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Through the chaos, I catch another glimpse of Jaxon. Surrounded by teammates, being mobbed, but he finds my eyes again. This time, his smile is softer. Even though I know Inez is somewhere watching, even with thousands around us, it feels like it’s just us.

“You know, it’s gonna be hours before we see him,” Jaxon’s dad says, hands in his old UW hoodie’s pockets. “You pretty girls wanna go to dinner with me?”

Callie grins, as though Mr. C only invited her. “I will!”

Of course she does. She’s been crushing on him since freshman year and has zero chill about it.

She’s already arm-in-arm with him, practically skipping. So much for being subtle.

I catch up as we weave through the crowd, stadium lights casting long shadows. “Why are you flirting with Mr. C?” I hiss.

“I don’t know. I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

She shrugs, but she’s not fooling anyone. “Firefighters are hot, girl.”

I stare. “My dad’s a firefighter. Don’t make this weird.”

Her smile turns innocent as we’re jostled by the crowd. “Oh, I know.” She fans herself dramatically. “Why do you think I love Thanksgiving at your house?”

“You’re awful.” I shake my head, laughing.

Mr. C glances back, catching Callie mid-fan, and shakes his head knowingly. He’s not blind—he’s dealt with this since Em was in middle school. All her friends have crushed on Caleb Ryan. Rite of passage, apparently.

“Does he think I’m weird?” Callie whispers, panicked.

“Yes.” Someone bumps me from behind—nobody walks straight after a game—and I slam into Emerson, who dominoes into her mom. Smooth. “Sorry!” I call, but they wave it off, used to our chaos.

“Are you serious?” Callie’s practically hyperventilating.

I roll my eyes. “Will you chill the fuck out? He doesn’t care. Man’s been a firefighter for twenty years—he’s seen it all. Thirsty housewives setting kitchens on fire, just for him.”

“That’s... actually not comforting,” Callie mutters, but at least she stops fanning herself.

The parking lot’s a mess of headlights and honking horns. The spring air’s cool, someone’s grilling by the tailgate, probably celebrating.

My phone buzzes in my pocket—probably Jaxon, but I’m not about to die checking it in a parking lot.

We end up at Dim Sum, a dumpling place near campus that’s usually packed on weekends. Tonight, Mr. C gets us right in—half of Seattle’s still at the game or stuck in traffic, and Jaxon’s dad knows everyone. And the ones he doesn’t, Mila does.

We’re led past the fancy bar—people sipping cocktails with smoke curling off them—into the dining room, paper lanterns casting a golden glow over matte black tables.

The place screams expensive—floor-to-ceiling windows, city lights, art that probably costs more than my tuition. But the food? Worth every penny.

I slide into the booth next to Emerson, Callie teleporting next to Mr. C.

Mila smiles, used to this by now. She’s watched women swoon over her husband for decades.

The server drops off clipboard menus and explains the system like we haven’t been here a million times. “Check what you want, as many as you’d like. Four to five items per person.”

My phone buzzes. I angle it away from Callie’s prying eyes.

Jaxon

Where ya at?

My stomach does that stupid flutter thing. I try to play it cool as I type.

Dim Sum with your family

He replies instantly.

jealousss

got time for your boy later??

Your boy? I read that right?

Okay, be cool. Don’t be eager.

Mmm maybeeee

That’s a good reply, right?

“Stop texting my brother,” Emerson elbows me, making me drop my phone in my lap. “If I get those soup ones, will you share?”

I look up—everyone’s poised with pencils. “Yeah.” I start checking boxes—shrimp dumplings, spicy wontons, char siu. “Only if you let me put chili oil on them.”

“Sure.” She rolls her eyes but checks it anyway. Emerson hates spicy, but Jaxon and I love it.

My phone buzzes again.

Coach is still talking

Save me

I hide my smile behind the clipboard menu.

“That’s definitely Jaxon,” Emerson says, peering at my phone. “What’s he saying?”

I kick under the table, thinking it’s Em, but I hit Mila instead. “Oh my god, sorry!”

“Girl.” She laughs, reaching for her fancy tea. “I raised Jaxon and Em. I have bruises from them that may never heal.”

My phone buzzes again.

And Cam?

yes?

That bomb won’t be the only thing I’m hitting tonight

Oh my God.

I press my lips together, trying not to smile like a psycho. His cross is warm against my neck, like it knows.

“Now that’s my brother being smooth,” Emerson laughs in my face. “I can tell by how red your ears are.”

This time when I kick, I don’t miss.

“Sooo.” Emerson leans in. “It’s going better than you let on.”

I smile and flip my phone. “Just friends still.”

“Bitch, whatever. He’s texting you and I saw him looking at you in the stands. That’s not just friends.”

Wait. Is she serious? What kind of looks was he giving me? Yes, I’m asking you, because I didn’t see any besides glances.

I look down at Jaxon’s texts.

There’s a spot for me in his life, and I don’t know what it means yet, but I know it’s there.