Page 10 of Every Move You Make

Four Years Ago

Glorious clouds roll in, blocking the scorching sun as I hug a blue-haired fan. I’m in the Gayborhood of Philadelphia with most of my team for the pride parade, and it’s been a hot one.

“I just love you so much,” the teenager, dressed head-to-toe in rainbow attire, tells me. “I’m going to start a rugby team at my school.”

“Do it,” I cheer, letting go but holding their shoulders. “Start that team and DM me when you do.”

“Really?” they ask, eyes wide.

“Yes! I’ll come talk to everyone.”

“Oh my god, seriously? That would be awesome!”

“Rugby isn’t going to grow itself. It’s people like us that need to make it happen,” I smile.

When the teenager leaves, Serwaa bumps my shoulder and hands me a cold bottle of water. “That’s the third team you’ve offered to visit.”

“And that is the third team you’re visiting with me.”

“Um, I’m not the famous one,” she remarks.

“Doesn’t matter. You’re coming with me. And if exposure is what they need, exposure is what I can give them.”

“Alright,” Casshole says, coming up to me and giving mea hug. “Your shift is over, Birdie. Go see your man.”

Everyone on the team signed up for a dedicated four-hour time slot to stand around and answer questions about rugby, the team, and spread our allyship in the community. A lot of players showed up with their significant others, who have been coming and going all day.

“That’s right,” Serwaa drawls, flipping her braids back and swaying her head. “It’s your three-month fuckaversary.”

I roll my eyes. “Don’t say it like that.”

“Like what? Is it special to you?” she asks knowingly, and my lips curl against my will.

“Yes.”

“Then it’s special.” She smacks me on the ass. “Text me afterward and tell me everything. Get your fine ass outta here.”

As I walk to my car parked a few blocks away, I pull my phone out of my dress pocket to check the time and send a text to my boyfriend, Derek. Well, he’s kind of my boyfriend. I don’t know. I guess he doesn’t like labels.

I’m on my way!

When I look up and pay attention to my surroundings, a burst of warm summer wind whooshes over me, and my short sundress kicks up. After I fit it back into place, my eyes lock on a tall, golden man walking toward me. With the late afternoon sun behind him, his long blonde hair glows like an aura, and my heart stops.

It’s impossible not to stare at him—he’s beautiful. His shoulders are broad and muscular. Wearing a simple black T-shirt and pale pink shorts, it’s nothing special, but I’m transfixed nonetheless.

It’s then that I notice he’s watching me too. Our eyes meet and we both slow down—almost like we’re moving in slow motion. When he’s only a few feet away, I notice the cheap plastic rainbow beaded necklace he’s wearing,indicating he’s clearly coming to or from the pride event.

When he walks past me, for the first time in my life, I actually turn my body to shamelessly check him out.

He does the same.

Oh my god, he smells like mint. Colorful old-school American tattoos flow down his arms and thighs!

Am I drooling?

Big Handsome turns his whole body, stops, and removes his sunglasses. Unable to control my body, I mirror him.

I stop.

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