Page 28 of The Love of My Next Life
“Hair tie,” Claire answers. “Simple.”
“Huh.” I check myself out once more, fingering my loose French braid. I tied a green and gold ribbon around the end, and Claire put shimmery gold shadow on my eyelids. “It looks kinda good, doesn’t it?”
Claire snorts. “We’re hot. Let’s go.”
I follow Claire down the stairs, noting the eerie quiet coming from behind Macon’s closed door. He’s not the type to show up to football games. Is he at the center tonight?
I shouldn’t even care.
I don’t care. Not at all.
“We’re leaving, Mom!” Claire yells, as we hit the landing.
“Be back by curfew,” Andrea shouts back from somewhere in the living room.
“Always am, Mom. Love you.”
“Love ya, Drea,” I call out, and Andrea pokes her head into the hallway with a smile.
“Love you both,” she says. “Have fun and be safe,” she adds, and I follow Claire out the door.
The bleachers are already packed when we get to the field. It’s a warm night, but there’s something decidedlyfallabout high school football games. Makes me want to wear a scarf and drink cider. It makes me want to paint a forest full of reds and oranges and yellows.
I trail behind Claire as she weaves up the bleachers. She takes a seat dead in the middle, right on the 50-yard line, then pats the empty spot on the aluminum bench next to her. I plop down gracelessly and try to ignore the prickling feeling of eyes on me.
I know it shocks people. It shocks me, too, honestly.
Me. Lennon Washington. Wearing Eric Masters’s football jersey. Surreal.
Claire chatters on about the game, the other team, the party after. I smile and nod and chime in when expected. When our team takes the field, she stands up and claps, and I do the same. When Josh throws our first touchdown, Claire jumps up and down along with the crowd, while I celebrate in a much more subdued manner.
When Eric rushes for a touchdown, I cheer along with everyone else, proud to be wearing his jersey. When he runs along the sideline of the field, stops in front of Claire and me, and points directly at me with the football in his hand, my heart flips, my breath hitches, and I can’t stop the smile from spreading over my face. A ref blows a whistle, Eric tosses the football to him, and then he gives me one last look—one last flirtatious smile, beaming through the facemask of his helmet—before turning around and jogging back to his teammates.
“Whaaaaat,” Claire says with a grin, “wasthat?”
I shrug and bite my lip, trying to tame my giddy expression. Claire nudges me with her elbow and giggles, which starts me giggling, and it’s not until my laughter has calmed that I notice Chris Casper watching us intently from the bottom row of the bleachers.
The rest of the game goes by quickly, and we win 48 to 21. Claire drags me off the bleachers and convinces me to wait with her in the parking lot for the guys to come out of the locker room. It feels like an hour goes by before Josh and Eric come waltzing out, bags slung over their shoulders and hair wet from their post-game showers.
“Good game,” Claire says as Josh slides his hand over her shoulders. “You did great.”
“Thanks, babe,” Josh says, and Claire nearly swoons at the pet name.
“Are you coming to the party?” Eric asks, and having his full attention makes me nervous. In a good way, I think.
He reaches toward me and lightly grabs the hem of his jersey, rubbing the material between his thumb and forefinger before giving me a soft smile. My cheeks warm and I have a hard time keeping eye contact. I smile and nod, then bounce my gaze between his face and Claire’s.
“We’re going to head there now,” I tell him. His answering smile is beautiful. Genuinely happy. Genuinely interested. I clasp my hands together behind my back to keep from fidgeting.
“You want to just follow us?” Josh jumps in, and Claire and I agree.
The ride to Josh’s house is short and full of nervous energy. Claire won’t stop tapping the steering wheel. Even I have to restrain myself from messing with the hem of Eric’s jersey, touching the place that he touched just moments before.
I think I have a crush. Maybe.
I’m excited. Having Eric’s attention on me is new and thrilling, though a bit unnerving. And confusing. I can’t quite wrap my head around it, but I think I like it.
I picture the way he looked, and the way I felt, when he stood on the football field and pointed at me with the football. My heart speeds up as I replay his actions when he kissed me on the cheek after our first date and think about his brown eyes and his kind smile.
