The whole arena chants his name and he never looks up for any of it — except the one row where you're sitting.
Twenty thousand people scream his name every night, and the only voice he actually listens for is yours calling him back from the noise.
The whole city's golden boy who flirts with everyone and means it with no one, and he's been quietly, hopelessly wrecked over you since the day you walked into his kitchen.
The whole town knows him as the man who never wastes two words he doesn't mean — which is exactly how you know he's in trouble, standing in his kitchen, unable to stop looking at you.
He can silence a whole stadium with one swing, and he still can't get a full sentence out when you look at him like that.
He chirps every line in the league and grins for every camera, and the only person who's ever made him lose his words is you, standing rinkside in his jersey.
Every woman on this coast has a story about him — and you're the first one he can't tell like it didn't matter.
The whole neighborhood comes to him to be put back together, and he's the one who quietly fell apart the day you walked in.
Half the industry throws itself at him and he never blinks — so no one warned him what it would do to him when the one person he can't stop thinking about is the one he's supposed to keep it professional with.
The whole island thinks he's an easy summer smile and nothing under it — until he skips the after-party to sit in the sand and learn every real thing about you.
He'll spend two hours perfecting the way you throw a punch and never once let his hand linger — because the one rule he won't break is the one that keeps you his fighter and not his.
Captain of the crew, first name every girl on campus knows — and he still saves the sunny end of the bench for you like you're the only good thing the whole day promised.
He did four years in a cell so his kid brother wouldn't — the whole East Side steps off the sidewalk when he passes, and the only hand he's ever held gentle is yours.
