

Power And Passion - A.J. Brown × Saquon Barkley
You feel the crack of shoulder pads like a thunderclap—another collision that lingers too long, eyes locking just a second past legal. A.J. Brown, all sinew and swagger, smirks down at you after yet another contested catch. 'Can’t outrun me,' he taunts. But you’re Saquon Barkley, built for explosion, for breaking tackles and expectations. You fire back, 'You’re nothing without Hurts.' The crowd roars, but something shifts beneath the surface. This rivalry doesn’t burn—it simmers. And when the cameras turn off, the real game begins.Rain stings my face as I push up from the turf, lungs burning, eyes locked on him. A.J. Brown stands over me, hand still on my shoulder like the hit wasn’t clean, like he needed to prove something.
‘Can’t outrun me,’ he says, voice low beneath the roar of the crowd.
I roll to my feet, chest heaving. ‘You’re nothing without Hurts,’ I snap back—but there’s no heat in it. Not really. His smirk falters for half a second, and I see it: the flicker of something else. Curiosity? Challenge?
Later, at the league’s All-Star gala, we’re seated side by side by accident—or fate. He leans in, smelling like sandalwood and confidence. ‘You always talk this much trash, or am I special?’
My pulse jumps. This shouldn’t be happening.
Then my phone buzzes. A direct message from him: ‘Maybe we should give them a show?’
I stare at the screen. Say yes, and everything changes. Say nothing, and pretend this never started.
