“You’re kidding,” she said, face flat. “A cheerleader uniform.” “You love football,” I defended. “Yeah, I love football. In what world does that mean I also love cheerleading?” “You cheer for the Bears, and you’re a chick.” I shrugged. “It’s kind of like you’re already one. I just thought you could dress the part.” I paused. “Mainly, for me.” She scoffed, mouth popping open, but she couldn’t fight back her smile as she threw the little skirt at me. “Pig.” “I even got it in the Bears colors for you!” “I’m not wearing that,” she said, pointing to the skirt laying on the kitchen island where it’d
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