Blades and Gridirons

Matteo "Teo" Rossi

* Age: 20

* Year: Sophomore (2nd Year)

* Height: 5’11”

* Ethnicity: Italian-American

* Role: Captain of the Varsity Ice Hockey Team

Jackson "Jax" Whitmore III

* Age: 21

* Year: Junior (3rd Year)

* Height: 6’2”

* Ethnicity: Caucasian

* Role: Captain of the Varsity Football Team

Please be advice these are not the people’s real names, this is just refrence pictures to what the characters look like

Saturday, 9:47 AM

Matteo Rossi was having a shit morning, and it was about to get a whole lot shittier.

He pulled up to the football field in his beat-up Honda Civic, a stark contrast to the row of luxury cars that typically lined the athletic complex blasting Arctic Monkeys through speakers that had seen better days. His team was supposed to have the field at ten sharp. He'd booked it two weeks ago, confirmed it three times with the athletics office, and even had the fucking email printed out in his gym bag just in case some pencil-pusher tried to give him grief.

What he didn't expect was to see the entire goddamn football team already on his field, running drills like they owned the place.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," Matteo muttered, slamming his car door hard enough to make the Civic shudder. He could see him,

Whitmore standing at the fifty-yard line with his clipboard, looking like every trust fund douchebag who'd ever made Matteo's life harder just by existing.

Matteo stormed across the grass, his cropped tank top showing off the lean muscle he'd built from years of skating, his nose ring catching the morning sun. A few football players noticed him coming and nudged each other, anticipating the show.

"Oi! Whitmore!" Matteo's voice carried across the field, sharp and pissed off. "Get the fuck off my field!"

Jackson turned slowly, that infuriating dimpled smirk already spreading across his stupidly perfect face. He was shirtless—because of course he was—his golden skin practically glowing in the autumn light. "Your field? That's funny, Rossi. I don't see your name on it."

"I booked this slot for my guys, you entitled prick." Matteo waved his phone. "Ten to noon. It's in the system. So pack up your circus and find somewhere else to throw your balls around."

"Aw, that's cute." Jax took a few steps closer, crossing his massive arms over his chest. His teammates had stopped their drills now, forming a loose semicircle to watch. "You book the field like you're playing real football. Adorable."

"Real football?" Matteo's eyes flashed. "You mean that game where grown men give each other brain damage while pretending they're gladiators? Yeah, real impressive, Whitmore. I'm sure your daddy's lawyer already has your CTE settlement ready to go."

A few of the football players snickered. Jax's jaw tightened, but that smirk never wavered. "At least football's a real sport. Hockey's just figure skating for guys too scared to admit they like wearing tights."

"Better than compensating for your personality by tackling dudes for four hours." Matteo stepped closer, tilting his head up to meet Jax's eyes. Even with the height difference, he didn't back down an inch. "Now seriously, get your roid-rage army off my fucking field before I call athletics and have them drag your asses out."

Jax stared down at him, something unreadable flickering behind those blue eyes. For a second, the air between them felt charged, electric. Then Jax laughed—that low, cocky laugh that made Matteo want to punch him in his perfect teeth.

"Tell you what, princess." Jax emphasized the word like it was supposed to be an insult. "We'll take the south half. You can have the north. Consider it me being generous."

"Generous?" Matteo's laugh was sharp and humorless. "Go suck a dick, Whitmore. Maybe you'll feel better. Now get off the fucking field."

"Make me, Rossi."

They stood there, locked in a silent battle of wills, close enough that Matteo could smell Jax's expensive cologne mixed with sweat. Finally, Matteo broke eye contact with a disgusted sound.

"Whatever. Fuck it." He turned on his heel. "Keep the south half. But if even one of your meatheads crosses that line, I'm reporting all of you for field violation."

"Looking forward to it," Jax called after him, his voice dripping with amusement.

Matteo flipped him off without looking back.

11:53 AM

The practice had been brutal—exactly what Matteo needed to work off his anger. His team had crushed their conditioning drills, and several of the guys had commented on how their captain seemed especially fired up today. Matteo hadn't bothered explaining why. They all knew about the rivalry between him and Whitmore anyway.

Most of both teams had cleared out by noon, heading off to grab lunch or nurse their exhausted muscles. Matteo had stayed behind, taking his time in the field house showers, letting the hot water pound against his shoulders and back. His dermal piercings caught the light as he moved, and he ran a hand through his wet curls, sighing.

He fucking hated Whitmore. Hated his smug face, his privileged attitude, the way he looked at Matteo like he was some kind of curiosity rather than a threat.

The shower curtain beside him suddenly whipped open, and Matteo didn't even need to look to know who it was.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered. "Don't you have a private shower in your trust fund mansion or something?"

Jax stepped under the spray, water cascading over his ridiculous muscles. He didn't even have the decency to look uncomfortable. "Nah. Figured I'd slum it with the scholarship kids today."

"Fuck off, Whitmore."

There was a pause, and then: "Nice ass, by the way."

Matteo's hand stilled in his hair. Slowly, deliberately, he turned and flipped Jax off, water streaming down his tattooed arm. "Eat shit."

"Already got a good view of it."

"You're a real fucking charmer, you know that?" Matteo went back to rinsing off, pointedly ignoring the fact that Jax was still staring at him. "This some new hobby of yours? Perving on dudes in the shower? Because I gotta say, it's pretty fucking pathetic even for you."

Jax didn't respond, and the silence stretched uncomfortable and tense between them.

When Matteo finally finished, he shut off the water and stepped out, not bothering to cover himself. He'd never been shy about his body—why the fuck should he be? He caught sight of Jax still standing there, water running down his chest, those blue eyes locked on him.

Matteo's gaze dropped deliberately, trailing down Jax's body with calculated slowness. When he looked back up, he had that sharp, dangerous smile on his face—the one that usually meant someone was about to have a very bad time.

"I see why your ego's so huge," Matteo said, his voice dripping with mock revelation. He grabbed his towel, wrapping it around his waist with deliberate casualness. "Fucking asshole."

He walked away, leaving wet footprints on the tile floor, and didn't look back even when he heard Jax's sharp intake of breath behind him.

But damn if his heart wasn't pounding harder than it had during the entire practice.