Page 30 of The Prospect

My eyes widen at her request. “I’m sorry,” I mock sarcastically. “Let me just stop freezing my arse off over here for Instagram. So sorry for the inconvenience.”

“Apology accepted.” She doesn’t pick up on the satire in my tone as she films not one, not two, but three stories to tell all of her followers where she is.

I roll my eyes. She sounded extremely excited for someone who hardly wanted to come out of the dorm room.

“So, when does the game start?” Amira asks as fans begin to pile into their seats around us. “It’s taking forever for the innings to kick off.”

“First off, that’s baseball and second, you’ve been sitting down for a grand total of thirty seconds.” I peer down at my watch. “You do realize how long a football match is, right?”

Amira flashes me a clueless stare, prompting my head to fall into my hands. “This is going to be a long day.” My internal thoughts come outward.

“Oh, here they come! Here they come!” Amira seems to find a new-found sense of enthusiasm as both teams now line the pitch and in a twist of events before I scan the field for Green, I search for Hart instead.

He’s one of the first to walk onto the grass and if I’m being honest, the easiest to distinguish. There’s a confidence in his stride, a pep in his step if you will, if I’m being honest, a downright intoxicating look on his face as he runs his tongue along his lower lip in concentration.

It’s enticing…enticing enough that I don’t feel compelled to break my gaze even though I can see Green in my peripheralvision. I hold on for dear life, and it’s the first time I actually do, instead finding more things about Hart that draw me into him.

I will say I’ve always loved the sound of his voice. It’s husky…deep, and when he shouts on the field, I swear the entire stadium goes silent. I like that about him, not his ability to be the loudest in the room, but that whenever he speaks, he makes you want to hear what he has to say.

I quizzed Green on Hart leading up to today. It was important to know some basic details about him. I hadn’t realized just how surface-level things were between the two of us.

Turns out Hart’s the middle child. One older brother, one younger sister. His dad is a former sniper in the UK army, while his mum was a stay-at-home parent. He’s been on Crawfield for almost exactly the same period of time as Green, only his path to get there was much different.

Green says he’s always been quiet when it comes to his past, and all he knows is that when he was younger, Hart went to Spain to train. I asked for more details, but he said all he knew was that it didn’t last long and eventually, Hart came back. Beyond that, he’s clueless about the situation.

These are all good things to make note of, reminding me of step four: learn a secret about them. Maybe if Hart and I get close enough he’ll eventually share with me about the past and if he does, then I suppose only one thing will remain…

I’m getting too ahead of myself here.

“Is that Green?” Amira points toward the defensive line, squinting to get a better good look.

It’s surprising to me that she even needs to clarify, I mean, she’s spent the last few days deep-diving Green’s social media, digging up a series of photos I didn’t even know were on there, most of which were shirtless one’s that shehadto make a point to show me…

Focus on Hart. Focus on Hart.

“Yep, that’s him,” I tell her, prompting her to wave in his direction. Looking over our way he’s receptive to it and waves back.

His plan to catch her attention today?Score a goal.

I don’t know how he plans on accomplishing that from the defensive line, but more power to him. I hope he does, it’s been a long time since I’ve seen him score. I want to see it happen again.

“But what if that backfires?”I asked him.“Then what?”

“Then I’ll just have to whip my shirt off and flex my big muscles in her direction,”he joked.“That’ll get her attention, don’t you think?”

I replay our conversation in my mind and it prompts me to laugh—a laugh I do a terrible job at concealing as Amira looks my way.

“What’s so funny?” she asks with a cock of her brows. If hers are sisters then mine are very distant relatives.

I cough, there’s nothing lamer than having to say“Oh, sorry, I just made myself laugh,”so instead I opt for “Nothing.”

Classic.

She rolls her eyes before refocusing on her phone.

“Look up,” I instruct her. “The game is about to start.”

My announcement prompts Amira to peel her eyes away from her phone and stare back onto the field.

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