My Secret Deal 21

Lily’s POV

The second I rejoined my friends in the stands, Erin turned toward me with narrowed eyes, suspicion written all over her face. Her arms crossed tight across her chest.

“You’re glowing again,” she said, deadpan.

I wiped the sweat off my forehead with the back of my hand. “I’m sweating.”

Willow sniffed theatrically, tilting her head. “You’re smiling like you won a secret lottery.”

Maisy leaned forward over the row of seats, hands on her knees, eyes gleaming. “Tell us right now or we riot.”

I slid into my seat, trying not to show how much my heart was still hammering. “I’ll tell you tomorrow. I swear.”

Erin gave me a slow, skeptical nod. “You better.”

Down on the field, the team was getting into position, the crowd roaring back to life. The game was seconds away from starting, but my focus had already narrowed in on one person.

Jake.

Helmet in hand, standing tall with his shoulders squared, eyes locked in like nothing else existed. Even in a crowd of a hundred players, I found him instantly. He looked up. Straight at me.

My stomach did a somersault so sharp I almost dropped my soda.

I couldn’t cheer — not in front of my friends who would pick it apart instantly — but inside, my whole body was buzzing like a live wire. And it didn’t stop there. Every time he caught the ball, called a play, or shouted directions across the field, his eyes found mine again. Like he needed to see me there. Like I was some invisible thread tying him to the ground.

Travis, on the other hand, was a different story tonight. He was in full try-hard mode, jaw clenched tight, shoulders stiff, every move he made too sharp, too forced. He played well — technically. But he looked pressed, desperate even, like this game wasn’t just about the scoreboard for him anymore. When he saw me once across the stands, his face twisted into a scowl so quick and dark it made me flinch. Angela, ever the drama queen, waved at him with both arms every time he got anywhere near the sidelines, her smile big and fake enough to hurt.

Jake didn’t even blink in her direction. His focus stayed laser-sharp — sharper passes, sharper plays, sharper everything. Like he was playing to prove something no one else could see.

The fourth quarter hit, and Jake’s team was ahead by ten. The tension thickened in the stands. Every second stretched. When Jake made the final touchdown, sealing the win, the entire stadium erupted into chaos — screaming, stomping, the kind of noise that rattled your bones. Our side wasn’t supposed to cheer, but it took everything I had not to jump to my feet and scream my lungs out.

As Jake jogged back to the sideline, helmet tucked under his arm, a wicked grin stretched across his face. His eyes burned with something wild and electric — something meant only for me.

And then it happened.

When the teams lined up to shake hands, Jake leaned in toward Travis. He said something — just a few words — and I couldn’t hear it, but I felt it like a punch. Travis’s face shifted instantly, going red with anger. His fists clenched at his sides, and for a second, I thought he was going to swing. His teammates had to physically pull him back.

Jake just smirked like he hadn’t even broken a sweat, shook another player’s hand casually, and walked off the field like he owned it.

Maisy gasped beside me, hands clutched over her mouth. “What did he say?!”

Erin was already pulling out her phone. “Checking Twitter. Somebody had to catch that.”

Willow beamed. “Your ex looks like he’s gonna cry. That was hot.”

I scrambled to my feet, my heart racing in my chest. “I’ll meet you guys at the gate.”

“You’re leaving already?” Maisy called.

“Homework. And cramps. Massive ones,” I tossed over my shoulder.

They groaned in unison, but I was already moving. “Tomorrow,” I promised, weaving through the crowd.

I ducked into the shadowy side of the parking lot, pulling my hoodie up and hiding between two lampposts. Fans poured out, shouting and laughing, and I tucked myself deeper into the dark, heart hammering.

I waited until the noise faded a little, until the players started trickling toward the cars.

Then I heard it.

The slow, steady thud of boots against concrete. Heavy. Familiar.

“You always hide behind cars, or is that just a me thing?” Jake’s voice teased as he rounded the bumper.

I peeked out and grinned. “You won.”

He stepped closer, the lamplight hitting the hard lines of his jaw and the mischievous glint in his eyes. “We won.”

“You were incredible,” I breathed, barely loud enough to hear.

Without thinking, I leaned up and kissed his cheek, feeling the rough scrape of stubble under my lips. His hands found my waist, tugging me against him in a way that left no space between us.

“I missed you,” he murmured into my hair.

Before I could say a word, he was kissing me — full, deep, unhurried. Like the entire night had been leading to this.

I curled my fingers into his jacket, holding on as his lips moved slowly against mine, coaxing every emotion I’d been trying to bury right to the surface. The kiss tasted like victory, like relief, like everything I hadn’t let myself hope for.

When we finally pulled apart, his forehead pressed against mine, breath mingling in the cool air.

“You okay?” he asked, voice rough and careful.

“I’m not going home tonight.”

His arms tightened slightly. He didn’t say anything at first, just held me a little closer like that was answer enough.

“I screamed at her,” I whispered. “Told her everything. I’m probably grounded for the next decade.”

“I’m proud of you.”

He said it without hesitation, like there was never a world where he wouldn’t be.

“Come back with me,” he said. “Just us. No rules.”

“I’m already packed,” I whispered back.

Jake kissed me again, slower this time, a promise more than a question.

Without another word, we slipped into his car and drove into the night.

Jake’s apartment was a mess — sneakers kicked off in the hallway, a pile of laundry threatening to topple — but it was warm. It was safe. It was ours for the night.

The second we stepped inside, he tossed his gear to the floor and grabbed my hand, pulling me toward the bathroom.

“You need a shower,” he said, a wicked gleam in his eye.

I lifted an eyebrow. “You offering to help?”

“I’m insisting.”

The shower was already steaming by the time he peeled my hoodie off. We stripped slowly, steam curling around us like a private shield. His hands were steady, tracing every inch of my skin with reverence, like he was mapping a future he’d already decided on.

The water was hot, but his touch was hotter, searing into me with every brush of his fingers. He kissed his way down my neck, my collarbone, lingering over every curve like he had all the time in the world.

By the time he slid inside me, slow and deep, I was already shaking, already gasping. His hands braced against the wall on either side of my head, caging me in, his thrusts slow at first, then harder, more desperate. I clung to him, nails digging into his back as he drove into me again and again, the wet slap of skin against skin echoing in the tile room.

I came first — hard and fast — and he wasn’t far behind, his mouth buried in my neck, a rough groan torn from his throat.

After, we didn’t bother dressing. We wrapped towels around ourselves, still dripping, still laughing. I pulled out the ingredients for chocolate lava cake from his disaster of a pantry, and he melted the chocolate while I threw flour at him just to see him smile.

When I bent over to check the oven, he grabbed my hips, grinding against me with a low growl. “You’re doing that on purpose.”

I glanced over my shoulder with a wicked smirk. “Doing what?”

Ten minutes later, we forgot about the cake completely.

It burned to a crisp.

And we didn’t care at all.

We fell asleep tangled together on the couch, his arm locked tight around my waist, my face buried in the warmth of his chest.

No lies. No fear. No rules.

Just us.

And something that felt terrifyingly, beautifully close to love.