For some, there was nothing like the rush of adrenaline and noise of a big college football game. After three years of covering my boyfriend and the rest of their Badgers team, I probably should have been used to it, but all that nonsense did was make my job more difficult.

With a gentle December Indiana snow falling just before kickoff, I wiped away a tear (and thanked God for inventing waterproof mascara for moments like these) from the brisk breeze that whipped through the stadium and through the sea of red, gray, and white and got out my tape recorder to capture the atmosphere for my story.

I practically had to shout to be heard over the wind and people, but I was used to it. "We're counting down the moments until kickoff, and the crowd is electric as the players warm up. It's setting the stage perfectly for the biggest conference game of the year, and—"

"It's cold as shit out here," Ryan piped from beside me. Out of all the photographers at our college newspaper, I didn't mind having him on the trip to the game with me, but he liked to share his thoughts a little too much sometimes.

I took a glance over at him. With his light brown hair barely peeking out of his hat, coat, and scarf, I wasn't sure how he was planning on taking any pictures of the game without the use of his eyes or hands.

"Yet it's still better than the weather back in Wisconsin right now. You didn't have to leave Arizona, you know," I said.

Ryan laughed. "I guess not, but it's too hot there. I'd rather be cold as shit."

Then what was he complaining about? It was either too hot or too cold in most places in the world. 

Before I could ask him about it, he changed the subject. "You couldn't wear something red and white today? It's the Big Ten Championship Game, for God's sake."

I shook my head and tucked my recorder back into my coat. "That would make me look biased and unprofessional."

"And you certainly couldn't give anyone the impression that you want your school and your boyfriend to win." He shook his head. "That would be ridiculous and make a mockery out of us all."

"What else am I supposed to do, Ryan? I'm trying to take this seriously, but you know how this newspaper works. They take a good, honest story and try to take as many artistic liberties as possible to make sure people read it, even if it's not true. And I'm not letting that happen to anything I write ever again. I'm not a tabloid writer."

"You sure it has nothing to do with the fact that your boyfriend is about to play in the Big Ten Championship game and potentially the National Championship Game before he gets drafted into the NFL?"

I let out a small chuckle. "As nice of a headline that is, I don't let bias get in my way of telling the important stories that matter to our students. You know I'm the only reporter in this school that takes that responsibility seriously."

He nodded. "Of course."

Although there was a quiet moment between the two of us as I tried to decide if he was serious or not (most likely not), there was no such thing as silence in a football stadium before a big game. There was nothing to cheer for besides the players warming up, yet the decibel level increased every time a new person shuffled into their seat. Maybe everyone was drunk already. It was a freezing college game, after all.

But Ryan never cared for lulls. "Do you have any plans for later today?"

"Besides writing my story, working, and going home to visit my mom and sister for the rest of the little time in the weekend? No," I said.

"Oh. That's a lot, actually." He paused for a moment. "You know, Layla, you never did tell me why you left your internship this past summer. You were so excited about it, and then you quit out of nowhere. I know you're busy and all, but that's not like you."

"I never told you why?"

He shook his head.

"Maybe because it's personal and has nothing to do with you," I said.

"Present tense?" He smiled at his close attention to details. "I know you writers think the photographers are bad at grammar and stupid or whatever, but it sure is interesting that you phrased it like that."

"We don't think you're stupid. Who told you that?"

"Isabel."

I rolled my eyes. "Don't listen to her. I hate to gossip, but she thinks she's better than everyone else. Just focus on what you're supposed to be doing right now."

He took out his camera. "It's not even close to kickoff. What am I supposed to do? Get some action shots of your boyfriend taking his warm-up too seriously?"

"That works."

"I've had the unfortunate privilege of meeting Corey on several occasions, and I am not looking forward to taking his picture for your story. I mean, look at him. He's just shuffling in a zig-zag for three seconds longer than everyone else because he's too intense for his own good."

I looked across the field, and sure enough, the jersey with Hansen printed on the back shuffled backward with his hands ready to stop whoever wanted to get around him to take a shot at the quarterback. And just like Ryan said, he did every rep for a few seconds longer than everyone else on the line.

"Well, maybe that's why he's projected to be a high draft pick and has the chance to go to the College Football Playoff, and we're here," I said before turning my attention back to the task at hand. If I moved to get my recorder from my pocket, cold air would somehow find its way into my coat, so I scribbled down some notes on a notebook instead. Attendance looked to be nearing a full house, so I jotted down a reminder to get the exact number.

Where was I even going to start with this article? Of course, there was the possibility that the game would write the story for me, but that rarely happened for me, especially when I could use the time and help.

***

With three minutes left in the fourth quarter, we were down by five points, on our own twenty-yard line, and had two timeouts remaining. That was plenty of time to march down the field, score a touchdown, and win the game, but that was a lot of pressure for an offense that had only scored seventeen points in the game.

"Shouldn't you be taking notes or some—" Ryan began, but I quickly shushed him through my folded hands. I kept my gloves over my mouth for a little extra warmth, but it was probably making me look stressed and unprofessional. I didn't care anymore.

As the clock winded down, the Badgers' offense got closer to the endzone, and after calling their last timeout with four seconds left, all they had to do was go the last ten yards and score a touchdown.

The defense only had to make one more stop, and Corey and the rest of the offensive line knew that. Blocking was more important now than ever, and if they could just give the quarterback enough time to make the play, a win was in sight.

The center snapped the ball, and as the quarterback dropped back to find the perfect target for a pass, he had all the time in the world to make up his mind before settling on a receiver in the back of the endzone and delivering a strike.

Touchdown. Wisconsin had won the conference championship, and if the selection committee was smart, they'd be heading to the College Football Playoff too.

I could barely hear the screaming crowd over my heartbeat in my eardrums as the team and a few bold fans formed a smaller crowd around the quarterback in the endzone and the coach at midfield. Once the celebration died down a little, I had a few questions for Corey for my story, but he probably wouldn't have many people interested in talking to him, even if he was one of the most prized picks in the upcoming NFL Draft.

I knew how the media worked. No matter how much teamwork went into the final score, the quarterback was always going to be the center of attention. Without Corey's blocking, the quarterback would have been sacked and the game would have been over, but since linemen didn't carry the ball, they didn't matter.

Instead of having the camera from the national broadcast in his face, Corey was off to the side away from the confetti and the rest of the team on the field. He would have looked lonely, but there were several reporters there to ask him for his thoughts and about his future.

I pushed through the crowd to see if he'd let me ask a question too. Of course, I was just a writer for our college newspaper, but he would make time for me. I was his girlfriend too, after all.

Although he had to lean down to the reporter to hear what he was saying over the noise, when he looked up, he waved me over.

"Layla, did you see that? How insane was that game?" he asked.

I had seen every home and important game he had played since high school, but he was just excited. I was, too, somewhere deep down, but I couldn't show it.

"I don't think that's the answer to the question you were asked," I shouted over the noise.

He laughed. "You're always so serious when it comes to reporting. Lighten up and have some fun."

He was so serious when it came to football that he wasn't even celebrating the conference championship with his team to focus on interviews about his next steps instead, but I didn't say that.

"I'm really glad you made it over here. I kinda wanted to ask you something," he said.

"How about we keep everything the exact same as always and I ask you a question?" I replied as he put his arm around me. Even though the warmth was welcome, I wiggled myself free. He knew physical contact like that was very unprofessional.

As a few more reporters made their way over in our direction, I took an extra step back from Corey. They obviously had a job to do, and I was just a student newspaper writer.

"Sorry, sorry. I know how you get when you think people are judging you for being human," Corey said. "It's just one of the things that really makes me feel like this is—" He paused for a moment. "I know it's probably not what you had in mind, but now's as good as ever, don't you think?"

Now? For what?

"Layla, from the moment I met you, I knew that you're the person I want to celebrate everything with. Every victory, big and small, on and off the field."

Was this—?

"We're good for each other, and I know I'll never find someone who balances me out like you do." As he got down on one knee in front of me, all I could hear was the wind swirl in my ears and his voice. "Will you marry me?"

My eyes widened as my heart sank into my stomach, and it must have upset something, because I wanted to throw up. The question? With no ring? What? "Corey, we haven't talked about this."

"I didn't think we needed to. We've been together for seven years, and this is the first time that everything is going exactly the way we want it to. With everything you've been through—"

I interrupted him. "You can't just spring a huge, sudden decision on me like this in front of so many people. That's insane." Another match was lit under my face with every word, and it was enough to make me sweat under my layers of clothing.

He raised his eyebrows. "I figured you would at least be classy enough to say yes in front of the crowd, even if you change your mind later."

Did he not hear himself? What was going on? "That's even more insane." I shook my head. "You know I don't have time to deal with this."

"Are you seriously going to do this to me? Layla, we've been together since the first week of freshman year in high school. Where did you think this was going to go?"

"Not here. Not now," I sputtered. What was I doing? Why was I making this mistake into a show for everyone to see? "I think I should go and let you celebrate the win with the team. We'll talk more about this later."

"I don't think we have to. You've said it all," Corey said, and he was probably right. What more was there to say? His timing was horrible, and he didn't care.

What just happened?

As I headed back to my seat in the stands, I ducked my head down so no one could see my face. Fortunately, it was cold enough to blame my red cheeks, running nose, and tears on the winter wind, but no one would believe that. Everyone in the entire universe just saw my breakup.

Why would he do that to me? Who was the one person who went to every game in high school to cheer him on? Who was the one who followed him to The University of Wisconsin to be with him? It was all me, and he took it and made a fool out of me in front of the world.

Maybe his intentions were good, but the execution was so, so wrong.

Ryan watched me as I picked up my bag and stuffed my notebook in so I could leave as quickly as possible. I had to work and go home, after all.

But before I could escape in silence, Ryan spoke up. "Well, there's your front-page story. I'm assuming you don't want a copy of the picture."

"Please don't," I said and turned off the recorder. And what a front-page story it was.

-------------------------------------------------

Hello, and thank you so much for checking out Shades of Limelight! I'm super excited to share another story with you all here on Wattpad, and as always, I'd love to hear your thoughts on the first chapter and the characters!

I'm hoping to have the next chapter up relatively soon, but I can't make any promises about an updating schedule yet. I already broke one by saying I was not going to start this book before I finished my other WIP, but here we are. Way to go, me.