Page 47 of #Awestruck

I wondered if, despite his assertion to the contrary, I had distracted him, as Evan didn’t play quite as well in the second half of the game.

The Raiders were able to tie up the score, and as I watched, I alternated between being terrified every time he got hit and being impressed with him in his natural element. The power, the strength, the absolute grace he had while he played ... why had I never noticed it before?

Then in the last minute of the game, when it looked like we’d have to go into overtime, Evan did something phenomenal. He couldn’t find an open man, the defensive line was closing in on him, and so he made a run for it. Thirty yards, all the way to the end zone. He got a touchdown, and the Jacks won by seven points.

I practically screamed myself hoarse watching that play.

Once the game was over, I walked out with my family, wondering what Evan was doing right then. If he was thinking about me or solely focused on his interviews. After lots of hugs and goodbyes, along with a blood-oath promise to my mother that I would ask Evan about Thanksgiving, I was finally able to drive home. I had a quick shower and changed into a T-shirt and yoga pants. I did not shave any body parts, I did not put on any makeup, and I did not get dressed up for him.

Since my internal walls had started to break down, I decided that maybe this was the best way to keep him at bay.

I turned on the TV and switched to ISEN. They were discussing the Jacks game and were showing some footage they’d taken of the players after their win. One of the interviews was with Evan. He’d been approached by a reporter from a local affiliate before he’d even stepped foot in the locker room. The reporter asked to speak with him, and I saw a flash of impatience on Evan’s face, like all he wanted to do was take a shower. He nodded and smiled, and I noticed that it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“What was going through your mind when you made that run?”

“That I’d promised my girl I’d win the game, and so I did what I had to do.”

I wondered if the camera operator was female, since the person backed up, getting a full-body shot of Evan. He looked a mess—his hair sweaty and the black grease under his eyes dripping down his face, his uniform covered in dirt and grass stains.

But there was something oddly compelling about him. I paused the TV as I tried to figure out what it was.

Was it the way he’d so casually called me his girl? How that had made my heart skip a beat?

Or was it his pads that almost seemed like armor? Like he was a warrior returning home from the battlefield. Or from a battle he’d won in my honor.

I let out a sigh of disgust at my own stupidity. I had a seriously overactive imagination. I turned off the television.

To take my mind away from its crazy path, I decided to make a chicken-and-noodle dish that had been my grandma’s favorite. I wondered what she would think of what I was doing right now. Trying to get the dirt on Evan’s personal life. Would she be cheering me on, wanting me to get my dream career? Or would she think less of me?

I picked up my phone when it beeped. There was a text from Evan.

I fought off my natural urge to run to the bathroom and improve my current physical situation.We’re not really engaged, he’s not actually my fiancé, and I don’t care what he thinks of me,I told myself.

He showed up about twenty minutes later, and I took in a deep breath before I opened the door. He smiled at me, a real smile that lit up his eyes.

“Hi.” Then he leaned in and kissed me on the cheek, like he’d done it a million times before, and it was totally normal and no big deal.

I, meanwhile, had to hold on to the door for a second until the feeling in my legs returned. He didn’t have any product in his dark hair, causing it to fall forward onto his forehead. Like he’d taken a shower and rushed over here. He wore a light-blue shirt under his jacket that made his eyes appear even lighter than normal.

“Please, come in. Are you hungry? I just made some dinner.”

“The answer to your question is I’m always hungry. I’d love to eat with you. Can I help with anything?”

“You can set the table.” I told him where the plates and silverware were as I put the casserole and bread I’d made on the table. We sat down when everything was ready.

“Not quite as fancy as Rodrigo’s,” I said, feeling a little sheepish. He was probably used to all luxury all the time.

“No. But this is better,” he said after he’d taken his first bite.

“Better than steak and lobster?” I asked, disbelieving what he was saying.

“Homemade is always better.” He proved his point by having not only seconds but also thirds. I was glad I’d cooked up extra. I had originally intended to have leftovers, but it gave me a strange satisfaction to watch him enjoying something I’d made.

And while we ate I reminded him that we needed to create our love story. So we talked through the details, staying as close to the truth as possible. We’d met in high school, where I’d had a crush on him. We’d reunited a few months ago and quickly fallen in love. It all seemed easy enough. Because it hadn’t been a long courtship, people wouldn’t expect us to know every detail about each other, and his agent thought social media would love our “meant to be” fast engagement.

“Thank you for dinner,” he said, standing up to grab both of our plates, interrupting my musing about our current situation.

“You don’t have to do that!” I protested.

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