beau maxwell x fem!reader
summary: beau finds out you don’t understand a single thing about football and decides it’s his duty to teach you
warnings: not much tbh, basically pure fluff and beau being a golden retriever boyfriend
a/n: i’ve been saying id write a beau fic to my friend for weeks now and this is the first actual one i’ve completed lmfaoaoaoao i hope you love it<3
the game had been on for the past 45 minutes before you finally admitted defeat. not because one team was winning or losing, not that you were actually able to distinguish the two, but because you’d spent the entire time nodding along every time your boyfriend reacted, pretending you understood why he was groaning one minute and cheering the next.
from your spot tucked against his side on the couch that was stood in the middle of your tiny campus apartment, you stole another handful of popcorn from the bowl balanced on his lap. beau absentmindedly nudged it closer without taking his eyes off the television.
on screen, a quarterback launched the ball halfway across the field. the commentators practically shouted over one another and the crowd roared. beside you, beau leaned forward so quickly the popcorn nearly slid off his knees. “oh!” he exclaimed, “no way, that throw was insane.”
you watched the replay of the ball flying across the screen and the guy catching it in slow motion, “that’s good…?”
“mhmm.” beau’s eyes stayed glued to the tv.
another replay played, even slower this time, “…really good?”
you nodded thoughtfully, as though his confirmation explained everything, “cool.”
beau finally tore his attention away from the television to look at you. his eyebrows slowly knitted together as his eyes flickered between you and the game, “you have no idea what’s happening, do you?”
you opened your mouth to reply, but quickly closed it again, debating what to say. after a moment you mumbled, “…not really”
the tv continued blaring in the background, but was quickly forgotten when beau looked at you as though someone had muted the entire room. “what do you mean,” he asked slowly, “not really?”
you shifted a little, suddenly aware that perhaps this wasn’t the confession you’d intended to make, “i mean … i know … the basics?”
his expression brightened slightly, “okay.”
“you score touchdowns.” you counted on your fingers as you started listing your knowledge, “and … there’s a lot of running.”
beau stared at you, “babe.”
“we’ve been dating for eight months.”
“i know,” you nodded as you dropped your hand.
his eyes stayed on you, waiting for the punchline, but it didn’t come. you just looked at him from your spot on the couch, legs tucked neatly underneath your body, and your expression somewhere between sheepish and completely unbothered. he blinked, “you’ve come to every home game.”
“while you don’t understand football?”
a guilty smile tugged at the corner of your mouth. it was the kind of smile you wore whenever you’d accidentally done something you knew he’d tease you for later, “i mostly just watch you.”
the words landed with far more force than you intended, and for a second beau honestly thought he’d misheard you, “what?”
you fiddled with the hem of your shirt, suddenly finding it much more interesting than looking your boyfriend in the eye.
“i mean…” you began carefully, “i know where you line up. so i just…” you shrugged one shoulder, “follow you.”
silence settled between you. the television kept playing in the background, the commentators growing louder after another big play, but beau barely registered any of it anymore. his entire attention had shifted to you.
“so…” you continued, glancing up at him through your lashes, “when everybody cheers because you do something, i cheer too.”
he searched your face, trying to see if you were joking or not, but he could tell you were completely sincere, “babe, after that touchdown against harvard…” a soft laugh escaped him, “you jumped out of your seat and screamed ‘that’s my boyfriend!’”
“i was being supportive.”
“so, you knew what happened?”
“well…” you hesitated long enough to realize how ridiculous this all sounded, “i saw you with the ball, and everyone started cheering, so…”
a loud laugh now burst out of him before he had the chance to swallow it. you crossed your arms immediately, “oh, wow.”
“you are literally laughing at me!” you exclaimed.
his grin only widened, “i’m just…” another laugh escaped him, “i’m laughing because this is adorable.”
you narrowed your eyes, “i’ve spent months trying to blend in.”
“and apparently doing an incredible job.”
“babe.” he smiled at you in complete disbelief, “you’ve watched four quarters of football almost every weekend.”
you looked at him like the answer should have been obvious, “yeah, because i like watching you.”
the teasing disappeared from his face. not completely, but just enough for something soft to slip through. his chest tightened in the strangest way as every home game flashed through his mind in quick succession. every kick. every tackle. every time he’d instinctively searched the stands after a good play until he’d found you.
he’d always assumed you were following the game, cheering because you’d seen him break through the defensive line or make a good read. instead, you’d been watching him.
not football. just … him.
watching him adjust his helmet before every snap because he always did it twice. watching him bounce on the balls of his feet while waiting for the next play. watching the stupid little dance he did with one of his teammates after a touchdown because they’d started it one year and refused to stop.
you’d noticed all of that.
the realization settled warmly somewhere behind his ribs. it was, without question, one of the sweetest things anyone had ever admitted to him.
however, it was also deeply concerning. “you…” he was still trying to process the revelation, “you don’t know what a first down is.”
you lightly shook your head, “no.”
he stared at you for another long second before a strangled noise escaped from somewhere deep in his chest. before you could ask if he was okay, beau sprang off the couch so quickly the popcorn bowl dared to fall to the ground. you lunged forward just in time to catch it, “what are you doing?”
you let out a chuckle, convinced he was joking. he wasn’t; he was already reaching for your hand. you twisted in your seat to glance at the digital arm clock sitting on your desk. 11.47pm. “it’s basically midnight.”
“we have class tomorrow.”
his expression didn’t change, “we’ll survive.”
you let out a laugh, searching his face like he did yours earlier, but nothing. he was completely, hopelessly serious, “you cannot honestly think i’m going outside right now.”
you gestured vaguely toward the dark window behind him, “because it’s november, and it’s freezing.”
“so,” you repeated, “normal people don’t voluntarily leave their warm apartments at midnight to do … i don’t know what.”
“i’m gonna teach you how to play.” a small smirk started playing on his lips, “also … that sounds an awful lot like quitter talk.”
at his words you rolled your eyes dramatically, “you’re impossible.”
you expected him to keep arguing. instead, his gaze drifted over you, lingering for just a second, causing you to glance down at yourself. you were wearing an oversized t-shirt and a pair of athletic shorts you’d stolen from beau’s closet weeks ago. it was comfortable and warm enough for inside. absolutely not warm enough for a late-november night, though.
before you could say anything, beau gave a small nod to himself, as though he’d reached an important conclusion, “stay here.”
you blinked, “…what?” but he was already walking toward your bedroom, “beau?”
no answer, but you heard a closet door, the rustling of fabric, and something hitting the floor. then, a few seconds later, he reappeared with his favorite briar hoodie draped over one arm.
you recognized it immediately. it was the faded navy one, which was so ridiculously soft you’d ‘borrowed’ it constantly because it somehow always smelt like him; clean laundry and his signature cologne.
without a word he tossed it in your direction. with barely any time to lift your hands to catch it, it landed squarely on your head, “okay, rude.”
his laugh echoed through your apartment, “put it on.”
you peeled the hoodie off your head, shooting him an unimpressed look, “i have my own jacket, you know.”
“so why am i wearing your hoodie?”
he shrugged, “‘cause this one’s warmer.”
“it is.” he smiled, completely shameless, “i just like seeing you in my clothes.”
your stomach performed the most embarrassing flip and you tried very hard not to let him notice he affected you this much, “you’re impossible.”
“so you’ve said.” he crossed the room in two easy strides, stopping just close enough for his knees to graze the couch before reaching for your hand.
your fingers fit together instinctively now, muscle memory built over months of stolen walks across campus, movie nights, and afternoons spent wandering around hastings with no particular destination.
his thumb swept lazily over the back of your hand, “come on, pretty girl.”
you looked from your joined hands to the ridiculously excited grin on his face. he looked genuinely thrilled, like teaching you football on a random night was the best idea he’d ever had. another sigh, one that sounded far more reluctant than you actually felt, escaped your lips, “you’re lucky you’re cute.”
his grin grew even wider, “i know.”
you shook your head, laughing to yourself as he gently tugged you up and towards the door with all the enthusiasm of an overexcited labrador that had just spotted a tennis ball.
somehow, you still weren’t entirely sure how, you’d gone from spending a perfectly cozy night curled up beside your boyfriend on your couch to agreeing to a midnight football lesson because he had taken personal offense to the fact that you didn’t know what a first down was.
only beau maxwell could hear, ‘i don’t really understand football,’ and somehow interpret it as, ‘take me outside immediately.’
you weren’t even surprised anymore.
“come on,” he urged, glancing back over his shoulder with an impatient grin that was far too infectious this time of night, “we’re burning valuable time here.”
“it’s almost midnight.” you snorted as you slipped on your sneakers, “normal people are asleep.”
“well, we’re college students.”
he flashed her a triumphant smile, “i win.”
you rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t quite stop smiling as you stepped into the hallway behind him. most of the doors lining the corridor were closed, the muffled sounds of late-night television or music barely audible through the walls. someone laughed several apartments away before a door clicked shut again, leaving the hallway wrapped in comfortable silence.
beau slowed just enough to fall into step beside you, and without thinking his hand found yours. he never really asked anymore, he just reached out like it was the most natural thing in the world.
his fingers slipped between yours effortlessly, warm and familiar, his thumb once again brushing over the back of your hand as you walked toward the stairwell.
he always did that and you weren’t entirely convinced he even realized it. it was just one of those unconscious habits, like bouncing his knee whenever he sat still too long, or rubbing the back of his neck when he was embarrassed, or smiling so easily it made it impossible for anyone around him to stay in a bad mood.
the thought made you glance sideways at him, and sure enough… he was smiling. it wasn’t his usual smile, this one was brighter, the kind that reached all the way to his eyes. “you’re really excited about this.”
his head snapped toward you, “what?”
“this.” you gestured between them, “the football lesson.”
you raised your brows at him. “okay, maybe a little.” he spoke, his grin returning as he pushed open the heavy door leading outside, holding it open for you with an exaggerated little bow. you laughed and shook your head as you stepped past him.
the cold hit you immediately. late autumn had settled over hastings almost overnight, bringing crisp air that smelled faintly of damp leaves and wood smoke from somewhere off campus. you inhaled sharply, “okay, it is significantly colder than i expected.”
beau looked over, and without a word reached up to adjust the hood of his hoodie you’d thrown on a few minutes earlier, “there.” he pulled the hood slightly over your forehead, “better.”
you looked down at yourself, the hoodie practically swallowed you. the sleeves extended well past your fingertips, and the hem nearly reached your thighs.
you’d always loved stealing his clothes. partly because they smelled like him, partly because they were super comfortable, but mostly because you loved the quiet little smile he’d get every single time he caught you wearing it.
and there it was; tiny, almost smug. “you’ve got that look again.”
“what look.” his eyes flickered back up to yours.
“the one where you’re way too pleased with yourself.”
he looked offended, “i have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“you’ve been smiling at me since i put this on,” you squeezed his hand.
“i smile at you all the time.”
he laughed under his breath, “can i help it if my girlfriend looks cute wearing my clothes?”
you felt warmth creep into your cheeks despite the cold. dating beau was almost unfair. he handed out compliments with such casual sincerity that you were never prepared for them. he didn’t flirt because he wanted a reaction, he flirted because, as far as he was concerned, he was simply stating facts.
you pulled your eyes away from him as you started walking again. without the usual rush of students hurrying between lectures, the brick pathways stretched out almost empty beneath pools of golden lamplight.
the library glowed quietly on the distance. a handful of students were still inside, silhouettes bent over textbooks.
suddenly a girl hurried towards you carrying what looked like three coffees and enough notebooks to qualify as a small workout.
beau instinctively moved you to the inside of the sidewalk as the girl passed. it was such a tiny movement you doubted he noticed he’d done it, but you did.
“you know,” you said after a comfortable stretch of silence, “most people would’ve just explained the rules.”
he looked at her, “and rob you of the experience?”
“nah.” he shook his head, “you need practical application.”
“you can sleep tomorrow.”
you laughed, “i have an eight a.m.”
“and i’m making sacrifices for your education,” he smirked at you.
you bumped you shoulder lightly against his, “you sound like you’re about to charge tuition.”
“oh?” you raised a brow, “what would’ve been the price.”
he pretended to think for a moment, “probably…” he squeezed your hand, “one kiss.”
you stopped walking, “so you’re saying your extorting your own girlfriend.”
“i’m saying education isn’t free.”
you let out a laugh so loud you had to duck your head for a second, hoping you weren’t waking anyone up, “you’re an idiot.”
you reached up and flicked the brim of the briar baseball cap he’d pulled on before you left. he caught your wrist before you could pull it away, “assaulting your teacher already, huh?”
you groaned dramatically, “i hate that you’re enjoying this so much, you’re going to be insufferable.”
“oh yeah, for at least the next hour.”
he looked at you like you’d offended him, “you underestimate my commitment.”
you laughed, god you loved this. not football. not even the ridiculous reason you were outside in the first place. just… walking around campus hand in hand with beau. he had a way of making ordinary moments feel like little adventures.
you glanced over at him again. he was looking ahead toward the athletic complex now, free hand in the pocket of his sweatpants, and his breath visible in faint clouds every time he exhaled. you smiled, “you’re such a dork.”
he laughed bright and easy, the sound echoing across the empty pathway, “i’ll take that.”
“i know you love me,” he teased. however, when you looked up at him and his smile hadn’t faded you didn’t tease back, you admitted quietly, “yeah … i do.”
his grin softened into something gentler. he leaned down just enough to press a quick kiss against your temple without breaking stride. the gesture was over almost before you registered it. it was simple, effortless, and entirely like beau.
“good,” he murmured. his fingers tightened around yours for just a second before relaxing, “‘cause i really love you too.”
neither of you spoke for the rest of the walk, you didn’t need to. the silence settled comfortably between you as the goalposts came into view ahead, beau’s steps picking up with unmistakable excitement.
the gate to the practice field gave a quiet squeak as beau pushed it open. he stepped aside with an exaggerated sweep of his arm, "after you."
you looked through the opening before looking back at him, amusement dancing in your eyes, "i still can't believe we're doing this."
his grin only widened, "i'm more surprised we didn't do it sooner."
shaking your head, you stepped through the gate. the stadium was almost unrecognizable without thousands of students filling the stands.
not the awkward kind of silence that begged to be filled, but the comfortable sort that settled over everything after a long day. the towering bleachers stood empty beneath, rows upon rows of silver benches stretching into the darkness. the scoreboard was blank. no music echoed through the speakers. no whistles cut through the air. the only sounds came from the breeze stirring the trees beyond the stadium and the distant murmur of campus life somewhere outside the gates.
you’d spent dozens of saturdays here, frozen in the student section. cheering until you throat was sore while watching beau play.
yet somehow, standing on the turf itself made the place feel completely different. you slowly turned in a circle, taking everything in. "so ... this is where you spend all your time."
beau glanced around, following your gaze, "pretty much." a faint smile tugged at his mouth, "i like it better when it's empty."
you looked at him, "you do?"
he nodded, both his hands now settled into the pockets of his sweats, "game days are fun." his eyes wandered toward the silent stands. "but this..." he shrugged lightly. "this is when it actually feels like mine."
you weren’t sure why that made you smile. maybe because you rarely got to see this side of him. game-day beau was loud, competitive, constantly moving, but this beau looked almost peaceful.
he glanced toward the equipment shed, “give me one second."
you folded your arms, "that sentence makes me nervous."
he disappeared into the small building beside the field, leaving you standing in the middle of the field. left alone, you wandered a few slow steps, your gaze falling on the student section out of habit.
you could practically picture yourself sitting somewhere near the middle, wrapped in blankets while complaining about the cold to whichever friend had come with you that week.
only now, replaying those memories, you couldn't help but laugh to yourself. because, apparently you’d spent an entire football season tracking one person instead of the game. every play had started and ended with finding him. the realization was almost embarrassing. almost.
the equipment room door opened again. you turned to find beau walking back across the field with a football tucked beneath one arm, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
you smiled, "you definitely weren't supposed to take that."
his smile was suspiciously innocent, "i prefer the word borrow."
you laughed, shaking your head. as he reached you, he tossed the football lightly in your direction. you caught it against your chest with a soft grunt, tightening your grip before it could slip through your hands. your eyebrows rose, "oh."
"it's heavier than i expected.”
beau smiled to himself, "most people say that."
you turned the football over in your hands, feeling the rough leather beneath your fingertips. "i don't know..." you frowned thoughtfully, "i just expected it to feel ... fluffier."
his laugh escaped before he could stop it, "fluffier?"
“it just feels..." you searched for the word, "...solid."
"i think that's the idea."
you narrowed her eyes, "are you making fun of me?"
"alright." you looked up expectantly, "teach me."
his eyes immediately dropped to the football, then to the way you were holding it. he paused and a smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. "...okay."
something in his tone made you instinctively glance down at the ball, “what is it?"
"we've got a little work to do."
you looked between him and the football. "...that bad?"
"i've seen worse." he tilted his head thoughtfully, "...not by much, though"
you gasped dramatically, "i've been holding this thing for thirty seconds!"
he stepped toward you, his teasing smile softening as he closed the distance between you.
you’d noticed that about him months ago; the way he seemed to shift whenever he was teaching someone something. his shoulders relaxed, his voice lowered, and his playful sarcasm gave way to quiet encouragement without him ever seeming to realize he was doing it.
coach beau. you liked coach beau.
he reached toward the football, “can i?"
you looked up, caught off guard by the question. he didn't need permission, not really. but he waited anyway.
you smiled, "you always ask."
one of his shoulders lifted in an easy shrug. something warm settled quietly in your chest. that was beau; thoughtful in all the little ways that most people never noticed.
he rested one hand lightly over yours, careful not to pull the football away. instead, he simply turned it until the white laces faced upward, "there."
his thumb brushed lightly across them, "these are the laces."
you tilted her head, “the stitches."
he looked at you, "they're called laces."
"they're stitched onto the football, though."
"they're still called laces."
a laugh escaped him, quiet enough that it barely disturbed the silence around them, "i can already tell this is going to become a recurring argument."
you smiled sweetly, "i could just keep calling them stitches."
he shook his head with a grin, "i walked right into that." slowly, he adjusted the football in her hands, “you don't have to squeeze it so hard."
his eyebrows lifted and you glanced down "...okay maybe a little."
"i promise it isn't going anywhere," he carefully repositioned your fingers, making tiny adjustments one at a time instead of moving your whole hand.
"this finger rests here," his thumb nudged yours gently. "these fingers sit across the laces." he paused after every correction, giving you a second to get used to it before making another. you weren’t sure you’d ever seen someone so patient. it suited him.
"there." he smiled to himself, “better already."
you weren’t looking at the football anymore, your eyes had flickered up to him instead. at the tiny crease between his eyebrows whenever he concentrated, the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw, the way his bottom lip disappeared between his teeth every few seconds without him realizing it.
"...you're doing it again."
his eyes lifted to yours, “staring."
heat rushed to your cheeks, "i was listening."
you looked down at the football, then back at him, "...hold it?"
his laugh was softer this time, "i appreciate the confidence."
you smiled sheepishly, "i got distracted."
"so i noticed," without thinking, he reached up and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, the back of his fingers brushing your cheek.
for a second, neither of you moved. the stadium seemed impossibly quiet around you; a cold breeze swept gently across the empty field, and somewhere beyond the stands, a car door slammed shut. everything else faded into the background.
it was just the two of you; standing a little too close and smiling a little too much.
finally, beau cleared his throat and took a deliberate step backward, putting a few feet between you again, “right.” he pointed at the football in her hands, “lesson first.”
you smiled to herself, adjusting your grip, “…probably a good idea.”
he took a small step backward, giving you room to breathe, "okay." he pointed toward her feet, "let's fix your stance."
you looked down obediently, "my stance?"
"mhm, feet about shoulder-width apart."
you shifted awkwardly, "like this?"
you adjusted again, and he nodded once, "perfect." then, almost as an afterthought, he gently nudged the toe of one your sneakers half an inch with his own, "there."
you looked up at him, "you seem very invested."
he smiled, “in giving you a fighting chance."
you laughed, tightening you grip on the football, "alright." you took a slow breath, "i think I'm ready."
beau took several steps backward until a comfortable distance separated you. he didn't fold his arms or bark instructions. he simply stood there, hands now resting on his hips, smiling at you with complete confidence, "don't worry about throwing it far."
"i don't care how far it goes" his voice was gentle now, "i just want you to get comfortable with it first."
something about the way he said it loosened the knot of nerves you’d been carrying since you’d stepped onto the field.
he wasn't expecting you to be good. he was just happy to be here and spend time with you. a smile played on his lips, "you've got this."
he shrugged easily, "then fake confidence."
you huffed out a laugh, "that's terrible advice."
"it's gotten me surprisingly far."
you rolled her eyes before you planted your feet the way he'd shown you. taking a slow breath, you drew you arm back. for one brief, hopeful second, everything felt right, but then the football left your hand.
the nose dipped almost immediately. instead of cutting cleanly through the air, it wobbled, tipped sideways and drifted off course before bouncing harmlessly across the turf several yards to beau's left.
silence settled over the field as you stared after it, "...well."
beau hadn't moved, but his head was bowed slightly, one hand pressed over his mouth and his shoulders gave one suspicious shake.
you narrowed her eyes, "don't."
he looked up immediately, "i'm trying."
he really was, you could see it. his lips were pressed together so tightly they'd almost disappeared, and his eyes had started watering from the effort of holding in a laugh.
for two whole seconds, he managed it. then one escaped. it wasn’t loud, or mocking. just a single helpless burst of laughter that broke whatever composure he'd been clinging to. "i'm sorry," he said, already shaking his head. "i really am."
you folded you arms, doing your best to look offended, "you were supposed to be supportive."
"i am supportive," he looked up at her, still smiling despite himself.
you held the glare for another second before the corners of your own mouth betrayed you. his laugh had always been contagious; you never stood a chance.
by the time beau returned with the football, you were both smiling. he rolled the ball between his palms before offering it back to you, "the good news?"
she accepted it cautiously, "what is it?"
"that looked exactly like a first throw."
you frowned, "...you're lying."
he shook his head, "really, you're doing fine." there wasn't an ounce of teasing in his voice now.
you looked down at the football again, "i think i panicked."
he stepped back into your space, not close enough to overwhelm you, but just enough to see what you were doing, "you rushed it."
his hand settled lightly against your forearm, guiding it back into position before dropping away again, "you were thinking about throwing it hard."
"you don't need to," he tapped the side of the football with one finger. "forget about distance." he met your eyes, "just throw it to me."
something about the simplicity of that made your shoulders loosen. there wasn't a need to score, no crowd watching, no pressure to impress him. he believed you’d get it eventually; there wasn't the slightest hint of doubt in him.
so, you reset your feet and adjusted your grip. this time, instead of worrying about every tiny thing that could possibly go wrong, you focused on one thing. him.
beau stood several yards away again, hands resting loosely at his sides, watching you with that same easy confidence he’d had since you’d stepped onto the field. “whenever you’re ready!” he called.
you nodded once before throwing. the football left your hand and for a split second, you braced yourself for spectacular failure.
instead, it cut clean through the air. it wasn’t perfect; it dipped slightly toward the end, but it flew straight.
beau’s eyes widened as he took a step forward before the football landed neatly against his chest. for a heartbeat, he simply stared down at it. then his head snapped back up and his face lit up so quickly it was almost comical, “babe!” his voice echoed over the field, “did you see that?!”
you blinked, “i think so?”
“you think so?” he laughed in disbelief, “that was awesome!”
before you could respond, he was already running toward you. the biggest grin you’d ever seen stretched across his face as he crossed the distance between you in seconds, “you did it!”
“i mean—” you didn’t have time to finish your sentence before he reached you. without thinking, he dropped the ball and wrapped an arm around your waist, lifting you clean off the ground. a surprised squeal escaped you as the world spun, “beau!”
he laughed, a bright, unrestrained sound that bounced off the empty bleachers, as he spun you in a quick circle before setting you back on your feet.
the moment your sneakers touched the turf again, he steadied you instinctively, both hands still resting at your waist. for a second, neither of them moved.
you looked up at him, breathless from laughing, “…i threw a football.”
he looked genuinely amazed, “you threw a football!”
you couldn’t stop laughing, “it wasn’t even that good.”
“what are you talking about?”his eyebrows shot up, “it got to me.”
“it got there,” he shrugged as though that settled the matter entirely. “that’s progress.”
you looked at him for a long moment. his cheeks were flushed from the cold, his hair had escaped from beneath his cap, and he was smiling at you like you’d just accomplished something extraordinary instead of managing one decent throw.
the realization made your chest ache in the nicest possible way. no one had ever celebrated you quite like beau did. and it wasn’t because you’d done something impossible. it was simply because you were trying.
“you know…” you said softly.
“i think you’re more excited than i am.”
he considered that for all of half a second, “i definitely am.”
his hands were still resting lightly against your sides, “so…” his grin was still playing on his lips, “again?”
you looked down at the football that was on the ground next to you, then back at him and the excitement practically radiating off him. he looked so absurdly happy over something so small. how could you possibly say no?
“again,” you confirmed with a smile.
his grin somehow widened as he placed a chaste kiss against your lips before grabbing the football, tossing it to you once more and backing away across the field, already raising his hands to catch.
“alright, quarterback,” he called, unable to hide the excitement in his voice. “let’s see another one!”
you rolled your eyes affectionately, laughing as you settled the football into your hands.
maybe you’d never love football the way beau did. but standing beneath the stadium lights with him, long after midnight, you had a feeling these lessons were going to become one of your favorite memories.
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