Meilin's POV
I didn't mean to cheer.
I really didn't. But when Theo scored the final goal—fast and ruthless, his jersey sticking to him, jaw clenched like some kind of beautiful villain—I screamed louder than I've ever screamed in my life.
The crowd went wild. Everyone surged forward, the chants, the yelling, the chaos of college sports madness exploding like fireworks. People were hugging, jumping, throwing things in the air.
I stood frozen at the edge of the field, completely dazed, heart pounding.
And then I saw him.
Theo Ashford.
Running.
Straight. For. Me.
"Theo?" I blinked. "Wait—"
He didn't stop. He grabbed my wrist and yanked me forward—onto the field—dragging me through the crowd like I belonged beside him.
"What are you doing—?!"
We were in the center of it all now, people staring, phones already out, the air thick with sweat and confetti and disbelief.
"You promised you'd stay," he said, panting, grinning like a devil. "So I had to win."
"Theo—"
And then?
He pulled me closer. Arm around my waist. In front of everyone. Cameras flashing. People shouting.
"You're mine after this, sunshine," he whispered, lips brushing the shell of my ear. "Better get used to it."
I swore my knees gave out a little.
Some girl nearby gasped. Another muttered, "Is that the girl from the cigarette video?"
Someone shouted, "IT'S MATCHING GIRL!"
And then Austin appeared, sweaty and smug.
"Dude," he said to Theo, "you really had to drag her onto the pitch? You're unbelievable."
Theo just smirked and said, "She's my good luck charm."
My cheeks burned.
Ava, from the sidelines, was practically screaming with laughter.
"Oh my god, Meilin. You're the main character right now."
I wanted to melt.
But a part of me—some crazy, stupid, fluttering part of me—was smiling too.