Page 50 of Spiral

It’s October now, and the TU Titans are approaching the playoffs. Coach Bryer has been promoting the Tribune in nearly every interaction with students he has, in hopes that learning more about the shining captain of the team will encourage student support for the Titans. Buying tickets to the games, purchasing TU Titans-themed gear, etc., all in pursuit of the NCAA championship this winter.

“Yes, it’s wonderful! It gives a great picture of Mr. Anderson’s history with the sport of football. Speaking of which – Henry, I had no idea your father was a TU Titans captain, too.”

Henry smiles from the chair beside me, his dimples on full display.

“Yes ma’am,” he drawls, leaning forward in his chair, “Best captain we ever had.”

Henry’s shoulder is almost fully healed now, with the once dark purple bruise now completely faded. To prepare for the qualifying game this weekend, he’d been in physical therapy and practice every day of the fall break. This is the first time I’ve been able to see him since the ‘punishment wheel’ incident.

He always dressed nicely for our meetings with Dr. Randie; I reason that it must be the southern upbringing in him. He’s clad in dark wash jeans and a pressed button-up shirt, the light blue sleeves rolled up just enough to expose his tanned and muscular forearms. His hair has been styled, instead of being left half-wet and tousled like he would after a practice. He’s a few feet away from me, but I can still smell the comforting scent of his lavender and sage cologne.

God, he’s beautiful.

Dr. Randie begins to ask Henry more questions about himself. What years his father was captain, how he feels about being chosen by the Mavericks, and more, but I’m not paying any attention to his responses. My heart is pounding just looking at him, and I can’t help but wonder if Eleanor was right.

Should I tell him how I feel after the game? If not, when? Or should I not tell him at all? Surely, after these articles are complete, this whole thing will blow over. He’ll be too busy as an NFL player to remember me, or reach out to me–

My thoughts are interrupted when Henry looks over at me and winks, so quickly and smoothly that only I would ever notice.

I have to tell him.

It’s almost lunchtime when Dr. Randie dismisses us from her office with a promise that my column will be printed in the next day’s edition of the Texas University Tribune. Not only that, but a copy will be passed out to every student entering Mason Field for the qualifying game.

“I’m so proud of you, Georgia,” Henry whispers, leaning close to me as we enter the crowded hallway.

“You are?” I blurt, my cheeks flushing from the compliment – and from how good he looks.

I trail my eyes from his plush lips down to his chest, where the top few buttons of his shirt lay open, taunting me.

I haven’t been able to stop thinking about Henry Anderson naked since the night he streaked across campus. He’d had nothing on but his boxer briefs – and I swear I’d give anything to have seen what was beneath them.

As I watched him run, I could not stop thinking about our earlier kiss. By the time he made it to the Quad, a nagging desire to go back to his house and continue our “interview" had begun to cloud my thoughts entirely. But he ran into a teammate of his on his way back, the same one that had been dancing with Natalia Bryer at that party earlier this year, and it seemed to have altered his mood. By the time he made it back to the statue of Ole Donny, his punishment complete, he was unsettled and distant. I wanted to ask him what was wrong – more than anything – but it didn’t seem right to prod as he busily put on his clothes in the cold, his cheeks bright red from the freezing air.

“Of course I’m proud! Listen, Georgia – can I talk to you?” He places a hand gently on my arm, and I’m suddenly ripped back into reality, standing in a crowded hall of the Liberal Arts building.

“Sure,” I respond, attempting to seem casual and like I wasn’t just mentally undressing him. “What’s up?”

“Dr. Randie told me you have tickets to sit in the stands at the game tomorrow. You can absolutely say no, but I wanted to ask if you’d sit on the sidelines for me… and if you’d wear this.”

He pulls a neatly folded football jersey from his backpack, the number “83” and “ANDERSON” emblazoned boldly across each side.

“I know you might be a little scared after what happened before, but I swear it’s safe. As long as you don’t stand right next to Coach.”

He clears his throat and looks at me, his expression vulnerable and almost nervous. “It would mean a lot to me.”

I look up at him in disbelief.

Henry Anderson, captain of the TU football team and every girl at this school’s wet dream, is asking me to wear his jersey and stand on the sidelines for him. What is happening?

“Sure, um, I’d love to,” I stutter, taking the jersey from his outstretched hand. My fingers brush against his as I do so, and my heart practically leaps out of my chest.

“Great,” he whispers, his captivating smile warming the space between us. “Then I’ll see you at the game.”

29 | Henry

“LOOKS LIKE MS. Campbell wrote a shining article about you, son.”

Coach Bryer sits at his oversized desk, smiling from ear-to-ear with a printed copy of Georgia’s writing in front of him. He continues speaking before I can respond, noting which aspects of Georgia’s column he liked the most, which parts he thought would make people get up and buy tickets to our game – but I’m not listening in the slightest. All I can think about is how perfect Georgia looked sitting in Dr. Randie’s office this morning.

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