" Yup. Still got it.” Shane caps it off with a playful grin. I can’t tell if he’s referring to football or his looks. Yes to both, but he doesn’t need his ego stroked.

“Eh.” I shrug, feigning indifference.

His jaw drops. “What do you mean, ‘eh’? You saw me play in high school.”

“A few times.”

He snorts. “Yeah, right. You went to all the games. You’d sit up on the right side, near the announcer booth. It was like it was your spot. For years.” I frown.

“You saw me there?” He never told me that. I assumed I didn’t exist to him before that summer we dated.

“Of course, I did. You wore this long, red-and-black sweater that you’d hug around your body like you were cold, even when it was seventy degrees out. I always felt like I should run up there and give you a hug.” I did always wear that sweater. It was old and ratty, and I loved it. And my fifteen- and sixteen-year-old self would have died from happiness had Shane Beckett run into the stands to even acknowledge me.
“You stopped coming senior year,” he murmurs, more to himself, his brow puckering. "

― K.A. Tucker , The Player Next Door (Polson Falls, #1)