile on the pressure just yet," Professor Atkins said, wrapping up the final slide and perched on the edge of his mahogany desk. "So, there’s a small discussion board response due online by Friday."

A collective sigh of relief rippled through the hall, but Atkins held up a hand, a sadistic glint in his eyes.

"Don’t get comfortable. Next week is a different story. I’ll be marking late submissions with zero mercy and throwing enough assignments at you to make you forget what sleep feels like. I’m a firm believer that people work better under the crushing weight of a deadline."

The room erupted into groans. To Atkins, they were just names on a roster; to the students, this was one more anchor dragging them down in an already drowning semester.

"What time will the prompt be live?" a student asked, desperation clear in his voice.

Atkins offered a shrug that was purely dismissive. "It’ll be uploaded when I feel like uploading it. Keep your notifications on."

Mateo didn't join in the complaining. He didn't have the energy for it. He began packing his things, snapping his laptop shut and sliding it into his reinforced book bag. This was his final hurdle of the day before the real work began. Practice.

He moved through the congested aisles, his large frame forcing others to step aside. He was weighing his options: find food now and risk a cramp, or head home for a twenty-minute power nap before hitting the turf. He knew today’s drills were going to be brutal.

In the world of college football, the Quarterback always got the headlines, but Mateo knew the truth. The QB was the spark, but the wide receivers were the fire. As a star wide receiver, Mateo was the guy who had to be everywhere at once. He used a lethal combination of stutter-steps and technical routes to leave defenders tripping over their own feet. He didn't just catch the ball; he snatched it out of the air like it belonged to him, controlling his body with a high-speed agility that felt like second nature.

He’d broken records. He’d caught the eyes of NFL scouts. But that level of "great" didn't happen by accident. It was built on sweat, discipline, and the ability to block out everything but the goal line.

"Atkins is a d**k," Felix muttered to his right, shaking Mateo out of his head. "I need to see if I can drop this and find a professor who actually has a soul."

"Too late, man," Mateo said, flashing a quick grin at his best friend. "Deadline for swaps was last week. You’re stuck in the trenches with the rest of us."

Felix cursed under his breath in Spanish—“Maldita sea”—before digging a granola bar out of his bag. He ripped the wrapper with his teeth. "Did you hear about Jason?"

Mateo didn't look up from his phone as he fired off a quick text. "What about him?"

"He might be getting cut," Felix said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Someone ratted him out for using performance enhancers. Word is, he thinks his own girl snitched."

Mateo stopped walking, his brow furrowing. "Jocelyn? No way. Estás mintiendo."

Felix held up his hands, dead serious. "No te mentiría, bro. The locker room is buzzing. If the board finds out, he’s done."

Mateo and Felix went back further than most brothers. Their mothers had filled photo albums with pictures of them since elementary school. While Mateo was born in the States, his Puerto Rican, Mexican, and Italian heritage meant his household was a melting pot of languages. Knowing Spanish is what had cemented his bond with Felix years ago; back when Felix struggled with English, Mateo had been his voice. Now, they were both at Cambridge University, chasing the same dream on the same field.

Mateo rolled his eyes, adjusting the strap of his bag. "Is he actually going to get kicked off, or will the boosters sweep it under the rug? Guys like Jason usually have a 'get out of jail free' card."

Mateo’s family had worked for every cent they had. Even as they achieved wealth, his parents had hammered the same lesson into him: Don't give them a reason to take it away. Mateo kept his nose clean. He let his talent do the talking so his coaches never had to cover for him.

"I don't know," Felix said, shaking his head. "But if your girl snitches on you... that’s cold."

Felix’s voice suddenly became a muffled hum in the background. The hallway doors at the end of the corridor swung open, and the world seemed to slow to a crawl.

It was Anastasia.

The last time he’d seen her, her hair was pulled back in a tight, disciplined ponytail for practice. Today, it was down, a dark, curly waterfall cascading down her back. Her deep brown skin looked like it had been brushed with gold, glowing under the fluorescent lights. She was dressed for the heat—a white ribbed tank top that hugged her curves and a pair of denim shorts that showed off the toned, powerful legs of a flyer.

She wasn't one of those "waif" thin girls, and Mateo loved that about her. She had a presence. A weight. She was the kind of woman who commanded the air around her, and Mateo found himself holding his breath as she approached.

He felt a familiar grin tugging at his lips. He ignored the buzzing notification on his phone, his entire focus narrowing down to her.

"Hola, bebé," he murmured as she drew closer.

Anastasia looked up, and he saw the exact moment she realized it was him. A smile broke across her face—one she clearly tried to fight, but failed. Mateo felt a surge of triumph in his chest. He loved that he could get that reaction out of her. He loved the way her cheeks rose and the giddy sparkle that appeared in her eyes.

"Mateo," she said, her voice like silk.

"You heading to class this way?" he asked. As she walked past, he instinctively turned his body, his eyes locked onto hers, completely ignoring Felix’s existence.

"Not right now," Anastasia replied, gesturing toward the elevators. "I'm heading to office hours for Professor Quinn."

They had been doing this dance since freshman year. Brief conversations, sweet compliments, and enough chemistry to light the entire stadium on fire. Mateo never missed a chance to tell her how beautiful she looked or how she’d killed it during the halftime show. And yet, for all the sparks, they were still just... this. No dates. No labels. Just a routine of magnetic pull and quiet release.

"Quinn? I’ve had him," Mateo said, stepping toward her. "Are you having trouble?"

He saw the flicker of embarrassment in her eyes before she quickly masked it.

"No," she said, her chin lifting slightly. "I just need to discuss some stuff I missed last class."

Mateo didn't believe her for a second, but he admired the pride. "Right. Well, Quinn’s a good guy. But if you need someone who’s already survived his exams to look over your notes..." He let the offer hang in the air, his voice dropping to a lower, more intimate register.