The Boy She Chose

Chapter 3

**Julian**

That stupid smile made my chest ache in a way that had nothing to do with the hits I'd taken.

I jogged toward the edge of the field, weaving through celebrating teammates and invading fans. She leaned over the railing, practically hanging off it, her sweatshirt sleeves flapping in the wind.

"You did it!" she yelled, her voice hoarse from screaming.

I pulled my helmet off, shaking out my hair. Rain dripped down my face. "You doubted me?"

"Of course I did!" She grinned, unrepentant. "You were looking all distracted in the first half. I thought you were going to fumble or something."

I raised an eyebrow, stepping closer so I didn't have to shout as much. The field was chaos around us, but this little bubble felt quieter. "I came here just to insult me?"

"I came here because someone had to make sure you didn't embarrass yourself in front of thirty thousand people. You're welcome, by the way."

I laughed, the sound mixing with the victory music. "Little late for that. I think I already did in the first quarter."

She pointed at me, that accusing finger again. "See? This attitude is exactly why you need me. Without me, you'd be out here doing stupid dances or something."

"You need me too," I shot back.

The words slipped out before I could stop them, hanging in the air between us.

Her smile softened, just a fraction. For one second, neither of us said anything. The noise around us faded—the cheers, the music, the rain hitting the metal bleachers.

She looked at me.

I looked at her.

And suddenly, I was painfully aware of how close she was. How her hair had fallen across her cheek, a wet strand that I wanted to tuck back. How her eyes caught the stadium lights, turning them this warm, golden brown that always wrecked me. How she was wearing a sweatshirt that belonged to the university but somehow looked better on her than it ever had on any of us meatheads. It hung off one shoulder a little, and I had to force myself not to stare.

She tucked her hair behind her ear, a nervous habit I'd seen a thousand times. "You played really well tonight. Like, actually impressive. Even that catch in the second quarter when you almost got demolished."

I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. I'm proud of you, Jules."

Jules.

She was the only person who called me that. Everyone else was Vance, or Julian, or "hey you idiot." But Jules, from her, in that soft voice... it could ruin every defense I'd ever built around my heart. Two syllables, and I was done.

I looked away, out at the field where people were still celebrating, to hide whatever was probably written all over my face. "Thanks, May."

She leaned against the railing, chin in her hands, studying me. "I told you I'd come. I promised, remember? After you wouldn't shut up about it all week."

"You were late." I tried to sound annoyed, but it came out more like a pout. "The game started an hour ago. I kept looking up like some lovesick puppy."

"I had a class. Organic chemistry lab ran over because Professor Langston is a sadist who thinks extra time equals extra learning. I sprinted the whole way. Nearly tripped over a freshman taking selfies."

"The game started an hour ago," I repeated, crossing my arms. "You missed half of it. The important half, where I was carrying the team on my back."

"I know." She didn't even look sorry. "I caught the highlights on my phone while I was running. You looked like a drowned rat, by the way."

"That's unforgivable. I was out here suffering in the rain, and you were in a nice, dry lab."

She laughed, the sound bright and easy, like it always was with her. "I'm sorry. Truly. Deeply. I'll make it up to you with... I don't know, extra cheering next time? Pom-poms? A banner?"

"No." I shook my head dramatically, water flying from my hair. "You're going to have to work harder than that. I was emotionally scarred, May. Traumatized."

"Oh?" She raised an eyebrow, playing along. "How? What could possibly make up for my heinous crime of being a responsible student?"

I looked at her, really looked, and felt that familiar pull. "Food. You owe me dinner. Somewhere good. Not the dining hall crap."

She stared at me, then burst out laughing. "You just scored the winning touchdown. Shouldn't you be buying *me* dinner? Isn't that how this works? Hero of the game treats his biggest fan?"

"I would." I paused, letting a grin spread. "But you owe me. Big time."

"Why? Because I showed up late to your ego-stroking session?"

"Because I spent the entire first half looking for you. Like, actually scanning the crowd every five seconds like a complete loser. Coach was this close to benching me."

The second the words left my mouth, I regretted them. Too honest. Too revealing.

Her expression changed. Just slightly. The teasing faded into something softer, more curious. "What?"

I cleared my throat, heat flooding my face despite the cold rain. "Nothing. Forget it."

"You were looking for me?" She leaned closer, eyes sparkling with that mix of amusement and something else I was too afraid to name. "Julian Vance, star wide receiver, was scanning the stands for little old me?"

"No."

"You literally just said—"