Hadassah

Patrick..?

It was late, and I was wandering around the practice facility, just hoping for a glimpse of the players. I didn’t actually think I’d run into anyone. But as I turned a corner, there he was—Patrick Mahomes himself, leaning casually against the wall with an easy grin, looking a little out of sorts. His usually focused eyes were soft, and his expression was… well, let’s just say he looked like he’d had one or two too many.

I froze, trying to decide if I should turn back. Before I could slip away, he looked over, his eyes widening with recognition. Or, well, what he thought was recognition.

“Britt!” he called out, his voice a little too loud. He started walking toward me, a grin spreading across his face.

My heart was thumping so hard I could barely hear. He thinks I’m Brittany, I realized, panicking a bit. But before I could react, Patrick had reached me, putting his arm around my shoulder like we were old friends. Then, out of nowhere, he leaned in and kissed my cheek, warm and affectionate.

“Uh… Patrick?” I managed, feeling my face go hot.

He looked at me with that same happy grin, not really noticing my awkwardness. “You’re so pretty, Britt.” He chuckled softly and gave me another quick peck on the cheek.

I was about to correct him, but he kept talking, his words a little slurred. “Nah, don’t even care if it’s late,” he mumbled. “You’re just… really, really pretty, you know that?”

My heart was racing. I wasn’t even sure what to say. “Um… Patrick, it’s me, Hadassah,” I stammered, feeling like my voice barely worked.

He blinked, pausing for a moment. Then he shrugged, as if it didn’t even matter. “Don’t care. You’re still pretty.” He laughed again, leaning in for another friendly peck on my cheek. I couldn’t help but laugh, even though my brain was practically short-circuiting.

Somehow, we both eventually realized how late it was, and he wandered off down the hallway, humming to himself. I watched him go, still processing what had just happened. My cheeks were still warm, and I had no idea if I’d just dreamed the whole thing.

The next morning, I strolled onto the field, still replaying last night’s weird mix-up in my head. I was pretty sure Patrick didn’t remember anything—right? Just a accident, a late-night mistake. But then he spotted me, and his face lit up with this huge grin.

“Hadassah!” he called, his voice a little softer than usual, like he was saying hello to someone he’d been waiting all morning to see. He jogged over, and to my surprise, he slung an arm around my shoulders, almost like he’d done last night.

“Good morning, superstar,” he said with a laugh, giving my shoulder a friendly squeeze. I blinked, surprised. He’d never called me that before.

“Morning, Patrick!” I said, trying to sound casual. “You’re… uh, you’re in a good mood, huh?”

He just chuckled, ruffling my hair like we were old friends. “Guess I am! But, hey, how could I not be with my favorite teammate here?” He winked, and I blinked, a little thrown off. Since when was I his favorite?

I brushed it off and got back to stretching for practice, figuring he was just having a friendly day. But every time I looked over, there he was, watching me with that same bright smile. And every time we ran through a drill, he was right there beside me, laughing and giving me little words of encouragement like, “You’re doing amazing, Hadassah!” or “That’s my girl!” as if we’d been best friends for years.

At one point, I stumbled a bit during a drill, and he rushed over, catching my arm before I could even find my balance. “Whoa, gotcha!” he said, steadying me with both hands. For a second, I noticed how his hands lingered, warm and firm around my arms. But then he gave my shoulder a gentle pat, and I figured he was just being a good teammate.

“Thanks,” I said, laughing a little, trying to brush it off like no big deal.

“No problem,” he replied, his voice oddly soft. Then he added, almost under his breath, “Anything for you.”

I tilted my head, looking at him a little funny. “Uh… what was that?”

“Nothing, nothing!” He grinned, waving it off, but there was a hint of something different in his smile. Something… I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

Throughout practice, he kept finding excuses to walk over, sometimes just to give me a quick pat on the back or tell me I was doing great. Once, he even handed me a water bottle with this warm smile, like he’d brought it over just for me.

By the end of practice, I was laughing every time he showed up, thinking it was some running joke. “You’re in a really good mood today, huh?” I asked as we wrapped up, tossing a football to him.

“Guess so,” he replied, smiling softly. He tossed the ball back, then gave me one last gentle pat on the shoulder. “Guess you just bring it out of me.”

I shrugged, grinning. “Well, whatever works!”

And with that, I jogged off the field, still smiling, chalking it all up to Patrick just being his friendly self.