Page 53 of No More Heartbreakers

What idiot had said we should just be friends?Swedish meatballs. Swedish meatballs.

Oh wait, IlikedSwedish meatballs. Not helping.

The passage of time wasn’t helping either. I’d relived those moments in the edit bay so many times, if it had been a DVD, the scene would’ve been burned straight through by now.

I could barely remember the hundreds of times I must’ve kissed Hale. Why couldn’t Aric have been more like him? Then we could’ve passed the time we had left together at WPVG, helping each other and having fun without the threat of it going any further.

But I knew myself and what I could handle.

I could not handle a relationship with Aric.

He was too much for me. Too good looking, too charming, too sexy. Too much.

Maybe Iwouldstart sending out my reel after all and getoutof here before my willpower collapsed and it was too late.

The game was a total nail-biter. Georgia held its own and did better than even the faithful had really expected. Both the offense and defense were playing out of their minds, matching the Tide touchdown for touchdown and keeping the score close.

When the fourth quarter came and the Bulldogs were still in contention, there was a palpable surge in emotion within the stadium, the home crowd shifting from desperate hope to actual expectation of a win against the best team in the nation.

What had been consistent cheering during the first three quarters turned into a deafening roar in the last two minutes. The UGA Redcoats band played a raucous tune. It seemed like every person was on their feet, yelling, clapping.

One woman in the stands near us was praying.

The players on the sidelines with us hopped and shifted from foot to foot like kindergartners in line for recess. The energy in the stadium was a thing you could see and hear and almost touch.

Alabama had possession of the ball, and somehow the Bulldog defense held them to only three plays, forcing them to punt with about a minute still on the clock.

Three plays later, the Georgia team moved the ball down the field, but unfortunately not into the end zone. With only seconds left on the game clock, the game was still tied.

The good news for the home team was the Bulldogs were in field goal range. The kicker ran out onto the field, destined to become a lifelong hero or a lifelong social outcast in Dawg Nation.

Aric leaned close, speaking directly into my ear to be heard over the crowd noise. “I have an idea for the ultimate stand-up. But we’re going to have to pull it off on the first try, okay? There won’t be another chance.”

“Okay. What do you need me to do?”

Aric explained, and I set up the camera on the sideline, facing the goal posts and the giant video screen behind it. Aric stood in front of me.

The plan was, if God was wearing red-and-black today, I would capture the kick sailing through the goalposts, magnified on the Jumbotron, the stadium would erupt, and I’d pull out and pan down to the field where the players would be leaping and celebrating all around Aric as he delivered his stand-up.

The kicker lined up on the forty-five yard line. I didn’t dare to glance at him as the actual play started. I kept my eyes focused on my camera’s display screen. On my job.

“One chance,” I heard Aric say on his mic.

I nodded, not looking away from the small screen. I knew from the sound of the crowd when the kick went off, and then, there it was, the football sailed into view on my monitor… and through the center of the uprights.

Even through my headphones, the reactive noise was thunderous. I breathed out slowly, pressing my finger against the button to zoom out the shot. Slowly the screen filled with leaping, crying, shouting, laughing football players.

In front of them, Aric beamed and started his stand-up. He only had one shot to get it right, too.

He delivered the news of Georgia’s heady victory and closed it out with, “…reporting from thenewhappiest place on Earth, I’m Aric Amore, WPVG Sports.”

As soon as I hit the stop record button, I jumped, too, joining the celebration. Not for the football team, but for Team Aric and Heidi.

He’d performed flawlessly, and I’d pulled off the videography part of things without screwing it up. I was so thrilled for Aric. It was an incredible, once-in-a-career moment.

He ran toward me, stepping around the camera and sweeping me up in an exuberant celebratory embrace. Anyone watching us would conclude we were, in fact, biased toward UGA.

My feet dangled inches off the ground as he held me chest-to-chest. He laughed, his gorgeous gray eyes bright with success and his smile radiant.

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