Dale Denton | The Legacy | Rookie Year

[The JZA]

3 picks and a win > 0 picks and a loss

djp73, My guy gets me! At least they were end zone picks which they couldn't walk back.

Dale struggled but you got this against the Trojans.

James, Man's said he struggled like he didn't throw for over 400 yards on a +70% completion with 4 touchdowns in a single game, plus a school record

[Soapy]

we lost to florida

Dale was too amped up to beat his old team and needed to get bailed out

a trend is developing here

[The JZA]

Chapter XIII: Two Girls, One Dale Pt.1 (Whirlpool)

Final prep was in motion. The clock was ticking, each second pounding in Dale’s chest like a drumline in a stadium tunnel. His body ached in ways only January football could deliver—thighs burning, shoulders bruised from a week of hard contact, knuckles split and raw from too many snaps under the bright, unblinking lights of the weight room. Still, he wasn’t easing up. First one on the field, last one out of the gym. The air outside bit cold, but sweat still steamed off his skin while most of the squad was already home, feet up.

No excuses. No shortcuts. If there was a stone left unturned, it sure as hell wasn’t going to be his. Not now, not with everything riding on one last game.

That fire had been chewing at him for days, feeding on every quiet moment. Coaches noticed—hell, even the trainers were shaking their heads. While teammates spent their rest day lounging with their girls, streaming games, or killing time in the dorms, Dale was locked away in his room, laptop open, headphones on, drowning himself in tape.

USC wasn’t some mystery opponent—he’d banged helmets with the Trojans before—but this wasn’t just another game. This was the national championship. This was legacy. And he knew Kameryn Fountain, their senior edge rusher, was licking his chops, ready to plant Dale in the turf. But Kameryn wasn’t the only name circled on the scouting sheet. The real danger came from mistakes—those lingering ghosts from the Notre Dame game. Three ugly picks. Sloppy reads. Points left on the table. He’d gotten away with it then. He wouldn’t now.

So he worked. Every snap from USC’s last month of football, rewound, slowed down, studied until his eyes burned. He picked apart blitz packages, read linebackers’ weight shifts, memorized the twitch in a corner’s stance before a press. Zone. Man. Spy. Empty box. Press coverage. Disguises that vanished once the ball was live.

Three names glowed in his mind like neon: Desman Stephens II. Jaydyn Walker. Ta’mere Robinson. Problem after problem. Desman, especially—Dale still remembered the smirk behind that facemask, the way he’d slipped through the line last time, untouched, and introduced Dale’s ribs to the turf.

That memory wasn’t fear. It was fuel.

A few minutes short of two hours deep into the grind, a knock clipped through his concentration.

“Come in.”

The door swung and there was Clarissa.

“Oh my god, you’re still at it?” she said, stepping inside. “I left here, what, almost three hours ago? You were just getting started then.”

She was dressed casual, but her casual was still calculated. Black skinnies, black-and-white Chucks, pink cropped hoodie riding high on her waist. Blonde hair in half-braids pulled back into a ponytail, a small link of stars tattooed behind her right ear catching the light when she moved. Minimal makeup — just enough contour, black eyeliner, a brush of mascara. Pretty without trying too hard. The black framed glasses she wore gave her the hot blonde coming out of the closet with shitty parents who turned to becoming a kindergarten teacher or therapist to mask her own stressful world. Either that or the quiet girl in class who would later blow up on the internet with a "link in bio", for discovery purposes.

Either way, she was subtle eye candy.

In her hands was a tray with two paper cups and a white plastic bag from the corner spot.

“This stuff takes time,” Dale said, eyes still on the screen. “Plus, this game’s serious.”

“I know it is, Dale. Just… don’t cook your brain like you did cramming for grades for mid terms” She set the tray down on his desk and pushed a cup toward him.

“Thanks. What’s this?”

“Cinnamon and ginger tea. You forgot already?”

The second the lid cracked, steam hit his face — fresh mint, warm lemon-spices. Calmed him without asking for permission.

“The good stuff,” he smirked. “Told my mom about it. Put her on. She loves you for it.”

“I'm happy to hear that, glad to spread the joy,” she said, managing a small smile. “I take it your mom’s still back in New York?”

“Yeah. Pops is in South Carolina.”

“Damn. You’re a long way from home. Thought maybe your folks moved out here with you.”

“Nah. Just me. Football… and school.”

She gave him that side-smile that meant she wasn’t buying the neat package he was selling. “Uh-huh. Sure.”

She slid a hot Italian sub his way. Fully loaded — pepperoni, salami, lettuce, tomatoes, banana peppers, the works.

“What’s with the whole ass lunch?” Dale asked, raising a brow.

“Nothing. Figured I’d come back and hang out with you. I brought food, thinking you're done, but apparently not.”

He stared at her like she’d just offered him a stack of hundreds.

“What?” she asked, already unwrapping her own sandwich.

“You want something. Ain’t nobody ever treated me to lunch just to be nice. What’s the damage?”

She chewed slow, eyes flicking away, trying not to look like a front. “No catch, Dale. Just take the break. I thought we were cool.”

“We are… just throwing me off a little.”

“Relax. I treat my friends sometimes. You ain’t the only hoe in my stable.” She grinned.

He laughed through a bite. “Funny. So who you dressed up for? That hoodie ain’t hiding the glow-up.”

“Thank you for noticing. I got dolled up for your cute self.”

He froze mid-chew. “See, now you scheming. Chill with all that.”

Her grin widened. “Alright, I’ll stop.”

But he could feel it. This wasn’t the first time she’d thrown those jabs. He just never called her on it. Something was brewing there, intentional or not.

Her eyes slid to the laptop, to the frozen frame of USC’s corner blitz on the screen. “So how are you feeling about your chances in this game coming up? Third time’s the charm for both sides.”

That one landed right in his gut. Huskies had already stripped USC twice this season — first in the regular season, then again in the conference championship — but this one was different. This was the big one. No reset button. No tomorrow.

“Can’t lie,” Dale said, leaning back in his chair, fingers drumming against his thigh. “This one’s got me on edge. But I can’t let it get in my head. Not like I was before the Penn State game.”

She cocked her head, sandwich halfway to her mouth. “Why’s this one got you shook?”

He let out a breath, eyes still glued to the replay. “’Cause I’ve been here before. Only back then, I wasn’t the one under the lights. I was just another dude in pads, watching somebody else carry the weight. Now it’s me. My name. My jersey. Either we claim it, or it’s déjà vu and the boogeyman’s back, tapping me on the shoulder.”

“You talk to Coach Danielson about it?”

Dale shook his head. “Not like that. He’s been doing most of the talking. First big one for him, too. He’s playing it cool, but I can tell it’s burning him up.”

Coach Spencer Danielson spent the majority of his coaching career at Boise State. Working his way up the ranks, he's been named 2024 Coach of the Year and is a 2-time Mountain West champion. But with no bowl wins of deep playoff runs to his name, Dale had somewhat more experience on the road traveled to the big stage, at least vicariously.

She nodded, chewing on that thought. “I hope you win, Dale. I’ve seen you work. On the field, in here. Even when you’re clowning with your teammates, you’re still working. I like that about you.”

“Appreciate it. I hope we get it too. I don’t want to spend my whole college career chasing a natty. But even if we do win, I can’t get comfy.”

"Was this not fun? Living out your dream as a college athlete?"

“It is… kinda. But it’s more work than people think. More proving I belong than just growing into my role. And the fame on campus? That’s a whole different weight. I just want to get that ‘big one’ out the way. Otherwise, what am I even here for?”

The room went quiet. There was something in her eyes now. Something softer. She started to low-key admire Dale. She liked his go-getter mindset, even if he didn't throw caution in the wind, it just showed her that he was grounded with a little fear. In her eyes, Dale was filling the gap between her and her boyfriend at Washington State, whether she knew it or not. Unintentional or not, the cog was in motion.

“You coming to the National?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No. I’ll be with my boyfriend that weekend. Got Monday and Tuesday off, so I’m driving out to see him.”

“Oh…” He said it flat, but she felt the sting more than he did.

“But I’ll be watching. In spirit, I’m there. I want you to win this for us, Dale.”

He smirked and nudged her arm. "No doubt. I’m giving this one everything I got. First touchdown is for you since you bought me this hoagie."

Later on, Dale walked her to the door, the hallway light spilling in like it was trying to bleach the weight off the air. She slung her tote bag over her shoulder, gave him one of those quick, polite hugs — the kind that doesn’t linger, but says more than it should — and slipped out. He stood there for a beat, staring at the empty space she left, the smell of her perfume still hanging around. That “boyfriend” line was still chewing at the back of his head, but he stuffed it down, buried it under the same steel he used to take hits from 280-pound ends.

The hall outside was quiet except for the hum of the vending machine. He made his way back into his room, killing the light. Laptop still open, still paused on USC’s blitz. He hit play, watching the cornerback shoot the gap, watching himself roll out and make the throw. The play worked in the clip, but that was film. This Monday? No safety net.

He leaned forward, elbows on knees, eyes narrowing at the screen. “Everything I got,” he murmured to himself. “Everything.”

And he meant it. Tonight wasn’t about her, or who she was going home to. It wasn’t about the noise on campus or the media salivating over a “threequel" since the BCS days. It was about 60 minutes under the lights, proving to the country — and maybe himself — that he belonged among the all-time greats that claimed a Heisman trophy.

Clarissa stepped out into the crisp January air, the kind that bit at her nose but still felt fresher than anything inside. Her boots crunched against the thin frost that had crept over the parking lot overnight. The streetlamps above hummed low, their glow casting halos in the winter haze. She pulled her pea coat tighter around her, free hand already fishing into her pocket.

Her phone lit up before she even touched it — a single notification pulsing against the dark screen. His name.

Her boyfriend, Winston.

She froze for a heartbeat, thumb hovering just shy of the green icon. For a second, she thought about letting it ring out, just slipping into her car, driving off, no explanation. But habit won out. It always did. She hit answer, pressing the phone to her ear, her voice flipping instantly into that gentle, sugar-laced tone he liked. It wasn’t a lie, exactly — just a mask she’d worn so long it fit without trying.

“Mmhmm… yeah, I’m just leaving now.”

Her eyes drifted past the rows of parked cars, up toward the far end of the lot where the street broke open and the city lights glittered like a different world. She could still hear Dale’s voice in her head, low and certain, the words riding shotgun in her thoughts: "No doubt. I’m giving this one everything I got. First touchdown is for you since you bought me this hoagie."

She caught herself smiling, lips curving before she even realized. She turned away from the wind, tucking her chin into her scarf as if that could hide it — from him on the line, from herself. The voice on the other end was talking, but she wasn’t really hearing. She told herself it was just because she liked the game, liked the energy.

She’d always been one to root for the home team.

But as her breath rose in soft clouds in the cold night air, she knew — in that quiet, unspoken way people sometimes know things they don’t want to admit — it wasn’t just that.

[The JZA]

we lost to florida

Dale was too amped up to beat his old team and needed to get bailed out

a trend is developing here

Soapy, I don't think I like what you're implying. The media shan't get wind of this

[The JZA]

[The JZA]

[The JZA]

Chapter XIV: Two Girls, One Dale Pt.2 (State of Grace)

The kid from Harlem, to the Carolinas and all the way to the North Pacific. The Showboater. The one they said was too raw, too cocky, too stubborn to be molded into a program man. The one who carried every block he’d ever walked on his back like extra weight in the weight room. Now he was on top of the world — or at least the part of it that was lit up in gold and purple confetti — standing tall under the Superdome lights in New Orleans.

The Washington Huskies had just put the USC Trojans down for the third time that season. Not just a win — the win. 2027 national championship, sealed in blood, sweat, and clock time.

34 - 3.

The air was electric. The kind of electric that hits your chest like bass in a club. The crowd was a wave of sound, one that didn’t crash so much as roar, over and over, until your ears rang. Confetti steadied raining, spraying gold and purple over the field like blessings from the football gods. Everyone and their mama swarmed the field, from the media crews to the event handlers. Nearly every patch of the center field was shrouded in jerseys, business attire and reflective vests. Cameras were flashing in every direction, making the field look like a lightning storm. Teammates hugged, cried, screamed into microphones. Helmets were still in hands, sweat still fresh, but it didn’t matter. Right now, it was all love.

Dale stood there, helmet tucked under his arm, looking around at the chaos like he was watching somebody else’s dream. Everything he had worked for since he first picked up a ball on a cracked Harlem playground… every morning session before the sun came up, every hit that left his ribs sore for days, every coach who doubted him… it was all here.

He wasn’t just the Heisman trophy winner. He wasn’t just the kid who had stacked up awards like poker chips this season. Now he could say it for real: national champion.

“DALE!!”

Ezekiel Ragas came flying into his peripheral like a missile, shoving Dale so hard he had to catch himself with a back step. His boy was screaming at the top of his lungs, voice hoarse but still cutting through the noise.

“WE DID IT!! WE FUCKING DID IT BRO!!”

Dale’s grin was pure Harlem — cocky, wide, and real. Those words had haunted him before, specifically back in South Carolina, but hearing Zeke say it, feeling it… that’s when it hit different.

“Yeah, we did, Zeke,” Dale said, voice steady but eyes glassy. “We’re champions, bro. We’re here.”

His gaze tilted upward toward the dome’s rafters, past the lights, past the haze. Somewhere beyond the steel and glass was a sky he couldn’t see, and somewhere in that sky was Amani.

“And this one’s for you, Amani…” he murmured.

Coach Danielson appeared from the left, cutting through the media swarm. His face was red from yelling, eyes shining in a way that didn’t match the grit in his jaw.

“Dale! Dale! I’m so proud of you, kid!” he barked, voice carrying the way it did in the locker room. “I don't know how you just waltz in here and pull this off. We wouldn’t have done this without you! Hell of a job well done!”

Dale shook his head quick, not letting the praise settle on him alone.

“Nah, Coach. You got us here. We played the plays, but you called the right ones. You trained us to near perfection. You made sure everyone crossed their T's and dot their I's. We trusted you for that. So thank you.” Coach took that in, lips pressed tight, and then yanked Dale into the kind of hug men in football give each other — one arm around the shoulder, the other slapping the back like it’s a drum. It was quick, but it meant everything.

The post-game podium was already in place, a bright island in the middle of the storm. Rece Davis had the mic, the trophy gleaming beside him. The Huskies gathered front and center, jerseys stained with turf and sweat, but dressed up in championship shirts, grinning like kids on Christmas morning.

“First off, on behalf of everyone, I want to thank the USC Trojans for putting on a war here tonight." Rece Davis' voiced boomed. "They've given us an epic trilogy this season, but the Washington Huskies have stood firm and tall to call this moment their own as your national champions. Ladies and gentlemen, I like to bring up your Offensive Player of the Game — Dale Denton!”


The place erupted. Dale pushed through the line, teammates slapping his helmet, ruffling his hair, shouting his name like a chant.

Rece stuck the mic under his chin. “Dale, after that incredible performance, you’ve now added your name to an elite list — one of only seventeen collegiate players to win the Heisman trophy and the national championship in the same season. How does it feel to be the latest member of that club?”

Dale’s smile was steady, but the weight of the moment was written all over him.

“Man, I can’t tell you how sweet that feels. It’s amazing. Without the grace of God, my teammates, and everybody who supported us… I wouldn’t be here. And more importantly, we wouldn’t be standing here as your 2027 national champions!”

The team roared behind him, barking like Dawgs.

“We also saw you looking up at the sky before — what was going through your head in that moment?”

Dale swallowed hard. His voice dropped into something raw.

“I was thinking about my bro, Amani. It’s a long story… but he should be here today. And he was. Right by my side, giving me the confidence I needed. I miss him. His family and friends miss him. Anybody from the Toles family watching right now — I did this for him. He will never be forgotten. One time for my brother, homie!”

The tears came fast, but Dale didn’t look away from the camera. He wanted them to see it, to know it was real. Rece nodded, giving him a quick pat before pivoting to the next announcement — Defensive Player of the Game, Zaydrius Rainey-Sale, who had three tackles, one forced fumble and recovered two fumbles on the game. Without question Zay was instrumental in the win.

Dale slid back into the huddle of his teammates, the love hitting him from every direction — pats on the pads, hands pulling him in for half-hugs, voices in his ear telling him he was that dude. This was one box checked. One promise fulfilled. Not for himself, but for the ones who couldn’t be here. And now that weight was off his shoulders, Dale could finally exhale. Finally be himself.

Though the season had ended in New Orleans, the party was just getting started. As the team made their way back home, they held a championship ceremony in their stadium, talking about the game, talking about their honors, receiving their rings and showing off their prized championship title. The moment was finally setting in with the pads off Dale's shoulders. The work was done, at least for now.

After the media blitz, Dale’s world got quiet again — or at least as quiet as it gets when you’re a five-star quarterback walking around campus. The championship glow was still there, but the headlines had faded. The school had officially shifted to gear towards March Madness and spring semester wasn’t gonna wait for him to bask in it. Classes were back in session, papers due, professors talking like football didn’t exist.

Still, Dale carved out his hours — early morning lifts, solo throwing sessions, stretching out the kinks from a season of hits. The D.I.R.T. code Coach Kennedy drilled into him back in high school never left his head: Defend. Inspire. Respect. Trust. And right now he was in Defend mode. The season was over, but spring camp was several weeks away, and the repeat talk was already in the air.

But not today.

Today was for something else — or rather, someone. Addy Benefield. He hadn’t forgotten the raincheck they’d been holding onto since the college playoffs took over his life. Saturday was marked on his mental calendar like a circled play in a game plan.

When she pulled up in her Mercedes-Benz SL500 — gloss black, tan leather that smelled like it had its own passport — Dale had to pause before even opening the door. The way the car purred at idle, it wasn’t just transportation; it was a statement, her statement. She leaned over, one hand on the wheel, nails done, edges laid, giving him that look that said, "Get in before I pull off without you."

Sliding into the seat felt like stepping into a 90's Hip-Hop n' B music video cameo — soft leather wrapping around him, a hint of her perfume mixing with the faint scent of gasoline and winter air. Addy drove like the streets belonged to her. No second-guessing, just clean turns and smooth acceleration, like she’d memorized the city grid years ago. Dale could feel the hum of the engine under his feet, matching the quiet hum in his chest.

First stop: Pike Place Market. Crowds, chatter, the salty tang of Puget Sound drifting in with the cold air. She wove him through stalls like she’d done it a hundred times, pointing out the good vendors, steering past the tourist traps. A quick stop for fresh fruit from a vendor who knew her by name, and they were back out, laughing at some busker who tried to freestyle about Dale’s jacket.

Belltown came next — graffiti walls turned into art galleries, colors so loud they felt like they were shouting. She had stories for each mural, little slices of Seattle he never would’ve gotten from a brochure.

By the pier, they hit a fish and chips spot that looked run-down from the outside but had lines out the door. Grease popping in the back, hot paper trays in hand, they sat on a bench, steam rising into the cold, sharing fries between jokes.

The coffee stop wasn’t Starbucks. “That’s for tourists,” she said, pulling into a cramped little shop with mismatched chairs and an espresso machine older than Dale. She ordered for both of them, no hesitation, and when he took the first sip, he had to admit — she was right.

The last stop of the night was the Space Needle. Dale had seen it a thousand times in pictures, on TV, on Google Street View — but standing at its base, looking up at that steel spine cutting into the sky, it hit different. The glass-front elevator took them up in smooth silence, the city shrinking beneath them in real time. Office lights glowed in the dark like constellations, streets stretching out in straight lines, cars moving like beads of light.

“This is crazy,” Dale said, forehead almost pressed to the glass. “Man, the pictures don’t even come close.”

“I know, right?” Addy said. “They say you only need to do this once, but every time I’m up here, it’s like… the world’s down there and we’re somewhere else.”

Dale caught her smiling in the reflection — that small, unguarded smile that made her look younger, softer. “That smile — reminds me of when we first talked. What’s got you grinning like that?”

“Shut up,” she said, nudging him with her elbow, though her eyes stayed on his for a beat too long. “You thought you were slick that night, huh?”

“Maybe,” Dale said, his grin slow and deliberate. “Did it work?”

She tilted her head, a flash of something in her eyes. “Well… I’m here, aren’t I?”

The elevator kept climbing, the hum of the cables and the faint whoosh of air filling the space between them, but neither looked away. The elevator gave a soft ding, doors sliding open to spill them into the top-level glow. The floor beneath them was smooth, polished, almost too clean — like a place made for first dates and Instagram posts. But the air had a bite to it, thin and crisp this high up, making every breath feel sharper.

They stepped out onto the outer deck, the city unrolling around them like a lit-up map. Bridges stretching out like veins, the Sound looking like a sheet of dark glass, ferries crawling slow as snails. The kind of view that made you feel big and small at the same time.

Addy walked ahead, her coat catching the light from the deck lamps, casting shadows on the floor. Slender, graceful, but with that same walk Dale had clocked the first time he saw her on campus — like she knew every set of eyes was on her but didn’t need to prove a thing.

He caught himself looking. Again.

“Don’t get lost staring,” she said without turning around.

“Ain’t lost,” Dale shot back. “Just appreciating the scenery. All of it.”

That earned him a small turn of the head, lips curling at the edges before she faced forward again. “Uh-huh. Smooth.”

They moved along the deck, the slow rotation giving them a shifting 360 of Seattle. A couple laughed softly nearby, another pair took turns snapping pictures by the glass. Dale and Addy weren’t rushing. They took it in like they had all night.

When they reached the west side, the sun was dragging itself down behind the Olympics, the horizon painted in deep orange and bruised purple. The water caught the last light, throwing it back in broken, trembling streaks.

Dale leaned on the railing, the cold metal biting through his hoodie, eyes flicking between the view and her. She stood a foot away, hands tucked in her coat pockets, hair catching the light just enough to glow at the tips.

“So,” she said finally, eyes still forward, “what happens when the season starts up again?”

“What you mean?”

“I mean… You’re Mr. Big-Time QB now. Interviews, practices, games. You gonna forget about little old me?”

Dale smirked, shaking his head. “First off, ain’t nothing ‘little’ about you, 6-ft Benny. Second, I don’t forget the people I actually care to remember. Besides, you got your volleyball season, hoping I can catch a few games if anything.”

That made her glance over, quick but telling. “Big words,” she said, almost to herself.

“No,” Dale said, stepping a little closer, “just real ones.”

The space between them shrank — not dramatic, just slow enough to feel deliberate. Her perfume was faint, clean, not overpowering, but it wrapped around him anyway.

“You ever think,” Dale said, eyes steady on hers, “some things hit at the right time for a reason?”

Her brow lifted slightly. “You saying this—” she gestured between them “—is one of those things?”

“I’m saying… it could be.”

For a beat, the only sound was the faint creak of the rotating deck and the muffled hum of voices from inside. The air between them felt charged, that thin line where either one could lean in or step back.

She broke it — but not all the way. “You talk a lot for a man with a view like this in front of him.”

Dale grinned, leaning closer just enough so she had to tilt her chin up. “Maybe the view I’m talking about ain’t the skyline.”

She held his gaze a second too long before shaking her head, a small laugh slipping out. “Corny.”

“Maybe. But it got you laughing and smiling.”

They stood there a little longer, both looking out now, though Dale’s eyes kept sliding back to her profile, that small, satisfied smile curving at the corner of her mouth.

“But seriously, you ever think how we get so caught up in the grind, we forget to stop and actually see stuff like this?”

Addy tilted her head, eyes still on the skyline. “Mm-hmm. But you gotta know when to pause. Most people don’t. They run straight past their moment.”

He studied her profile — the way her lashes caught the last hit of sunlight, the small upturn at the corner of her mouth when she was thinking.

“Yeah,” Dale said. “Hate to be one of those people.”

This time she turned to him fully, hands still in her pockets. “And what moment you think you standing in right now?”

Dale didn’t answer right away. He just looked at her, slow, deliberate, like he was making sure he’d remember every detail later. The faint shimmer of lip gloss. That warm, chocolate tone in her eyes. How she never blinked first.

“Right now?” he said finally. “One I ain’t about to rush.”

Her lips parted like she had something to come back with, but nothing came out. Just a small breath that mixed with his in the cool air.

The deck rotated on, bringing the mountains back into view, the skyline sliding off to their left. A soft wind brushed between them, but neither stepped back. Dale slid his hand from the rail, letting it find hers where it was buried in her coat pocket. Warmth met warmth. Her fingers curled around his almost instantly.

“You know,” she said softly, “you New York boys really think y’all can talk anybody into anything.”

“Only when it’s worth talking about,” Dale murmured.

And then… there it was. That pause. The kind of silence that didn’t feel empty — it felt loaded. Her eyes dipped to his mouth for half a second, quick as a blink but impossible to miss.

He didn’t jump on it. Just closed the last inch slow, giving her every chance to back away. She didn’t.

Their lips met, soft at first — a test, a question. Then her hand tightened in his, her body leaning in just enough to answer. The kiss deepened, still unhurried, like they had all night and no one else in the world was watching.

Up here, in the middle of glass, sky, and steel, Dale felt something settle in his chest — a different kind of high than a packed stadium ever gave him.

When they finally eased apart, she kept her forehead near his, smiling like she was both satisfied and maybe a little surprised.

“Not bad, for a New Yorker,” she said.

He smirked. “Just wait till the encore.”

[The JZA]

And the season is complete! This is where we'll leave it at for a bit outside a few more post. Gonna get my other chise up and running before we head into thet sophomore year

[Soapy]

padded his stats at the end with some QB sneaks from the one-yard line



not built for cuban links but salute on the chip.

[The JZA]

padded his stats at the end with some QB sneaks from the one-yard line



not built for cuban links but salute on the chip.

Soapy, Your S.I.G.N. language is showing

If Jordan Washington can't punch it on two downs, ofc we going a different route. & I wish they called QB sneaks. All we get is run ops and PAs. Already threw one pick in the end zone, wasn't throwing no more