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JAXON

T hanksgiving passes in a blur of food, family, and Madison.

She fits into my world so easily, so naturally, I catch myself watching her more than I probably should—laughing with my mom as they work in the kitchen, rolling her eyes at Emily during a particularly aggressive round of Uno, sneaking extra whipped cream onto her pie when she thinks no one is looking.

It's like she's always been here.

And maybe that's because, in a way, she has.

Black Friday rolls around, and the women head out at the crack of dawn, armed with coffee and an unnecessarily detailed shopping itinerary. The guys? We stay back, camp out in the living room, watch football, and eat leftovers straight from the fridge. My dad and I debate draft prospects while Sean and Uncle Rob argue about which conference has the better talent pool this year.

I don't know what kind of chaos Mads and my mom get into, but when she comes back that evening, she's got three bags in each hand, a satisfied smirk on her face, and an energy level that only comes from a full day of hunting for deals. She flops down next to me on the couch, leans her head against my shoulder, and promptly falls asleep within five minutes. My mom catches my eye from across the room and gives me this knowing smile that makes my ears burn, but I don't move.

I let Madison sleep on me, her soft breath against my neck, while my family pretends not to notice how completely gone I am for this girl.

Early Saturday morning, we're back on the road, heading to campus so I won’t be late for practice, slipping back into normal routine.

Only now, normal looks different.

Now, it means stealing kisses in between study sessions, texting her constantly, even when I barely have time to breathe, and figuring out ways to squeeze her into my insane schedule without losing my focus.

The next month flies by.

With only two weeks left in the fall semester, Madison has her grade up to a B in Algebra 111. I swear, I'm almost prouder of that than my own grades.

She still grumbles about math being pointless, but she shows up for every tutoring session—probably because she knows I'll hunt her down if she doesn't.

I try to keep up with our study dates, but with playoffs creeping closer, our practice schedule ramps up.

More film, more conditioning, more strategy meetings; we've gone undefeated so far this season, and the team is locked in. Coach has us running drills until we're ready to collapse, but no one's complaining. We can all feel it—this season is special. And for me, it's not just about the team's record. It's about showcasing everything I can do before the draft.

My only saving grace?

FaceTime.

Like right now.

I push through the doors of the athletic building, my duffle slung over my shoulder, my phone in hand as Madison's face fills my screen. She's sprawled across her bed, her textbook open in front of her, highlighter tucked behind her ear, hair pulled into a messy bun that somehow makes her look even prettier .

"You look thrilled," I tease, adjusting my grip as I make my way down the hall.

She groans, flipping onto her back, the camera momentarily showing her ceiling before refocusing on her face.

"Jax, if I have to look at one more equation, I might actually throw myself out the window."

I chuckle, pushing open the locker room door.

"You did get a B on your midterm. That's progress."

She huffs, her lips forming their familiar pout that always makes me want to kiss it away. "It would be more progress if I didn't have to do it at all. And it's only a B because you're basically forcing me to study against my will."

"Is that what we're calling it now?" I smirk, remembering our last study session that ended with her in my lap, books forgotten on the floor.

Her cheeks flush slightly. "You know what I mean."

"Do I?" I tease, enjoying the way she narrows her eyes at me.

"You're impossible," she mutters, but there's no heat behind it.

I shift the phone to get a better angle as I walk through the locker room. "So, what are you working on today? More quadratic formulas?"

She groans dramatically. "Worse. Applications of derivatives. Who even needs to know this stuff? When am I ever going to use it in real life?"

"Maybe if you become a rocket scientist?"

"Yes, Jax, because that's definitely where my career is headed," she deadpans, and I can't help but laugh.

I shake my head, dropping my bag onto the bench. "You're ridiculous, Mads."

She smirks, adjusting her position so she's lying on her stomach, chin propped on her hand. "And yet, you keep me around."

I roll my eyes but don't argue.

Yeah. Yeah, I do, and I don't plan on stopping anytime soon.

I sit down on the bench, kicking off my sneakers while keeping my eyes on my phone, watching Madison scribble something down in her notebook.

She chews on the end of her pen, brows furrowed, her legs tucked beneath her on the bed. Even frustrated, she looks stupidly cute. The string lights in her room cast a soft glow across her face, highlighting the freckles scattered across her nose that only appear when she's been in the sun too long.

"So," she says, not looking up from her book, "big game this weekend, huh?"

I nod, even though she can't see it. "Yeah. Last regular season game. If we win, we go into the playoffs undefeated."

Now, she looks up, her expression softening. "You nervous?"

I consider lying, but this is Madison. She'd see right through it. "A little. There's gonna be a lot of scouts there. It's a big opportunity."

"You're going to be amazing," she says with such certainty, I almost believe her. "You always are."

Something warm settles in my chest at her words, at the unwavering confidence in her voice."Thanks, babe."

She smiles that soft, genuine smile reserved just for me. "Are you watching film today?"

I nod, running a hand through my hair. "Yeah. Coach wants us to go over the defensive schemes again. These guys like to shift right before the snap, so we need to be ready to adjust."

"And you'll be able to spot it?" she asks, genuinely curious.

"That's the plan. Their safety has a tell—he shifts his weight to his back foot right before they drop into zone. If I can spot it quick enough, I can adjust my route to find the soft spot in their coverage."

Madison shakes her head, clearly impressed. "It's kind of insane how much you have to process in, like, what? Two seconds?"

I shrug. "You get used to it. It's all about preparation. If I do my homework now, it becomes instinct on the field. "

"Hmm," she hums thoughtfully. "Maybe I should apply that philosophy to algebra."

I laugh. "Maybe you should."

"Alright, Mads," I sigh, rubbing a hand over my jaw. "I gotta get changed soon.”

She groans dramatically. "Ugh, must be nice to have an excuse to stop studying."

I smirk. "It has its perks."

She huffs, pushing her textbook aside, then reaches for the hem of her sweatshirt. "Ugh, it's so hot in here."

She pulls it off over her head, and the second she does, I swear, my brain short-circuits.

Because underneath?

Just a thin, cropped tank top.

White. Tight. See through.

Her bare shoulders are on full display, her skin glowing from the soft string lights in her room, her collarbone practically begging to be kissed. The delicate straps slide slightly as she moves, revealing the gentle slope where her neck meets her shoulder.

I swallow hard, shifting slightly, adjusting the waistband of my sweats in a way I can only hope looks casual.

Madison doesn't notice at first. She's still stretching her arms above her head, her tank riding just slightly higher, exposing more of her soft skin that I should not be staring at right now. A sliver of her stomach shows, and my mouth goes dry at the sight.

I clear my throat, dragging a hand over my face before muttering, "Mads."

She glances at me, completely oblivious to the absolute war she's just started in my brain. "Yeah?"

I exhale sharply, shifting again. "I have to change into practice gear in approximately thirty seconds…in a locker room full of men."

She blinks. "And?"

I lift a brow, giving her a look .

Then, realization hits.

Her lips part slightly, her cheeks turning just the faintest shade of pink, and finally, she smirks. "Ohhh."

I shake my head, biting back a groan. "Yeah. Oh."

She grins, shifting on her bed, clearly enjoying my suffering. "Well, Jaxon, that sounds like a you problem."

I groan this time, letting my head fall back against my locker. "You are the worst."

She laughs, and damn it, I love that sound.

I really need to hang up before I walk onto the field under very, very unfortunate and uncomfortable conditions.

I sigh, tilting my phone so she can't see the very real effect she's having on me. "I gotta go. I'll call you later.

"

She hums, twirling her pen between her fingers. "Mmm, maybe I'll wear this outfit to our next tutoring session. You know, just to keep things…interesting."

I groan again, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Bye, baby."

"Later, hotshot." Her laugh is the last thing I hear before I hang up.

I toss my phone onto the bench, staring at the ceiling for a moment before muttering under my breath, "I am so fucked."