Page 26 of Everything In Between
At Jersey’s suggestion, my heart clenches, and I find myself smiling up at the ceiling again. Hopefully, this is the first of many, many conversations with her—this could be the start of something that will change both of our lives.
“I hope you will.” I breathe.
NINE
jersey
SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 22
“Let’s fucking go!”I jump up from my couch and shout at my massive TV as Hayes throws the ball to one of the players right in the points area—orend zone, as I’m learning. This makes his fourth touchdown of the game, and we’re only in the second quarter. As the time has ticked down on the screen, Hayes’s drive has seemed to amp up even more on the field.
Bethany laughs from her position on my couch. I spin around to find her and Kelsey watching me in amusement. I place my hands on my hips, but I can’t fight off the smile.
“What?”
Bethany chuckles. “Nothing. I never knew you were into football.”
“Well—” I say, brushing a few stray hairs out of my face. “It’s kind of a new thing.”
Bethany and Kelsey share a look. “Apparently,” Bethany says.
Kelsey points at the TV. “That Hayes Vogt is an impressive player. Is he the one you were talking with at the VMAs?”
“He is,” I coyly agree, leaving it at that.
I sit back down on my couch, resting against the plush cushions, and reach for my drink on the table. I’m sticking with a classic tonight, the old vodka tonic.
“Bethany says you’ve been talking to him some,” Kelsey pries. When I turn to her, she’s wearing a soft smile on her face, hinting that she already knows what’s up, but she wants to hear it from my perspective.
“A little,” I lie. There have been more texts shared between me and Hayes this last week than there were with my ex throughout the entire last year of our relationship.
“And you like him?” Bethany asks.
My cheeks heat and I take another sip of my drink. How do I even begin to answer this? How can I when Hayes and I have only ever been face-to-face once before? I sent him a selfie tonight, but that hardly counts. He probably won’t even see it until after the game.
“I think I do,” I admit, to both my friends and myself.
“Just be careful, Jersey,” Kelsey says. “I remember how brokenhearted you were when it didn’t work out with Corey. I’m always reading tabloids about athletes breaking hearts. You and him have the potential to be a PR disaster.”
“I think this one is different, Kelsey,” I say, trusting my words wholeheartedly. “I thinkhe’sdifferent. I can’t explain it, but everything in me is telling me to run toward him, not away from him.”
“Sounds like puppy love,” she says softly.
I know she’s trying to be gentle with me. Both Kelsey and Bethany were there, helping me through the hardest days of my life when Corey and I ended. Both of them were there to reassure me when I felt like I wasn’t good enough or worthy of a future in the industry. Even as Kelsey voices her concerns, I can’t help but think she’s wrong.
On the TV, the Majestics leave the field for halftime. When the camera zeros in on Hayes, my belly flip-flops. He’s got his helmet off as the team goes ahead of him down the tunnel to their locker room. His blond hair is sweaty at the top and whatever he painted underneath his eyes is beginning to melt down his cheeks. It looks like black watercolor paint as it drips down his face and mixes with the perspiration on his skin. He has a few smudges trailing from his cheek to his ear from where he must have wiped his face at some point.
He’s a mess, but I love it.
My body heats and I fight the desire to know what it would feel like to have him all sweaty like that, but in a different setting, preferably in a comfy bed. And without the uniform and pads in our way. I clear my throat and swallow thickly, ignoring the way my mouth has gone dry at the direction of my thoughts.
The TV cuts to a commercial, breaking the spell.
“Anyone need a refill?” I ask, reaching for my drink and Bethany’s, which is also empty.
Kelsey declines and stays on the couch, scrolling through her phone as I head into the kitchen to work on the drinks. Bethany follows me and leans against the kitchen island as I refill our cups with vodka and mixers.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” I ask her.
