The Perfect Game

Riley adjusted his high ponytail and tugged the hem of his cheer uniform skirt just a little lower—not that it helped much. The material still barely covered the curve of his ass. The mirror in the locker room bounced back an image that was polished to perfection: glossy lips, winged eyeliner sharp enough to cut, a crisp and tight uniform top that made his chest look extra perky, and his killer legs on display beneath the tiny skirt. He turned and gave himself a wink.

It was the day of the big game.

He could hear the roar of the crowd already, a low thunder building across campus. The energy was electric, the air thick with anticipation. School hadn't even officially started yet, but the season opener was sold out. In fact every ticket for every game had been snapped up—weeks ago.

Some of the girls on the squad had whispered to him that it was because of him. That GirleyRiley was the main event, the reason people were showing up. But that was silly. They were here to see Chase, of course—the quarterback, the golden boy. Riley was just the glitter, the shine. He was here to reflect that spotlight back onto Chase. Like a good cheerleader should.

Still, it wasn't like he minded being seen.

He'd already posted a video that morning, dressed in nothing but a towel and a smile. He sat on the edge of his pink-tiled bathroom counter, swinging his legs and blowing kisses to the camera. But the kisses weren't for the audience, not really. They were for Chase. They were for his boyfriend.

"Good luck today, babe," Riley had whispered into the lens. "Everyone at the game better be cheering for my boyfriend. I sure will be."

His morning meditation session had been especially vivid—eyes closed, lips parted, thinking about Chase's broad shoulders, his deep voice, his cock straining against football pants. Riley had stroked himself to climax slowly, carefully, whispering Chase's name, imagining where he'd want Chase to finish. He came with a trembling sigh, picturing himself on his knees in the locker room after a win, mouth open and grateful.

He wanted to help Chase meditate tonight.

Riley had begun to have new thoughts, new ideas about Chase the night before. He'd been so creative lately in ways to help support his boyfriend. Especially in the area of meditation. Learning to use his hands, his mouth, even his girls were strokes of genius, but how far could he take it? He was Chase's girlfriend, after all, and his job was to understand Chase's needs. Maybe there were other ways to use his body to take care of Chase. Maybe there were other places to put Chase's cock.

Biting his lip, Riley clenched his thighs involuntarily. Before warm-up, he'd asked to see Chase, but the other girls had said to wait. Make it a reward, they told him. Keep him thirsty. Riley didn't entirely get it, but he trusted them. He wanted to be the best girlfriend, after all, and they seemed to know what they were talking about.

He checked his phone. Isabelle had texted that she was already in the stands, camera ready. Riley grinned. His fanbase couldn't all be here, but they'd get a front-row view thanks to her. He slipped his phone into his pom-pom duffel bag and headed out.

The stadium was packed. Packed and loud. Walking down the tunnel from the changing room, Riley could feel the noise in his stomach. As he emerged into the light, once people saw him (and the other girls, of course) it got louder. Way louder.

Riley stepped onto the track that ringed the football field, his squad flanking him in a burst of sparkle, bare legs, and bouncing ponytails. The stands were screaming. The game hadn't started yet, but he could feel the energy of anticipation rumbling beneath the noise, ready to erupt.

The cheer routines began. Riley poured everything into them—his hips swayed a little wider, his jumps snapped crisper, his smile was blinding. He'd trained for this. Private cheer lessons. Endless practice. Even pole dancing classes. He made sure to twist just a little more when he landed from a leap, flashing the tight pink panties hidden beneath his uniform skirt.

And when he looked up into the stands, he saw it.

People weren't just watching. They were filming. Whole rows of phones, pointed at him.

He caught Isabelle's lens in the crowd. She was grinning behind the phone, nodding at him to keep going.

He was. He was going to keep going. Not for the fame. Not for the views. But because Chase was watching. He knew Chase was on the sidelines. He knew Chase's teammates were looking. Every time he bent, kicked, bounced—he wanted them to see. To know that this was Chase Donovan's girlfriend.

Midway through the third quarter, a chant began.

"GirleyRiley! GirleyRiley! GirleyRiley!"

At first, he beamed. Then he blinked.

It wasn't just the crowd.

It was the players.

Both teams.

Coaches. Referees.

His name—his online name—echoed through the stadium, pulsing like a heartbeat.

He flushed pink. He loved it. But...

Was it too much?

Would it take attention away from Chase?

He scanned the field and found Chase's eyes. Watching him. Just him. And smiling.

Riley's heart stuttered.

Stepping away from the rest of the squad as they grabbed water, Riley sensuously moved to the center of the track. The overhead speaker crackled.

Then—music.

The throb of a beat from his stream playlist. The kind he practiced to in his bedroom. The kind that made him move without thinking.

Bless whoever was in the booth. He looked up and blew the operator a kiss. In the corner of his eye, he could see that the stadium cameras were broadcasting Riley's image to the Jumbotron. Every eye was fixed. It felt like the crowd was holding its breath.

He let the music take him.

His hips rolled with the bass line, fluid and hot. He turned and dropped low, grabbed his girls, gave them a squeeze, and ran his hands down his sides, eliciting a roar from the crowd. He bent over slowly, panties on full display, then snapped upright, flipping his hair.

Even the cheer squad froze, so affixed they were to his movements. Mouths open. A girl in the front row dropped her water bottle.

Riley danced like it was the last performance of his life. Like he'd been born to do this. Like the stadium was his stage. He wished there'd been a pole there for him to hold onto, for him to perform some of his more daring moves. He would have to find a venue soon to show those skills off. Maybe Isabelle knew a place.

He had ceased to be a cheerleader. He was something else. Something more. An idol. A muse. A masterpiece.

He shook his ass, slid down into a split, and ended the number with a flourish—head thrown back, chest heaving, arms outstretched.

The crowd erupted.

Cheers. Screams. Stomping. Clapping. Chanting his name again, louder than before.

And all Riley could think was: I hope Chase saw that.

The game ended in a roaring victory, of course. Riley had never doubted it for a minute.

Riley ran to the field, pom-poms discarded, huge chest swelling with pride. He found Chase in the chaos, helmet off, sweat pouring down his face, and beaming. Without hesitation, Riley leapt into his arms, wrapped his legs around Chase's waist, and kissed him hard.

Cameras clicked. Phones lit up.

He pulled back and whispered, "You're a star, babe. I'm just the lucky girl who gets to show the world what you deserve."

Chase grinned, holding him tight. "I think I'm the lucky one, hot stuff. You were... so... I can't even believe I'm with you sometimes."

Riley was overwhelmed. He planted his lips on Chase's again, enjoying both the feeling of Chase's tongue in his mouth and Chase's cock pressing into his rear end through his football pants. He knew that the crowd was chaotic, but he hoped that Isabelle was catching it all on camera.

That would be the perfect end to a perfect game.