The Boy She Chose

Chapter 5

**Julian**

By the time I made it back to the locker room, my shirt was glued to my skin with a mix of sweat, turf, and the kind of exhaustion that settled into your bones after four quarters of being hit by guys who wanted to break you. My legs felt like they’d been swapped out for wet concrete. Every step sent a dull throb up from my calves, a reminder that we’d won, but it had cost us.

The locker room was pure chaos, the kind that only happens after a big home win. Music blasted from someone’s Bluetooth speaker—some aggressive rap track that made the walls vibrate. Shoulder pads slammed onto the wooden benches with heavy thuds. Someone was still yelling about the final defensive stop, replaying it like a highlight reel no one else could see. A teammate sprayed a water bottle across the room in celebration and immediately got screamed at by three different guys whose lockers were now dripping.

I barely registered any of it. The adrenaline was crashing hard, leaving me hollowed out and quiet in a way I only ever felt after games. I stripped off the rest of my gear, the pads hitting the floor with a dull clatter, and headed for the showers. The water was scalding, exactly how I liked it—hot enough to wash away the grime and the lingering sting of hits I hadn’t even felt in the moment. I stood under the spray longer than I needed to, letting it pound against my shoulders, my mind already drifting to the one thing that actually mattered tonight.

Maya.

I changed quickly into a black T-shirt that clung a little too tight across my chest and gray sweats that were comfortable enough to hide how badly my legs were screaming. I shoved my dirty jersey and pads into my bag, zipped it shut, and grabbed my phone off the bench.

It buzzed in my hand.

Maya: I’m waiting outside.

I smiled before I could stop myself. That small, involuntary curve of my mouth that only she ever pulled out of me.

Of course she was.

I slung the bag over my shoulder and headed out, pushing through the locker-room doors into the cooler night air. The stadium lights were still on, flooding the emptying parking lot in that harsh, golden glow. Most of the crowd had already left, but a few clusters of people lingered, talking about the game, laughing too loud. I barely noticed them.

I saw her immediately.

She was sitting on the low brick wall just outside the stadium, one leg swinging back and forth in that restless way she had when she was waiting. Her phone was in her hand, thumb scrolling, but she wasn’t really looking at it. Still wearing my university sweatshirt—the oversized gray one with the faded logo that she’d stolen from me last year and never given back. It hung off one shoulder, the sleeves covering her hands, and it did something to my chest that I still hadn’t figured out how to name without sounding like an i***t.

I stopped for a second. Just looked at her.

Thousands of people had cheered for me tonight. Thousands who knew my name, who posted about the game, who thought they knew who I was because they’d seen me on the field. None of them knew what it did to me when Maya waited. None of them knew that the roar of the crowd faded the second I saw her sitting there like she belonged in my space.

She looked up.

Her eyes found mine immediately, like she’d been waiting for exactly that.

“There you are,” she said, hopping down from the wall. The sweatshirt slipped a little further off her shoulder. I tried not to stare.

I walked toward her, the concrete still heavy in my legs. “You waited.”

She gave me that offended look she was so good at, the one that made her nose scrunch just a little. “You told me not to leave.”

“I didn’t think you’d actually listen.”

“Then why did you say it?”

“Because I like knowing you’ll listen to me.” I couldn’t help the grin that spread across my face.

She rolled her eyes, but there was a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet you’re still here.”

“Unfortunately.” She said it like a complaint, but she was already walking beside me, falling into step like we always did.

I glanced at her. “Where are we going?”

“You said dinner.”

“I did.”

“Then feed me.” Her stomach chose that exact moment to growl, loud enough that we both heard it.

I laughed, the sound coming out easier than it had all night. “You’re hungry?”

“I skipped dinner.”

I stopped walking. Completely. “You skipped dinner?”

“Yes.”

“Because you were coming to my game?”

She shrugged, looking away like it wasn’t a big deal. “Because I was running late.”

I stared at her. The stadium lights caught the gold in her hair, the way it was pulled back but already starting to come loose. “Maya.”

“What?”

“You could’ve eaten.”

She shrugged again, but this time it was smaller. “I didn’t want to miss it.”

Something inside my chest went painfully, stupidly soft. Like someone had reached in and squeezed. I looked away before she could see whatever was happening on my face. I didn’t trust myself not to say something I couldn’t take back.

“Come on,” I said, starting to walk again.

“Where?”

“My treat.”

“You said I owed you.”

“You do.”

“Then why are you paying?”

“Because I’m nice.”

She laughed, that bright, surprised sound that always hit me right in the ribs. “You’re many things, Julian. Nice isn’t the first one that comes to mind.”

I put a hand over my heart, staggering a little for effect. “That hurt.”

“You’ll survive.”

“I might not.”

“You just played four quarters of football.”

“Exactly. I’m fragile.” I let my voice go dramatic, and she laughed again, shoving my arm.

I loved making her laugh. Maybe too much. It was the easiest thing in the world and the most dangerous, because every time she did it, I wanted more. I wanted to be the reason she made that sound for the rest of my life, and that thought scared the hell out of me.

We ended up at the little twenty-four-hour diner two blocks from campus, the one with the flickering neon sign and the booths that had been patched so many times they looked like they’d seen better decades. It wasn’t fancy. It wasn’t supposed to be. Maya liked it because the fries were greasy and perfect, the coffee was strong enough to wake the dead, and nobody in there cared who we were. No one asked for pictures. No one wanted to talk about the game unless we brought it up.

The bell over the door jingled as we walked in. The place smelled like coffee, fried food, and that faint diner grease that somehow felt comforting at 11 p.m. A few other students were scattered in booths, some still in team merch, talking quietly. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead.

We slid into our usual booth by the window, the one with the cracked vinyl that stuck to the back of your legs if you sat too long. Maya immediately pulled her legs up, tucking them under her, the way she always did. I dropped my bag on the seat beside me and stretched my legs out under the table, careful not to kick her.

The waitress—Mara, who’d been working here since we were freshmen—came over with two menus she didn’t really need to give us. She grinned when she saw me.

“Big win tonight, Julian. You boys looked good out there.”

I smiled politely, the public one I used when people wanted something from me. “Thank you.”

She looked at Maya, her eyes twinkling. “And you must be the lucky charm.”

Maya pointed at herself, eyebrows up. “Me?”

“He’s been staring at that door for the last hour waiting for you. I thought he was going to wear a hole in the floor.”

My eyes widened. “Mara.”

The waitress just laughed, completely unrepentant. “What? I’m just telling the truth. Kid looked like a lost puppy every time that door opened.”

Maya turned toward me slowly, that dangerous little smile starting. “You were waiting for me?”