The Prospect (Crawfield Football Club #3)

13. G R E E N

THIRTEEN

G R E E N

“The second I’m done with school, I’m moving to New York City to see if I can make it big on Broadway. Have you been to NYC before, Green?”

I open my mouth to respond to Amira’s question, but she beats me to it, opting to ramble on about all of the Broadway performances she’s been to in the past instead and how they’ve inspired her to be the entertainer she is today.

I’ll admit, our conversation tonight hasn’t been that of a conversation at all. It’s completely one-sided, with her doing all the talking, and me doing all the listening.

But this is how you get to know someone, right? You listen to what they have to say. Besides, Amira’s a busy girl with a lot of things on her plate. I’m confident she has more things to unpack about herself than I do anyway.

I lean back into the booth, using my fork to slide my dinner around my plate. Amira uses the gap in the conversation to take another bite out of her gluten-free, dairy-free, everything-free dish from the “best restaurant in town.”

Her words, not mine.

I’d originally booked a reservation for the two of us at a place that seemed perfect, but when she wanted to change it at the last minute, I couldn’t say no, could I?

She’s too pretty to say no to.

The only con? Now, I’m stuck eating… avoiding this rendition of vegan tacos I ordered. They’re… interesting, to put it nicely.

“You know.” Amira swallows, dapping the side of her mouth with a serviette. “I had a talent agent get in touch with me last week. They’re going to try and set up some auditions for me for a local sitcom. Isn’t that just great?” She smiles wide—eyes glimmering in delight.

I rest my fork on the side. “That’s great, Amira.” It’s refreshing to hear my voice for the first time all night. “You’ll do incredible. I hope you know that?—”

“Oh, I know,” she proudly boasts, placing both of her hands on either side of her cheeks as she stares at me through her long lashes and winged liner. “I totally will.”

Despite her innate ability to never let me finish a sentence, as I look at Amira, all I can think about is just how out of my league she is. Christ, she’s so gorgeous. It makes me wonder how the hell we even ended up here. How the hell she even agreed to go out with me.

I sip on my water to wash away not only the residual taste of the meal but my insecurities, seeing this miraculous gap in conversation as a way to finally do some talking.

“So, tell me,” I begin, peering over at Amira. “What inspired you to get into dramatic arts?”

Amira cocks a brow, leaning back against her seat. “I mean, isn’t it obvious, Green?” She flips her hair over her shoulder before striking a pose. “I’m dramatic, duh!”

I laugh, forcing one out of her as well as she carries on.

“But in all seriousness, I’ve always been outgoing. Growing up, I was the middle child and so I always had to do something to remind my parents I existed. I guess eventually my dramatic ways became a part of my personality and I thought hey, if I can make money off of what I’m good at then why not go for it, right? I mean you should understand that. Look at you,” she gestures in my direction, “you’re amazing at what you do, Green. Now it’s your job!”

A sense of warmth floods through my chest at Amira’s compliment. I’ve heard a lot of things come out of that pretty little mouth of hers tonight, but that…that might just be my favorite. I’m about ready to thank her and open up about my football journey when I hear someone loudly shout her name from across the restaurant, prompting her head to swivel in that very direction.

“Lottie?!” Amira cries out in return, wasting no time in scooting her way out of our booth and embracing the petite blonde into her arms. Squeezing on tight, the two jump up and down simultaneously.

“Oh my gosh,” Amira squeals. “Lottie, what are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here? What are you doing here?” Lottie cries, and for the next minute the two gossip back and forth on their mutual shock, and pleasant surprise to see one another.

From what I can make out in between their high-pitched screeches, the two were both counselors at a summer retreat a few years back where they had “wild times” and a shared affection toward someone named Tate Oliver? The name alone is enough to bring the two of them that much closer as they clutch onto each other's hands and giggle with reddened cheeks.

I sit for a while, watching their conversation unfold…patiently hoping it’ll end so that Amira and I can get back to our date.

I almost want to believe she’s forgotten about me until Amira turns back over her shoulder and gestures in my direction. “Lottie,” she places a hand on her friend's arm, “this is Daniel Green. Green, this is my friend, Lottie.”

“Nice to meet you.” I stand up from my seat, embracing her in for a hug, followed by a faint kiss on the cheek.

“You too, Green.” She smiles, pulling back before she flashes Amira a look. It’s one I don’t like the look of. The look tells me that whatever Amira is about to say next, I’m not about to like…

“Uh—Green?” The reluctance in Amira’s tone tells me I’ve hit the nail on the head. “I hate to do this to you, but are you alright if we cut our date short? I just…” She looks back over at Lottie who nods with assurance. “Haven’t seen Lottie in ages and she’s only in town tonight. Do you mind?”

Do I mind?

Fuck .

Uh… yeah.

The night is still young and our conversation was only just starting to have some flow, but as Amira flashes me a doe-eyed gaze, somehow it’s enough to make me cave instantly.

“Yeah, sure. No problem," I tell her as convincingly as I can. “We'll, uh…do this another time, I suppose.”

“You’re the best.” Amira leans in to plant an assortment of kisses on my cheek. Each lingers longer than the last until, finally, she pulls back and rests her lips inches away from mine. “I’ll find a way to make it up to you on Friday…”

“On Friday?” I repeat, her proposition being enough to rid any animosity from my mind. “What’s, uh—on Friday?”

Amira reaches for her purse and slings it over her shoulder before placing her hands onto her hips. “The party on campus that you’re going to be escorting me to, silly. You will be my date, right?”

It’s almost virtually impossible to disagree when she’s this close to me. She’s like an enchantress and here I am under her spell.

“Okay,” I whisper softly, her lips curling into a smile as she pulls back and types something into her phone.

“I just texted you all the deets. I’ll see you then, Green.” She kisses my cheek for the final time before she interlaces her arm with Lotties and makes a bee-line toward the door.

I wait until she’s completely out of sight before I reach for my phone to read her message, only before I do, I read someone else’s first, a knot forming in my stomach in the process…

Hazel.

I’m so sorry for not responding, Greenie.

I had my phone off.

I’m having the best impromptu night ever with Hart.

I can’t wait to tell you all about it!

HAZEL

The car ride back to my dorm room is full of playful laughter as I tuck my phone into my bag. Hart and I can’t seem to stop making jokes about “his creation,” one he’s deemed must become the mascot of Crawfield.

Now, as I clutch onto the carefully painted rock sporting cartoon eyes, a jersey, and a football at its base, I can’t help but want to selfishly reserve it for myself rather than pass it along to Delaney for the team's social media.

I’m sure she’d get a real kick out of it.

“Did you have a fun night?” Hart asks, pulling up in front of my dorm room and shifting the car’s gear into park.

What a rhetorical question. Is the smile beaming across my face not enough to tell him that I’ve genuinely just had the best first date of my life?

“I’ll tell you what,” I counter with, settling within my chair. “You let me keep this.” I gesture toward the rock. “And I’ll tell you what I really think about our date tonight. Deal?”

Hart runs his tongue along his lower lip, his arm extended out as it rests on the back of my seat. “Deal.”

I smirk, rubbing the rock within my hand as a way to avoid making consistent eye contact with him, especially given the prank I’m about ready to pull.

“Well, the truth is, Hart, tonight’s date…it wasn’t very good…”

Hart’s face sinks almost instantly as his once bright blue eyes deepen into a sad shade of blue. It makes my heart wince, but I can’t help but continue to play along.

“‘It wasn’t very good?’” he repeats back to me, his husky voice full of disbelief. “Really, Hazel?”

I shake my head in absolution.

“Nope, I’m sorry, Hart, it wasn’t. In fact, the date wasn’t good at all…” I keep him on edge just that bit longer to torment him before I admit, “It was great .”

With a look of relief, I watch as the panic frees itself from Hart’s face. His frown quickly transformed into a smile as I continue.

“I had such an amazing time with you tonight, Hart. Truly, I mean it, I did.”

As his hand brushes through my hair, I take the time to study the details that make him, him.

The strong curvature of his jawline.

The golden glimmer of his beard.

The mix of blueish-gray in his eyes. Gosh, it’s a color I haven’t seen before, one that would be extraordinarily challenging to capture on a canvas.

A canvas.

Thoughts race through my mind at a million miles per hour as I reach toward the one item that kicked off this entire night—what I’d been working on during the art hall…

“I, uh—have something for you,” I tell him, prompting him to pull back as I grasp a hold of my portfolio case and pull out my painting, taking a final proud glance down at it before I tuck it against my chest.

“For me?” Hart questions. “You…drew me something?”

I nod my head as the anxiety forces its way to break through. I suppress it. My art has got to be the number one thing I’m the most confident in, in this world. It’s my life. My passion. The one thing I knew I’d have to kick into full gear in order to complete step two in this plan: do a romantic gesture.

“I did.” I shrug nonchalantly, even though this portrait easily took me at least eight plus hours.

He doesn't need to know that.

“I wanted to paint something for you. I’m sure Green told you that I’m an artist, so…” I gesture the picture in his direction. “I, uh…thought maybe you’d like this?”

Ten seconds.

A solid ten seconds passes by where Hart does nothing. Says nothing. Gives me nothing to work with.

He just sits there staring down at the painting, jaw-dropped with wide eyes and a look I only wish I could make out.

Does he like it?

Is he taken back by it?

Does he think it’s too much?

Gosh, why am I spiraling out of control here?

Just ask him.

“Do you like it?” I fidget beneath my seat, attempting to get comfortable, although the only real way I will be is if he tells me what he’s thinking.

The photo I’d selected to paint took me ages to find. I’d spent hours scouring the web for the perfect photo, and just when I was about to give up, I stumbled upon a photo taken by the team's photographer that perfectly captured him mid-play.

Unlike your typical “action shot,” this photo captured the ruggedness of Hart, yet the tender side I’ve come to see tonight.

In the picture he’s got a bright smile as he peers back over his shoulder. I can only assume this shot was taken post-goal, all the while the way his jersey clung against his damp skin… well …let’s just say I had to paint beside a fan.

“Hazel…’” All he does is says my name, and it’s enough assurance that, damn, I’ve just done something right. “Hazel, I…” His voice trails off as he places the portrait in his lap. “I love it. I can’t believe you painted this for me. I—I don’t even know what to say. ”

Speechless. I don’t know if I’ve ever made anyone speechless before. I’m not complaining though, because rather than words Hart does me one better by briskly pulling me in tight and wrapping his strong arms around my body. I seamlessly melt into his embrace.

“Thank you so much,” he eventually whispers into my hair, holding me for a second longer before he pulls back and lingers in front of my face.

I gulp, swearing he’s about to kiss me as I stare down at his lips. I mean, it’s the perfect moment, is it not?

Perfect date.

Perfect night.

Perfect gesture.

I’ve seen it in the movies.

I’ve read about it in the books.

Any second now, he’s about to lean in and?—

He kisses my cheek.

What?

He lingers way longer than he ever has before but rather than kissing my lips, he kisses my cheek. I’m stunned.

“I like you, Hazel.” Hart eventually pulls back, voice dropping an octave as he runs his thumb delicately along the soft side of my cheek. “But I don’t kiss on the first date. So I guess what I’m trying to say is…can we have a second?”

I tighten my lips, nodding excitedly at his ability to make up for what was just about to be something I was going to overthink all night long about.

“I’d like that,” I tell him. “I, uh—like you too.”

He kisses my other cheek once more before pulling back. “Glad to know that we’re on the same page, pretty girl .”

I’m a squealing mess.

Like I’ve just been front row at a concert and the lead singer winked at me kind of mess.

Like I’ve just gotten all of my numbers right on my lotto-ticket kind of mess.

Like for the first time I’ve met someone who sees me. Likes me. Chooses me, kind of a mess.

I fall back onto my bed.

Christ.

What a feeling.

For the first time, I want to talk to Amira about my night out instead of listening to hers. I need another person here with me to completely freak out over this incredible night, it’s absurd.

Nothing can top this.

Nothing.

I reach back for my pillow, readjusting it, when I spot a single-stem-rose resting on top of a scrap piece of paper.

Green said he was getting Amira flowers, did one slip out of the bouquet? I sit up and look across the room, seeing the way her bouquet is perfectly securely inside a vase.

I scratch behind my neck. It can’t be. How could one just fall out? Flustered, I reach for the note, and Christ, if I thought I was a squealing mess before, I’m even more of one now.

I couldn't not get my favorite girl one too.

- Greenie

The blood drains from my face as I somehow fall back into the bed, meticulously rereading the note over and over and over until I grow exhausted.

His favorite girl. Fuck.

Isn’t it just insane how even despite just having the fullest night with Hart, nine words without even trying, manage to triumph it, circulating me back to the one person I can never seem to forget…

Green.