The backyard hummed with easy energy—laughter, the clinking of bottles, and the occasional shout as pre-game debates flared up among friends. The smell of grilled burgers and slow-cooked ribs filled the air, adding to the warm, comfortable atmosphere. Sam moved between the grill and his guests, his effortless hosting keeping the momentum of the evening going.

Callen leaned back in his chair, beer in hand, fully settled in his Patriots jersey. It was more than just team pride—it was a statement, one that he knew would rile up at least one person here tonight. The anticipation of the game was growing, but right now, the conversations around him were just as entertaining.

Across from him, Kensi and Deeks were locked in a passionate halftime show debate.

"Prince," Deeks declared, waving his beer for emphasis. "It was raining, Kensi. Raining. He played 'Purple Rain' in actual rain. You don't top that."

Kensi scoffed. "Beyoncé literally took out the power grid, Deeks. When was the last time a performance was so good it shut down an entire stadium?"

Callen smirked as they went back and forth, but his attention shifted when he caught sight of Nell weaving her way back from the drink table, arms carefully stacked with beer bottles.

She was navigating the growing crowd of Sam's wider friends circle with practiced ease, sidestepping outstretched legs and dodging an oblivious conversation in her path. But Callen could see it happening before she did—the slight tilt of one bottle at the top of her stack, the precarious wobble.

He moved without thinking. As she squeezed past his chair, the bottle teetered, and his hand shot out, steadying it before disaster struck.

"Careful there, rookie," he murmured, fingers still wrapped around the neck of the bottle as she adjusted her grip.

Nell exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking her head. "I made it, didn't I?"

"Barely." He released the bottle, watching as she set the drinks down on the table beside them.

She shot him a look, unimpressed, before lowering herself into the seat next to him. The game was minutes from kickoff, and the energy in the yard was shifting—more focused, more electric.

Callen took a slow sip of his beer, then turned toward her, a smirk forming as an idea struck him.

"Alright, Nell," he said, tone casual, but there was an unmistakable edge of challenge. "Let's make this interesting."

She narrowed her eyes, already suspicious. "Define interesting."

"Simple bet," he said, leaning in slightly. "If the Patriots win, you have to wear my jersey."

Nell blinked, then let out a soft laugh. "Your Patriots jersey?"

"That's right." Callen took another sip of his beer as if it were the most natural suggestion in the world.

Kensi, catching the exchange, perked up immediately. "Oh, this is good."

Deeks grinned at Nell. "Be careful Nell. First, it's the jersey. Next thing you know, you're defending Tom Brady in casual conversation."

Nell smirked, unfazed. "And if the Patriots lose?"

Callen tilted his head. "What do you want?"

She pretended to think, tapping a finger against her chin. Then her eyes lit with mischief.

"You wear a Jets jersey to work."

Callen groaned, already shaking his head. "Absolutely not."

"Oh, come on," Nell said, turning to face him fully, challenge clear in her voice. "If you're so confident in the Patriots, then what's the issue?"

Kensi leaned in, grinning. "She's got a point, Callen."

Deeks nodded solemnly. "Refusing a bet just makes it seem like you don't believe in your team."

Callen sighed, glancing between them. He knew he was being cornered, but Nell just sat there, expression expectant, waiting for him to commit. There was something about that look—the quiet certainty, the subtle amusement—that made it impossible to back down.

Finally, he exhaled through his nose, shaking his head with a wry grin. "Fine. Deal."

Nell grinned, extending her hand. He took it, shaking on the bet as Kensi and Deeks watched like spectators at a fight.

"This is way better than the actual game," Deeks muttered.

Callen released Nell's hand, leaning back in his chair. The game was about to start, but somehow, the stakes had just shifted.

He was confident the Patriots would win. No doubt about that.

But he was beginning to think that, for the first time, the best part of the night wasn't going to be the game at all.