My Quarterback Boyfriend Cheated With a Cheerleader

"Holy shit," Chloe blurted, dropping her mascara wand onto the vanity. "Who are you and what did you do with my roommate?"

I ran my fingers through the clean layers framing my jaw. Four hours at the salon took care of the dull split ends, cutting away months of neglect. In place of the oversized Westbridge football fleece, I wore a ribbed sapphire knit dress that skimmed down to my mid-thigh.

"I got tired of living in laundry piles," I said, checking my reflection.

"Well, keep getting tired of it. You look insane."

Downstairs, Chase stood by the brick pillars of the dorm entrance, scrolling on his phone. When the front door swung open, his head snapped up.

He didn't move. His gaze traveled down the blue wool, lingered on the line of my bare legs, and climbed back up to my face. A full five seconds ticked past before his jaw reset.

"Jesus, babe." He stepped forward, catching me around the waist and hauling me hard against his chest. "Where have you been hiding this version of you?"

A bitter taste coated my tongue. I rested my palms flat on his chest, smiling up at him.

"Right here," I answered. "You just stopped looking."

"Never." Chase bent down, pressing his lips to the corner of my mouth. His hands gripped my hips firmly. "Trust me, Carter. I never stopped looking."

Liar.

"What time is your position meeting tonight?" I asked, winding a hand around his neck.

"Six sharp. Quarterbacks and receivers."

"Can I come sit in the back? I haven't watched you run through plays since camp."

The easy heat in his expression vanished. His fingers twitched against my waist. "To film? Coach would throw a fit. You know how strict he is with scheme secrecy this week."

"Right. Schemes." I kept my voice light, innocent. "What about the alumni mixer on Saturday? You're bringing me, right?"

Chase’s eyes darted past my shoulder toward the quad. "The alumni thing? Sloane, it's just a bunch of fifty-year-old boosters talking about tax write-offs. You'd be miserable for three hours."

"I don't mind. I like watching you work a room." I ran a nail along his collarbone. "Unless you don't want me there?"

"No! That's not it." His shoulders tightened under his leather jacket. "Just didn't want you stuck standing by the punch bowl while I kiss donor ass."

"Then I'll just wait by the lockers after practice," I said sweetly. "We can walk over together."

A muscle jumped near his temple. He was trapped, and we both knew it.

"Actually," I added, stepping back slightly, "my parents called this morning."

That caught him. "What did they want?"

"Dad's firm had a great quarter. They're thinking about helping me put twenty percent down on a starter condo after graduation. Somewhere near wherever I take an internship." I tilted my head, studying his face. "If we end up getting married after your rookie deal, what kind of place do you want? Downtown high-rise or something with a yard?"

The shift was instantaneous. The evasive boy disappeared, replaced by the calculating team captain who loved guarantees.

His eyes locked onto mine with total intensity. "A yard, definitely. We need space for a golden retriever. And three bedrooms minimum so my brother can crash when he visits." He pulled me back into him, entirely focused now. "Forget what I said about Saturday. You're coming to the mixer. Wear that exact dress. I want everyone in the athletic department to see who's on my arm."

My smile remained flawless.

He wanted Brielle in secret behind the sheds. But he wanted me—and my family's money, and my six years of loyalty—for his future.

***

The alumni ballroom at the campus hotel was suffocatingly warm. Brass chandeliers cast a golden haze over linen-draped cocktail tables, heavy floral centerpieces, and two hundred boosters, players, and athletic staff.

The moment the double doors swung open, half the room glanced our way.

"Yo, Bennett!" Marcus, our starting tight end, shouted over the jazz trio playing near the bar. "Look at you! Chase's girl is finally out of the library!"

Chase hooked his arm around my waist, his chest swelling as he pulled me into his side. "Shut up, Marcus. You know my girlfriend, Sloane."

Ten feet away, by the row of silver beverage urns, Brielle Hayes stopped talking mid-sentence.

She wore a tight white bandage dress, her blonde hair gleaming under the chandelier lights. The glass in her hand wobbled slightly before she recovered, the wide smile on her face stiffening for a fraction of a second.

Chase felt me step forward. His grip on my hip tightened to a clamp. "Where are you going?"

"To get a drink," I said, sliding out of his hold before he could protest.

I walked straight across the parquet floor toward the drink station. Brielle watched me approach, her hazel eyes flicking from my hair down to the blue dress, evaluating every inch.

"Hey," I said, offering a warm, effortless smile. "Brielle, right?"

She blinked, startled. "Yeah. Hi!"

"I saw the highlights from last weekend's routine," I said, picking up two flutes of sparkling cider from the tray. "The toss extension on the sideline was flawless. Must take insane core strength."

I handed her one of the flutes.

Brielle took it, looking completely disarmed. A pink flush crept up her neck. "Oh... thank you! That's so sweet of you to say. You're Sloane, right? Chase's..."

"Girlfriend," I supplied with a smooth nod. "Six years. You're on the cheer squad, so I'm sure you see him around the facility all the time."

"All the time," she echoed, her voice turning high and syrupy. "He's... great. A real leader."

Chase appeared at my elbow, smelling of cologne and sharp sweat. His jaw was clenched so hard I could see the bone pressing against his skin. "Sloane, Coach wants to say hello."

"Go ahead," Brielle said, offering a tight, sweet smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Don't let me keep you."

"Nice talking to you, Brielle," I said, sipping my cider.

For the next forty minutes, I played the dutiful partner. I smiled at wealthy alumni, thanked boosters for funding the athletic center, and laughed at bad football jokes.

But my eyes never stopped tracking Chase.

Even while he shook hands with athletic directors, his attention drifted. Every few minutes, his gaze darted over the crowd, cutting through the clusters of dark suits until it found Brielle standing by the patio doors.

He didn't just sleep with her.

He watched her the way he used to watch me across the high school bleachers—hungry, nervous, completely hooked.

The realization hit like a fist beneath the ribs. The physical cheating had made me angry. This—this raw, undeniable infatuation—made something inside my chest turn to ash.

I set my empty flute on a passing waiter's tray. "I need some air."

"Wait, Sloane—" Chase started, but an older booster grabbed his shoulder to talk about third-quarter field position.

I turned toward the glass exit doors, needing to clear the fog out of my head, when someone nearly bumped into me.

"Watch it—oh. Hey."

Noah Whitmore stepped back, catching my elbow to steady me. Instead of athletic gear, he wore a clean black button-down with the sleeves cuffed to his forearms.

"Noah?" I asked, blinking. "What are you doing here?"

"Roommate’s on the track squad," he said, offering a faint, self-deprecating grin. "He dragged me along for the free prime rib."

A genuine laugh broke out of me. "The prime rib is overcooked."

"Tragic. Guess I'm sticking to the dessert table." He tilted his head, his eyes sweeping over the blue dress with quiet appreciation. "You look... different from Environmental Policy."

"Good different or bad different?"

"Definitely good."

A sharp chuckle left my lips. "Thanks. I needed that tonight."

Noah was about to say something else when the space beside me went cold.

Chase stood three feet away, his chest heaving as if he’d just sprinted a fifty-yard dash. His knuckles were white against his slacks.

"Sloane," Chase snapped, his tone dangerously rough. "We're leaving."

Noah looked between the two of us, his expression shutting down into that guarded neutrality he wore in class. "I'll let you guys go. See you in lecture, Sloane."

"See you, Noah."

Chase didn't wait. He seized my wrist and pulled me toward the coat check, dragging me out into the crisp autumn wind.

"Who the hell was that?" he demanded the second the double doors shut behind us.

I looked at him in the dim glow of the exterior streetlights. The absurdity of it made my lips twitch. "A classmate. Why? Are you jealous?"

"I don't get jealous," he shot back, his face stormy. "You don't need random guys hovering over you at an athletic event."

"He wasn't hovering, Chase. He was saying hello."

He didn't answer. Instead, he wrapped a possessive arm around my waist, holding me so tightly against his side that it bordered on painful all the way back to my dorm.

***

By midnight, the dorm was silent. Chloe’s rhythmic breathing filled the room.

I sat on my mattress with my laptop balanced on my knees. I refreshed the inbox of @WestbridgeConfessions.

A new submission was waiting.

*Some girls really don’t know when a relationship is already dead. Stop clinging to high school.*

The sender ID was Brielle Hayes’s burner account.

I looked at the words. A month ago, this would have destroyed me. Tonight, it barely stirred my pulse.

I didn't delete it.

I clicked *Approve*, hit *POST*, and watched the confession go live to twenty thousand students. Throw your bomb, Brielle. Let's see who burns first.

A ping vibrated against my knee.

A text from Noah: *Hey. When are we starting the field study data for the project? Let me know your schedule.*

Before I could type an answer, another message slid into the @WestbridgeConfessions inbox from Brielle:

*He promised he’ll dump his girlfriend after the season. I just have to wait.*

Right on top of it, a banner popped up on my phone's home screen.

Chase: *Love you. Sleep tight, babe. ❤️*

I sat in the glow of the screen. Two men. Two women. A tangled knot of lies, contracts, and promises.

My hands didn't shake. I took a clean screenshot of Brielle’s confession, dragged the image file into *GAME ON*, and locked the folder.

Then I opened Noah’s text thread.

*Coffee tomorrow?* I sent.