5. H A Z E L
FIVE
H A Z E L
“There you are!” Chelsie, Wilks’ girlfriend, wraps me in her tender embrace after I weave through the stands and plop myself beside her. “I was starting to think you weren’t going to show.”
“Do I ever miss a game?” I throw back at her with a playful raise of my brows.
The question is rhetorical in nature. I’ve never once missed one of Crawfield’s home games. I make it my priority to clear off my calendar whenever their season schedule comes out. It’s been this way for years. It will continue to be this way for the foreseeable future.
Nothing beats watching Green… the team play. It makes me happy. Sure, I didn’t grow up in a football-centric household, but that didn’t stop me from becoming a fanatic.
“You never do.” Chelsie folds her arms across her chest as she leans back into her cushioned chair.
Recently, the friends and family section got a major upgrade. Now, it’s like we’re in our own little booth up here, staring down as we admire the team that begins to line the field.
“How come you were running late?” Chelsie asks, a questionable look in her blue eyes. “It’s not like you to be late.”
“Just some traffic,” I lie, opting for the easiest response with a shrug of my shoulders. It’s much simpler to lie than divulge to Chelsie the real reason for my tardiness—that I laid awake until the early morning hours thinking about Green’s idea…
I need to stop thinking about that right now.
“Traffic, huh?” Chelsie refuses to back down when it comes to this barrier I’m evidently trying to put up between the two of us. “Since when has traffic ever been an issue for you, Hazel Collins? Usually, you’re the first one here.”
I look over at her. She’s got her short blonde hair pinned back behind her ear and her Crawfield jersey, along with a scarf I once gave her paired over a warm hoodie.
Since the day we met, Chelsie has become my companion up here, and over the span of the past six months, the two of us have become close friends. It’s part of the reason why I know she knows I’m trying to bull-shit my way around her questions. She knows me, and it sucks in the best way possible.
“I’ll stop if you really don’t want to talk about it.” Chelsie gives me an easy way out of this conversation. “But you know that I’m always here to listen, right, Hazel?”
Before I can so much as nod, my attention is drawn onto the field, where I watch Green stretch from side to side, waiting for the ref to blow the whistle.
I’ll never get over how he looks on the pitch. He’s always got this intense look on his face, one that makes him scary to look at. But I know him. It’s all a front—a facade. Green may be mighty on the green itself, but he’s a Goddamn teddy bear in real life.
He’d hate me for saying that.
But it’s true, during games, he’s laser focused, honed in. The only time his hardness will even remotely dissolve is when he finds me in the crowd and flashes me a subtle wave. He’s done it upward of a hundred times by now, but still, every time he does, it manages to make my heart leap out of my?—
“ Hazel ?” Chelsie snaps, bringing me back down to earth as she grows slightly impatient— concerned . “You okay? You’re really not acting like yourself today.”
I suck in a strong breath and then slowly release it, rubbing along my eyes as the crowd erupts into applause at Wilks winning possession over the ball.
“Do you want to go somewhere more private to talk?” Chelsie asks. “I don’t mind. Gary will understand.” Chelsie has always opted to call Wilks by his first name—his real name—I kind of love it, considering she’s the only one who does.
Her calling him Gary is essentially the parallel to me calling Green, Greenie . The difference, Gary’s actually her boyfriend.
Boyfriend.
Just the word alone takes me back to last night. Being wrapped under Green’s arm as I had to listen to him explain his “idea”.
There’s no escaping it.
The flashback is imminent.
And here it comes.
“Here’s what I’m thinking,” Green begins, an excitable look on his face as he squeezes me in tight. “You said you know all the signs when it comes to women, and guess what? I know all the signs when it comes to men.”
“Your point?” I struggle to make out exactly where he’s going with this revelation.
“My point? We help each other, Haze!”
I raise a brow. “Help each other to do what? Understand the signs?” I make an attempt to clarify.
“Yes, that, but…” He shifts slightly beneath himself, clasping his hands together as he places his grasp on top of the table. “You can help me get a girlfriend. Preferably…” He coughs within his hand, mumbling, “Amira,” under his breath. “And I…” He now uses that same hand to caress along the side of my arm. “Can help you to get a boyfriend. Anyone you want. It's a win, win. Don’t you see?”
Truly, I don’t know how we ended up here. In the span of twenty minutes, Green and I have gone from limited conversations about romance to him deciding we both need to become each other’s love coach.
The thought makes me feel slightly sick to my stomach—anytime I think of Green with anyone, it does that. I don’t know why. It’s not that it repulses me; it doesn't. I want him to be happy. As his best friend, that’s all I’ve ever wanted for him, but every time I’ve been introduced to a girlfriend, I can’t help but suppress that lingering feeling that something is off.
Does he really want Amira? He met her for a total of two whole minutes, and now, all of a sudden, she’s the one? The thought tortures me.
How can you know someone for so long and never have them see you but see them see someone else in the span of a few minutes?
I need to stop thinking about myself.
About us.
It’s never going to happen.
If it was going to, it would've by now.
I need to move on.
Maybe he’s right. Maybe this is a good idea? The reality is, setting him up with Amira won’t prove to be a highly difficult task, she was already visibly into him—much to my dismay, but when it comes to me, who would I get set up with? Who would want me? The better question…who else would I want?
“You’re quiet.” Green catches my wandering eyes.
“I’m thinking,” I tell him, twiddling my thumbs within my lap as my legs shake beneath the table.
“No you’re not,” Green argues, placing a hand on my thigh for me to stop. It sends tingles through my core. “You’re overthinking.”
“Which is a form of thinking, is it not?” I throw back at him, prompting his face to soften as he settles back into his seat and reaches for my hand.
Green has always been touchy like this. It’s exhausting. If I thought just a desperate look in his eyes was enough to sway me, feeling how he rubs along my palm is enough to convince me to commit a federal crime.
“Please, Haze.” His voice is tender—desperate. “Can we just try it out?”
“I…” I don’t know what to say. “I don’t know, Greenie.”
“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 of hot friends. 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, which is a 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?
Why would he want me? And even if he did, would it just be for a night? I don’t want a one night stand. I want more. I’ve always wanted more.
“Just give it a chance, Hazel.” Chelsie places her hand on my arm before I can even remotely think of a way to talk myself out of this. “You’re not even allowing yourself to open up to it. You might be surprised. You and Hart might have more in common than you think.”
It’s true. Maybe Hart and I could be a good match, but the problem is will Green think so too? Is he really going to be prepared to set me up with the one person who aggravates him more than anyone else?
I don’t know.
Maybe this is a disaster waiting to happen…
“You really think Green will go for it?” I ask, hopeful her reassurance will continue to overshadow the doubt that looms through my mind.
“I mean, if Green’s really so gung-ho on his plan,” Chelsie softens her voice, “then he’s got to hold up on his end of the bargain. It’s only fair.”
She’s right, and after a night of sleepless doubt, finally, as I effortlessly find Green on the field, I force my eyes away from him and toward Hart.
This plan…might very well work.