When we get home, there are dozens of luxury cars parked outside of my house.

I sputter at the sight, positive I'm seeing things.

There are football players in sweatpants mingling on my porch. Music is blaring from a third-story window. A pizza delivery guy is balancing at least ten pizzas in his hands while the coach counts out money from his wallet to pay. What is going on here?

My plan was to wait until Gareth and I were sitting in my driveway to tell him...I don't want us to be ...