Running the field upstarts a roar in my psyche. The spirit of competition gathers every nerve, every muscle, every ounce of blood and screams, Perform at your highest! until I can't bare to stand still. I'm excited— I'm pumped— I'm ready to win. Squirming with energy, I'm not thinking about the weight of breathing, or blinking, or sweating, or my feet slipping on the astroturf.

I focus on the ball, calculating how I'm going to get it in my hands, across the field, into a touchdown. We need a field goal badly. I could do it, maybe, but not from here. I should move—

"Lance!" someone calls from beside me, breaking me from my thoughts.

It's a guy's voice, a shout, but not belonging to any of my teammates. I turn my head for a split second to look, momentarily distracted from my focus. I'm surprised, but not really, to see it's the only male cheerleader on the cheer squad surrounded by the other girls as they all laugh and wave. Inwardly, my heart pounds at the sight.

"You're doing great!" he yells above the clamor of the field. "Heads up," he shouts, nodding toward the ball. "Go! Go! Go!" he yells after me as I run with the crowd of players.

Did he fucking wink at me? My heart goes into double time at the memory. My face and my chest burn, but it could easily be blamed upon the heavy sprint. I can stop, though, and catch my breath because one of our guys caught the ball.

"McClain!" this time, it's the linebacker. "Heads up!"

The football sails across the field, within my threshold, void now of players from the other team. It's a clear and easy catch, but I fumble and almost lose the damn thing as it comes into my hands. I clutch the pigskin, hands clammy and heart still pounding.

"Lance, Lance, he's our man!" The cheerleaders start. "If he can't do it, no one can!"

It occurs to me that I should run again. It feels like the entire world has their eyes on me. The band strikes up, the crowd joins the cheerleaders as they chant, and my legs move on their own accord. My head and my chest hurt like hell, the pressure weighing heavily on my shoulders to get this thing to the other side of the field, but I come to a crashing halt with another player. He leaps in front of me, tackling me head on.

Instinctively, I dodge sideways. By now, the hive of players has caught up to me, though, and I'm met with a dog-pile of other players. Every impact of a new body sends my brain deeper into a panicked shutdown for what feels like minutes. But I'm still clutching the football like my life depends on it. Then the whistle blows.

I've managed the ball up quite a few yard lines. Now, it's about to be my job to pass this thing to somebody more capable of rendering a Hail Mary than a long dash. But that cheerleader is still in my head, replacing all focus I had on winning the game.

All I can see when I close my eyes is an image of him. His butt is really nice— I swallow hard at the thought. And that dazzlingly flirty smirk goes so well with his smolderingly dark eyes. No matter how hard I try to go back to the game, I just can't shake that look out of my frontal lobe. I want to steal another glance at him, but I know it'll only mess up my game further. I've got to regain my focus, but I'm so far down this rabbit hole already.

The cheerleaders start up again at just the wrong moment. They aren't chanting my name anymore, thank goodness, but I can pick out his voice amidst the girls' high-pitched squealing. Fuck, I'm about to get hard in the middle of the field. This is not a good time to be gay, I've gotta throw this damn ball.

But I mess it up. I throw to the first face I recognize, only to be easily intercepted by the other team. I watch in dismay as the other team pulls off another touchdown perfectly, and my teammates hang their heads as we realize that we're not coming back this late in the game. This is not a great performance, even with good weather, a strong start, and a home crowd.

But the cheerleaders and the crowd don't give up their hope in us yet.

"Shake it off, Lance," he calls to me, catching me off guard. We make steady eye-contact, this time, when I look up. He winks again, one arm akimbo, giving me a great profile-view of his body as he winks and waves toward another player. "You'll get it the next time!" He turns back to me and nods, an obvious indication as he gives my body a quick once-over.

I'm either drooling or blushing or both, but I'm not paying attention to the game anymore. I'm almost compelled to drift entirely off the field toward him. I don't remember his name off the top of my head, but now I desperately want to know. I really want to do ungodly things to him, actually. Now I'm definitely hard in the middle of the field, but even worse than letting the crowd tell, he can clearly tell.

"Keith," another cheerleader chastises him, "don't distract him right now!" She pulls him away so that they can create another formation to please the crowd.

I shake my head and turn back to my own team's formation. But it doesn't do much good. We lose the game by thirty points, in the end. A steep loss, and a brutal yammering from the coach about how off we were tonight. I had a good start, I thought, but that cheerleader— Keith, I think— did me in.

I've either got to stay as far away from him as I possibly can, or get that boy naked under my body immediately. I'd almost prefer the latter, but there's no way I'd ever manage it. And this is not a great time to be thinking about it, surrounded by my teammates in the locker room.

"McClain!" my best friend on the team heavily claps a hand on my shoulder, catching me off guard and jolting me into the air. "I saw that cheerleader flirting you up," he laughs, letting go. "You gonna hit that, or what?"

"Shut up, Hunk," I grumble, crossing my arms across my shirtless chest. "I lost my focus because of him." I fidget to pull on a clean shirt.

"Oh, lighten up," Hunk rolls his eyes. "You clearly thought he was cute. Even under your gear, it was obvious you were blushing at him. Do you have his number?" he presses.

My faces becomes unbearably hot as I shake my head.

"I bet I can get it for you," his voice is teasing, but I helplessly hope he really could do that for me. But I remember who I'm talking about. A hottie like Keith? He's way out of my league. The blush on my face deepens as I shrug Hunk off of me.

"I'll be right back," Hunk says, feigning diplomacy.

Oh boy, this can't possibly end with my dignity still intact. I better go after him. But before I can take a step, another hand claps my shoulder.

"Don't think you're getting away that easily, McClain." It's the coach. "We've gotta talk about your performance today."