Page 16 of The Prospect

“Just think about it, at least.” His knuckles brush up along my cheek, silencing me immediately. “Please, bug?” Much to my dismay, he calls me that new nickname once more. “Just think about it.”

And since then, I haven’t stopped.

“You’re kidding!” Chelsie’s face light’s up with amusement. The whole time I was reliving last night I couldn’t help but completely word-vomit every detail onto her. Now, as I rest my head back in exhaustion, my eyes go heavy, forcing them shut as she continues, “this is such a great idea, I’m impressed. Way to go, Green,” she remarks as if he can hear her.

“You seriously think so?” I peel my eyes back open, squinting as I catch the light that illuminates the pitch. “Really?”

“Um, absolutely.” Chelsie eagerly nods. “Like Green said, you know women, he knows men, and you both know each other more than anyone else. I mean…you’re still just friends, right?”

I flash her a look. She knows the answer to that question. Everyone does. In fact, it was one of the first things Chelsie asked me when we met in this exact spot…one of the things she continues to ask me every so often.

I groan—I don’t know what’s worse, having to play matchmaker for Green, or having to say “we’re just friends,” for the millionth time. Scratch that, you wanna know the worst part? The idea of Green having to find a match for me. It’s so easy for him, he’s already got his eyes set, but for me, there’s quite literally no one else I’m interested in.

“Fine, I’m sorry,” Chelsie carries on. “I won’t pester you anymore, but why not go for it?” she asks. “Green has tons ofhotfriends. Like c’mon, you’ve literally got options running around on the field right before you. Can’t you see?”

I don’t know why, but her statement draws me back toward Green—it’s frustrating just how easily I can always spot him on the pitch of twenty-two grown men. He’s always the first one my eyes catch sight of, he’s only ever been that…

“What do you think about Burton?” Chelsie immediately points down at the field, leaving my eyes not far to wander as she points to the defenseman on Green’s right.

Alexander Burton—he’s decent enough. He’s friendly, outgoing, never ceases to make me laugh, but he's also ten years my senior and at the end of his career. He’s decent, but not really my type.

“Not interested.” My voice falls flat as Chelsie takes my denial with a grain of salt and moves on to the next.

“Okay, what about…” She scans the crowd. “Him!” She points to the team’s goalie—Aaron Taylor. He’s a stud, I’ll admit, but the con? The guy’s like eight-feet-tall. Anytime I talk to him I feel like my neck is kinking up. To some, the taller the better, for me? I’d rather not feel like I’m dating a skyscraper.

“Try again,” I tell her once more, and from the look in her eyes, I can tell Chelsie doesn’t care if she has to go through the whole roster here. She will.

She does.

Over the span of ten minutes, we carefully go through almost every single player on Crawfield until finally, Chelsie huffs out, “Christ, Hazel, what about Hart? He’s like the only one we’ve missed so far!”

My eyes fixate upon Hart’s firm stature as he paces the center of the pitch. Christopher Hart—oh the stories I’ve heard about him and hell, the amount of times I’ve had to sit through Green complaining about how annoying he is when deep down, they’re friends. They always have been, always will be.

“Hmm.” Chelsie bites down on her lower lip. “You haven’t immediately said no, whichisa good sign.” Chelsie sheds light on the fact that out of everyone, for God knows what reason, I haven’t immediately denied Hart.

He’s tall, but not too tall.

Confident, but not to the point where it’s narcissistic.

Kind. He’s always been one to compliment me and ask me how I am, and frankly, it doesn’t hurt that after Green (in my opinion), he’s the second best looking player on this team.

Chiseled jawline.

Bright blue—almost silver eyes.

Muscly biceps and an even bigger chest.

Deep blond hair that’s always slicked back in a way that he could be on the cover of a magazine.

He’s a great footballer—I mean, after Wilks, he just so happens to score the most goals for the team.

Christ, for the very first time am I seeing Hart in a way I’ve never seen him before, is Hart the…

“Prospect.” It’s like Chelsie reads my mind as I swiftly turn my head in her direction. “Hart’s the prospect. You’ve got to get Green to hook you up with him. I mean, he’s perfect don’t you think?”

“I don’t know…” My voice trails off, so unsure as I peer to the stands.

Didn’t Green just say to me last night that Hart is practically a womanizer? That he has no problem getting laid whenever he wants?

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