Page 42 of Replay
“You didn’t bring my little bestie?” I accuse her, and she laughs, her blonde head tilting back.
“No, not today.” She shrugs and I let it go, knowing it will only upset her. With the return ofhe-must-not-be-namedback in her life, she’s been bending over backwards to make everyone happy and thinking little of herself as usual.
“It’s okay.” I slide my arm around her and give her a squeeze before settling in and grabbing my seat belt. “It will be nice to have just us for the day too.”
I’m not even surprised that Riley couldn’t make it, probably off spending time with her boyfriend again. Not that I blame her. If I think Hawke and I have difficult schedules, Reign and Riley rarely see each other during this time of the year. Mostly because the men’s hockey team’s ice time sometimes counters ours. We rarely have practice at the same time.
When I mentioned going to Hawke’s game, Sam jumped at the opportunity to support me and I’m grateful. I wasn’t even sure if she liked football to be honest.
“It sounds like Leif might be there as well,” Sam responds.
“Without Carter?” I mock with a fake surprised face and she laughs.
“I think the fact that I invited Isla was off-putting to him.” She rolls her eyes.
My stomach twists for our new friend. I can just picture the hurt in her blue eyes and I want to punch Carter in his man chest. “He’s ridiculous.”
Sam nods, biting her top lip before turning on the radio. We jam out on the short drive over to the stadium. It’s not until we’re pulling into the parking lot that my stomach starts to tighten and my chest clenches. What if I made a mistake by not wearing the jersey? I didn't even take it with me as a just in case.I hope Hawke won’t be upset. My intention is not to hurt him; it’s to save him. Protect his reputation. I know he says that his brother manages his social media and that he helps spin good stories for him, but what if I’m the outlier, the one thing they didn’t plan on ruining his future and golden boy image. Half of Hawke’s appeal the last few years has been that he’s single and woman live to fantasize about trying to snag him. My stomach lurches at the thought and I grimace.
“What's wrong with you?” Sam looks over at me, the worry in her eyes makes me feel even more guilty.
“Hawke asked me to wear his jersey and I left it at home. I told him I didn’t want to ruin his image and he said I wouldn't, so we made a bet to see what would happen if I did wear it,” I spill to her like word vomit.
Sam’s brow rises and she blinks, watching me carefully. “Okay. And by not wearing it at all, that's supposed to cancel out the bet?”
“Kinda.” I bob my head, my fingers clasping in my lap. “I think I messed up, Sammie.”
She gives me a soft smile and reaches over to pat my hand. “I think Hawke is crazy about you and no matter what you’re wearing, he’ll just be happy to see you. He’s as whipped as the other one.”
We both cackle before getting out of the car and making our way to the ticketed area. At the front, I see Leif who is waving us over. “Hey, I went to grab the usual ones we get for student athletes, but I was handed this envelope instead.”
I take it from his hands and read the section and row out loud. “This is prime viewing area, right by the fifty-yard line.”
I don’t notice Isla slide up next to us until she’s leaning over my shoulder to glance at them. “Oh yeah, Riggs and Hawke asked to get those for us since this is a big game.”
Leif glances at her and his mouth drops. “These are a huge deal even for a college game section.”
Isla nods, a big grin pasted on her lips. “We have a very important guest for the QB with us.”
Leif’s eyes slide to me and Sam nudges me with her hip. I look at her, full on panicking now. I thought maybe we’d be so far back that Hawke would never notice I’m not wearing his jersey. Now we’ll be so close he’ll see that not only do I not have the jersey, but I abandoned the bet altogether.
“Oh, fuck me,” I breathe out, my eyes clenching closed while my friends all laugh at my expense.
I manage to con Sam and Isla into waiting until the very last minute to walk down to our seats, guaranteeing that Hawke won’t have time to find me in the crowd before the game starts. My heart beats loudly during their entrance back onto the field, when they sing the school song and the national anthem, and I about pass out when they announce the starting lineup. Things really don’t crash and burn though until the first play of the game. I’m not sure what makes him glance over at us, but I can see Hawke’s head turn in my direction from the huddle. I can feel his eyes burn into me while I pretend to be paying attention to the conversations around me and not to my boyfriend who is marching up the field, looking ready to do battle.
Halfway through the first quarter, I start to remember why I have an aversion to football, and it’s because I’m scared every time the other team’s defense tries to sack Hawke. Thankfully, Hawke scrambles and dodges their tackles, the ball leaving his fingers before anyone even makes contact with him. I also get to learn about Riggs’ stats from his previous school and how he started playing football from Isla. Throughout the game I grow to appreciate Riggs, who is Hawke’s most successful target of the afternoon. He hasn’t missed one pass, and by the time the second quarter is almost over, our team is winning, 21-13.
The atmosphere around us is amped up like a livewire. The crowd is loving Hawke, many of them cheering on Michigan’s new quarterback. My eyes never leave his form while he powers down the field, gaining multiple yards at a time, looking for another touchdown before the game heads into halftime. With four minutes left in the second quarter, the crowd is on their feet. I clutch Sam’s hand when Hawke calls his play. The wide receivers scramble, but none of them are open enough for a pass.
“Oh no, run! Run!,” I scream when Hawke takes off, dodging the defense right on his tail, and hurling himself into the end zone for the touchdown.
We all jump to our feet, celebrating and clapping like crazy. The quarter comes to an end and as the players start to run off the field, a local reporter walks up to Hawke, attempting to get him to say a few words. I watch, entranced as his gorgeous face and messy, sweaty hair fill the jumbotron. All around us girls are whistling and cheering for him. “I LOVE YOU, HAWKE!” is screamed so much that my stomach twists in knots, and I start to feel nauseous.
The crowd really goes fanatic when he brushes off the reporter, his jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed on a target behind her. My eyes whip from watching the screen to watching the man in real life as he crosses the field over to the stands. Hawke heads to our section, grabbing the banister to haul himself up. My ears are ringing, my heart thumping in my chest, and my vision blurs until all I see is him. Hawke’s hands cradle my cheeks before sliding into my hair. His green eyes are on mine, and I can read the small flash of hurt in them before it’s replaced quickly with something that looks like determination.
I want to explain. I want to beg for forgiveness. I just don’t get the chance because in the next second, his lips are on mine, his mouth taking and claiming mine for the whole stadium to see. When he pulls back, ending our kiss, the rush of the noiseand the cheers fill my ears. I expected booing, maybe some heckling, but all I hear are more whistles and clapping.
“You’re a bad girl, Em,” Hawke murmurs, kissing my lips one more time before he turns and hops down from the railing and heads to the locker room.
